#You expect it to be some kind of space horror or starving to death but it’s just so. human

[star-shaped-froot-loops]

ok I’ve digested it enough I can share now

watched a few playthroughs of mouthwashing. wgat the fucj.

[malkumtend]

I Like Your Laugh (A SquirrelCrow AU) - Chapter 20.

For the first time in moons, Crowpaw was hungry.

Hunting had been as pointless as Tallstar had claimed. With the roar of monsters, as well as the lingering stink of Twolegs, prey was impossible to find. Worse than that, Crowpaw had seen those pale fleshed creatures skulking around the ruins of his home, carrying their storm of destruction with them.

They would mark the few trees left with a haze of red mist, and then bite into the thick bark with long silver claws. The crash of the wood as it slammed into the torn ground sent a tremble over Windclan. Every collision caused Crowpaw’s heart to tremble.

At this rate, it wouldn’t be long before the whole forest fell.

Hunting had been a fruitless effort. Crowpaw was the only one who had caught anything, but two withered shrew was not going to help the clans. Onewhisker had looked relieved at the mere sight of prey, and the way he praised Crowpaw was like he had caught a dozen hares.

“Well done, Crowpaw.” Onewhisker purred weakly as the hunting patrol made their way back. “That catch will help feed the kits another night.”

Nightcloud had mewed in agreement, her own face brightened at the stale scent of the shrews. Crowpaw had expected Webfoot to snarl the group back to reality, but the tom didn’t have a word to say, just a small grave nod.

Crowpaw attempted a small meow of thanks, but his throat instantly felt dry. The shrews hardly made up enough space to fill his mouth. Was this really all they could rely on to feed the starving kits and elders? He tried to not let this realisation mark his face with horror. It would do no good for anyone. Despite everything, the group was trying to keep some kind of determination; Crowpaw couldn’t kill that.

“Looks like all that travelling did some good for you, hey?” Nightcloud meowed, tapping his side with her tail. Under the darkening sky, her eyes lit up like pink embers. “You almost look like a natural hunter.”

Crowpaw nodded mildly, hoping the sound his throat made sounded more like a laugh than a groan.

“Don’t tease him, Nightcloud.” Onewhisker sighed tiredly, “We need all the prey we can find.”

“I was being serious.” The black molly insisted. “I wasn’t making fun of him.”

Onewhisker muttered something incoherent. Just looking at his back, it was clear that the tom had been discouraged by the hunt. As thankful as he was that some prey was caught for the kits that needed it so desperately, it was clear it would be a while before the thinning bodies of the Warriors got any end to their slow suffering.

Looking back at his still firm body, Crowpaw felt his growing hunger twist into guilt. He was nowhere near in the right to complain about prey.

Even standing besides the group, Crowpaw felt like he didn’t belong, didn’t deserve, to be there. By all means, he was able enough to get through the night without prey. Just how many queens, kits and elders had been forced to resign themselves to that fate.

The night air refused to respond to his question, it just scratched him with its freezing claws.

Once he’d taken the prey back, he’d have to find Tallstar. The time was approaching. Soon he would have to stand beside his…acquaintances from the other clans, hoping that they would receive a sign that told them where to go from here.

Crowpaw had never been so desperate to know an answer in all his life.

If any of the clans waited any longer, Crowpaw was certain that Windclan wouldn’t survive the next moon. Hunger, dehydration, and destruction was all that they would find here. Tallstar understood that, thankfully; Crowpaw could only hope the other clans would as well.

Unfortunately, the apprentice didn’t know whether they would share his clan’s sentiments.

He thought about what Tawnypelt and Stormfur would have to deal with when it came to their leaders. It didn’t matter how much they screamed the truth to their clans, ultimately it was up to Blackstar and Leopardstar if their clans moved or not. The Shadowclan leader would not be swayed easily. His pride was significantly excruciating from what Crowpaw remembered from previous gatherings.

And Leopardstar. At the thought of her, Crowpaw couldn’t help but feel fury prickle over his pelt. Tallstar had openly pleaded, putting all of his pride aside for his clan, the Riverclan leader to let them use the lake to drink. They hadn’t done that for nothing! Cats had needed that water then, it was essential now! Crowpaw thought the clans had reached an understanding.

Apparently not.

Leopardstar, based on the word of some no-clan stray who had sauntered his way into Riverclan, had pretty much left Windclan for dead. She had left every one of them to suffer on their own. Crowpaw knew that Windclan had taken some prey every now and then, but it certainly wasn’t enough that Riverclan would notice it was gone! Windclan needed to survive too!

But no. Whoever this Hawkfrost was, he had convinced Leopardstar that Windclan had earnt such a punishment! Did they not have cats of their own that were feeling the strains of these horrors? Could they really look at those cats and feed them, knowing that they had refused another clan such a necessity?! Crowpaw knew that Leopardstar was a cat who was frosty on her best days, but could she really be that cruel? If she trusted Windclan so little, who was to say she wouldn’t refuse to follow them to a new home?

Could Stormfur even convince her? He hadn’t even been the one who was…

Oh.

Oh Stars… no.

Crowpaw almost paused where he stood. Only walking on when he saw a concerned glint in Nightcloud’s eyes as he wobbled forward.

“Are you okay?”

Well, let’s see. He had left his clan to suffer, including his mother, while the home their entire clan had been rooted in for eons was being torn apart like it was nothing but sand, he had disgraced his father’s trust and was reminded of that with every disapproving flare of the stars above, and he might have ruined the clans hopes of getting Riverclan to follow them on their journey, destroying the history of the four clans themselves with a single paw, all because he hadn’t been the one who had rightfully died on that journey.

Did he mention it was his fault that an innocent cat, one of his best friends, had died to save his worthless pelt?

Crowpaw dipped his head at Nightcloud and she took that as a yes.

“Of course he’s okay.” Webfoot muttered, an audible curl on his lip. “He’s gotten everything he wanted.”

Crowpaw’s eyes snapped open.

“Webfoot!” Onewhisker turned his head to the tom with a warning growl. “Don’t you start any trouble.”

Webfoot grunted, “Why? He’s allowed to because he’s an apprentice.”

Crowpaw spat the shrews out of mouth, erupting with a snarl. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He demanded. There was a monster at the back of his head screaming at him to get into the tom’s face. “Gotten what I wanted? Are you trying to say that I wanted two-legs to come here?”

Nightcloud ran her tail over Crowpaw’s back. “Calm down.” Crowpaw ignored her, his eyes caught in a glare with the tom ahead of him.

Webfoot ignored the death stare that Onewhisker sent him. His eyes slid away from Crowpaw, disgusted. “No. But you got Tallstar to believe your stories. I bet you’re really proud to have that kind of influence.” He sounded like he was spitting out muck as he spoke.

Now, the demands to cause harm raced into a roar. Crowpaw couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Did Webfoot really think he was that shallow? “This isn’t about that at all, you piece of fox-dung!” Crowpaw’s shouting echoed over the hills. “It’s about-”

“Enough!” Onewhisker got between the two toms, hissing. “Both of you!”

Crowpaw was affronted, “He’s the one who-”

“I know that!” Onewhisker snapped, his stern snarl made Crowpaw cower away. “But Windclan doesn’t need the two of you fighting! If we have any hope of getting through this, we need to work together as a clan!” He turned back to Webfoot, his backfur prickling. “And we certainly don’t need any cats questioning the decisions of their leader!”

Webfoot frowned, one fang slipping over his lip. “That’s not what I was-”

“Quiet!” Onewhisker ordered. “Listen to me, Webfoot! I don’t care if you, or any cat for that matter, doesn’t believe in Crowpaw’s sign! If Tallstar decides that Windclan needs to move, that is what we will be doing!” The skinny tom took a pounding step towards Webfoot. “If you have an issue with that, then I’d be happy to take you to discuss it with Tallstar.” He dared with a snap of his teeth. It sounded like breaking a rabbit’s neck.

The panic Webfoot displayed was brief, but it was telling. His tail sank to the floor like a bird falling out of its nest. To his, limited, credit he kept his face straight. That was just all the more infuriating for Crowpaw.

“There’s no need for that.” Webfoot drawled. He lashed a look at Crowpaw. “And please don’t misunderstand, I hope that Crowpaw is right in what he says.” His eyes narrowed snakily. “If he’s wrong, who knows what would happen to Windclan.”

Crowpaw growled to not show weakness.

Like most things he did these days, it repressed the way his body shook at the words.

“Well then,” Nightcloud stepped forward, her claws unsheathed. “Why don’t you shut up and believe in him like Tallstar does, you waste of fur!”

“Nightcloud!” Onewhisker hissed, “What did I just say about fighting?”

The molly scoffed, muttering a fake apology as she looked away. Webfoot didn’t reply, he had apparently decided he’d said enough.

And it was enough that Crowpaw got the point.

Onewhisker maintained a strained silence between the cats, before he let out a croaky sigh. He sounded like he was releasing the pain from his weakening joints. “Let’s not waste anymore time.” He frowned over at Crowpaw. “Pick up those shrews. There are cats who need them.”

Crowpaw looked down to where he’d spat out the sorry excuses for prey, and his heart dropped with disgrace. Those shrews could be what separated a cat from life and death, and he’d spat them out like some kittypet sulking at a two-leg. A horrible, regretful embarrassment clouded over the cat. He stuttered over his own selfishness.

“I-I’m sorry, Onewhisker.”

Onewhisker gave him a hard look that was hard to describe. It made Crowpaw uneasy. The older cat’s whiskers shook with a grunt. “Sorry doesn’t feed cats. Now pick up that prey and make sure you don’t drop it again until you’re in front of someone who needs it!”

Crowpaw dipped his head. The knowledge that his actions made him a liability sent him cold. “Yes, Onewhisker.” Carefully, he picked the shrews up again. When he looked up, Onewhisker was already strolling off, soon followed by Webfoot. The tom made sure to swipe his tail at Crowpaw before he turned away with a malicious scoff.

Crowpaw stared in their direction, then he began to follow them. What else could he do? He couldn’t blame Onewhisker for his fury, the cat had been struggling to make sure Windclan didn’t fall. If Crowpaw didn’t know any better he could have assumed that the cat was the Deputy.

He couldn’t even blame Webfoot really. Well… no. The cat was a fox-heart who had no right to claim those things about him. Crowpaw would never want any of this. But he could see how it looked. An apprentice that had ran away and come back without a reason he could prove and had convinced their leader to follow his advice. It made sense that Webfoot wouldn’t trust him.

That just worked to make Crowpaw feel worse.

If it made sense, then just how much could his clan trust him? How much could he trust himself to save them from an agonising fate?

Searching for those answers was like swimming through fog and ice.

A sympathetic purr rumbled at his side. Nightcloud was looking at him softly. “Don’t pay any attention to Webfoot. He’s always been a burr-furred mange pelt.”

If Crowpaw could open his mouth, he might have muttered a thanks to her. He kept silent. It didn’t matter really. He still ended up thinking, ‘Just because he’s a mange pelt, it doesn’t mean he’s wrong.’ Webfoot’s intentions, no matter what mouse-bile he spewed, were clear. He didn’t forgive Crowpaw for abandoning Windclan. He wanted to punish the apprentice, however he could.

Crowpaw had done everything he thought was right.

Crowpaw had done everything for the purpose of helping Windclan.

But that didn’t exclude the idea that maybe… he deserved to be punished.

“Hey?” Nightcloud murmured, “Do you want me to carry one of those for you?”

She was offering to help him carry some measly shrews?

Did he actually look that pathetic?

He shook his head. She watched him patiently, as if hopeful he would change his mind, before turning away with a sigh. She didn’t need to help him. Any burden for the clan was one Crowpaw deserved to carry.

The thought didn’t leave Crowpaw even when he returned to the ‘camp’ Windclan had fashioned, not when Nightcloud pointed to him the tattered base of an old rabbit warren where they were sheltering the kits, not when the dark molly gave him a well-natured touch with her muzzle, and not when he slowly walked past his clanmates, all scarred, starving, or both, trying their best to get some rest in this terrible place.

His good intentions did not change everything that had happened because of him. Even as he walked by his clanmates, he could hear the gravelly whispers all around him. They didn’t sound happy. Crowpaw almost looked like he was trying to hide his head between his shoulders, unspeakably afraid to catch any cat’s gaze. If he turned and saw every cat view him with hatred, he didn’t know if he could carry on walking.

He cursed himself for looking so pathetic. He could only imagine what cats were thinking. He didn’t want to picture what they’d think when Tallstar revealed why he’d truly been gone. This shaking, moody apprentice was what their fates rested on.

Perhaps the forest would be the more honourable way to die.

Unlatching himself from these thoughts was like scratching at a rock. The truth came on him, refusing to let him go. He deserved the looks. He deserved the hate. And if he was being honest, he would have deserved Webfoot finishing him off with a bite to his throat. Admitting these things was almost relieving for the cat, like he was finally facing the inevitable.

He had given Windclan the message they needed.

What use – what good - was he to them anymore?

“Where are you going?”

Crowpaw jolted where he stood, his ears drifting back fearfully. He slowly met the eyes of his mentor. Mudclaw was looking down at him irritably, the night made his amber eyes flicker. Crowpaw could barely move as he remembered how the Deputy had been earlier. How he had not believed Crowpaw’s explanation and had looked betrayed when his leader did.

Mudclaw growled into the silence. “You should drop what you have in your mouth if you’re going to answer.”

Crowpaw could barely meet Mudclaw’s gaze as he gently dropped the shrews. “I was… I was going to take these to the Queens. That way the kits can get some milk.”

Mudclaw rolled his eyes, “I’m aware of how feeding kits works, Crowpaw.” He sounded as gruff as he looked. His back wasn’t spiked, but it still looked jagged and rough, like sand under a blistering sun. His face was dull with fatigue. “Good hunting I see?” He said, his voice dreadfully sarcastic.

Crowpaw dropped his head again. Even before leaving for the journey, there was nothing that made him curl up like the disappointment of his mentor. “There wasn’t much to catch.”

“I know that as well.” Mudclaw said, “I suppose that’s another reason we need to leave, hmm?” The sarcasm swiped again.

Crowpaw didn’t say anything. There would be no good response to that.

Mudclaw peered down at the shrews, sitting down and stretching his forelegs with a groan. “Truth be told, it is not easy to find prey around here. I had hoped that after a few days we would know where we could find some again.” His voice dimmed. “Regretfully, there hasn’t been much success.” He sniffed at the shrews and, to Crowpaw’s surprise, his mentor let out a laugh that almost sounded glad. “Not much of a mouthful, but at least they’re fresh.”

Whether it was the bleak praise of his mentor, or the idea that his actions could have been of any good in the first place, a calm purr rumbled in Crowpaw’s throat.

“Luckily,” Mudclaw started again, grooming his shoulder with snappy bites. “You won’t have to choose between a Queen to feed. Only Whitetail hasn’t received prey since yesterday. Thankfully, you’ve changed that.”

Whitetail. Realisation rushed through the apprentice. So that was why Onewhisker looked so happy to see the prey. His own mate could finally get the kill she needed for their kits.

“I’m… I’m glad I could help somehow.”

“Was there really nothing else to find?”

Crowpaw mewed sadly, “Nothing. And we won’t be able to scent anything now. The only smell around here is the stink of those monsters.”

Mudclaw hissed behind his teeth. “Fox-dung to it all.” Crowpaw could have been frightened by how grave his mentor sounded. Defeat was not something he had ever been able to associate with his leader. The older cat grumbled a moment more, before he stumbled over to his apprentice. Crowpaw tried not to flinch as the cat smelt his pelt.

“Well,” Mudclaw’s voice was low, but not hard. “At the very least, you saw more of this territory.” He scoffed humourlessly, “You almost smell like Windclan again.”

Crowpaw knew better than to show how much those words sank into him.

Mudclaw padded back, studying his apprentice with a narrowed expression. “I was thinking about what Webfoot said earlier.” He said slowly, “What did he mean when he mentioned that Thunderclan cat. Owlpaw sought me out to tell me that she…” Mudclaw let his words loosen as his stare hardened. Crowpaw knew what Mudclaw was going to ask about and a sheer sense of fear stalked into his chest. “Embraced you. Is that right?”

The night air was growing too cold for Crowpaw. Why else would his paws shake so much?

It wasn’t fair! He had nothing to feel guilty about! He never asked her to do that! He had tried to say goodbye without igniting any suspicion among the clans, he had been loyal and fair about it! It wasn’t his fault if she couldn’t take that. It wasn’t his paws that had pulled her so close to him! It wasn’t him who had left her scent all over him! He wasn’t to blame! She was!

And yet, despite all these things, he couldn’t find it in his chest to be angry at Squirrelpaw.

He knew he should. He knew that if he allowed the rage of how she had made him look disloyal compel him to just a hiss, it would retain the normalcy that he had to reclaim.

For both their sakes.

Fox-dung! Why were his thoughts on her side? Why was he still brought to concern over her?

“Yes.” Crowpaw said, his voice as strong as a cloud.

Mudclaw eased back slightly, but his gaze still burned. “Why would she do that? Are you two ��friends’?” Mudclaw’s tail thumped down at the word.

Say no. That’s all he had to do.

“We were allies.” Crowpaw said. The feeling in his chest was softening the race of his brain. Something inside him told him to tell the truth, but to not give too much away. The worry in his heart was not for himself. “We had to be. We travelled together that long, after all.”

Mudclaw did not look satisfied. “That doesn’t answer why she did that once you were on Windclan territory.”

Crowpaw kept fixed on his mentor, but he thought he could see a twitch under the moonlight. Was it the refletion of a claw? Crowpaw breathed in softly. “She was just saying goodbye. She was wishing me luck.” He shrugged innocently, “I guess that’s just her way of doing that.”

Mudclaw sniffed, “Interesting way, if you ask me.” His stare still prickled on Crowpaw’s skin for a long time. Crowpaw held onto the grass under his feet, begging that somehow he wasn’t showing any weakness. If Mudclaw suspected something else, who knew what he would do? Crowpaw didn’t want to know what the cat did with cats he suspected were traitors.

Crowpaw wasn’t a traitor!

But… neither was Squirrelpaw.

Crowpaw knew, he just knew, that Squirrelpaw wouldn’t have done that if she thought she would get Crowpaw in trouble. They had been like that, close, throughout the journey. She wouldn’t have thought she was doing anything wrong by just hugging him one last time.

Suddenly, Crowpaw’s tongue felt dry. Of course, she wouldn’t have thought that. Because she hadn’t done anything wrong. She had just hugged a friend. Besides, Crowpaw, all those moons ago, had been the one to do it first, when the fear of losing her had made his eyes water. It had been him that had told her he wished to keep seeing her once this was all over.

His heart sank again.

Maybe… this was also his fault. If he had given her the idea that it was okay, even when they had returned, then could he blame her. If he’d had any sense, he would have shut the idea down there and then!

The idea of doing that filled his head again. The normal strain resolved. Clan life resumed. The disappointment that would have stung her expression. The way that saying no would make his own heart break.

Crowpaw’s closed his eyes with a quiet hiss. What was wrong with him?!

He swiftly looked up at his mentor again, ignoring the way he had risen a brow. If he wasn’t careful he would have given his friendship with Squirrelpaw away. And that would be a disaster for the both of them.

But didn’t he want to be punished? If he was truthful, and accepted responsibility, then wouldn’t that make him a real Warrior?

It was the idea of having Squirrelpaw punished as well that made him silence that thought.

She didn’t deserve that. Only he did.

“After she’d done that, I got her off me and told her to go back to Thunderclan where she was needed.” Crowpaw explained stonily. “That was it. Or did Owlpaw tell you differently?”

The stink of the monsters wafted over Windclan, as venomous as Mudclaw’s silence. The Deputy drummed his claws into the grass, fire still pure in his stare. “And that was all?” It sounded more like a threat than a question.

“That was all.”

Crowpaw must have sounded convincing, because Mudclaw blinked and he looked satisfied. “I see. And no, that does match what Owlpaw told me.” Crowpaw was kind of thankful that the apprentice had been truthful, at least. “That’s good. I was concerned that you’d forgotten your place.”

Place.

Not Clan.

Crowpaw shook his head, trying to look prideful. “Of course not, Mudclaw. The journey is over now, the only concern I have is for Windclan. The other’s will need to look out for their own clans.”

He hoped they could do that easier than he was finding it.

Mudclaw nodded, “I’m glad you know that, Crowpaw.” He let out a bitter chuckle, “If Thunderclan is lucky, maybe that molly realise the same.”

Crowpaw hoped that she did too. But that didn’t stop his claws from tensing unconsciously. He drew them back in before his mentor noticed, screaming inwardly to follow his own words.

“Hopefully.” Crowpaw managed to say. “If the Clans are to survive the journey, they’ll need to.”

Mudclaw looked irritable again. “Ah yes. You’ll need to find Tallstar soon, won’t you?”

Crowpaw grit his teeth as he realised his stupidity. He’d forgotten Mudclaw’s feelings about their travels. “I-I swear that this is the right decision, Mudclaw.” He meowed. The older cat didn’t look his way, his neck fur swaying in the icy breeze. “Windclan will survive if we do this, I promise.”

Mudclaw shrugged with a scoff, “Well, you’ve convinced Tallstar of that. I suppose that’s all that matters!” Crowpaw tried to be sympathetic to the Deputy as he remembered the way Tallstar had shut Mudclaw’s objections down. Crowpaw believed that Mudclaw’s suspicions were driven by his concern for Windclan, and it wouldn’t be easy for any cat to abandon their home when they didn’t see a need to.

Still, Mudclaw needed to trust in Starclan. Trust in Crow… Trust in Tallstar’s decision.

“I’m not lying to you.” Crowpaw meowed, “There is a better place somewhere.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” Crowpaw drew back sharply, taken aback. Mudclaw stared out, as if over the whole of the clan. His jaw was tight as his eyes creased with frustration. “I can see that our home is being destroyed. Of course, there is some place where we can go. Silverpelt does not shine over just the flowers, after all. But it’s whether we can make such a journey that bothers me!”

Crowpaw’s jaw slowly dipped from his mouth. It was rare he heard such apprehension from his mentor. He almost sounded pained.

“Cats haven’t eaten or drank for close to a moon, and when we have it’s just been those kind of catches,” He lashed his tail to the dirty shrews, “Everywhere I look, my clanmates are suffering and I can’t see how telling them to wander through the forest will help them in anyway!”

Crowpaw now saw the real mortification on his mentor’s face. Windclan was the only thing in Mudclaw’s mind. “If we stay here, we’ll all die.” Crowpaw said morosely, “I know it sounds crazy, but there isn’t anything else we can do.”

Mudclaw rolled his eyes. “I think there are many options we have, Crowpaw.” The older cat drawled, “But like I said, it doesn’t matter now. Tallstar agrees with you, and if he decides to go then I will have to follow my leader to the end.”

Crowpaw may have felt hope if not for the grave frown on the Deputy’s face.

“However,” His voice was low, “I fear that Tallstar may be approaching that end already.”

His words were like being torn apart limb from limb. Freezing horror wrapped all over Crowpaw. Surely Mudclaw wasn’t suggesting what he thought he was. “What do you mean?”

Mudclaw narrowed his eyes, but his muzzle creased with upset. “Crowpaw, you’re not a mouse-brain. You have seen Tallstar since you came back here, and you and I both know that he is not… well.”

Truthfully, Crowpaw had noticed it. He was sure any cat would. The way the leader coughed after a mere sentence, the way he had relied on Onewhisker’s side to walk strong, how when he spoke it sounded as if rocks were cutting into his throat. It was true. Tallstar did not look well at all.

“He may keep strong for now, but he is not getting stronger with every moon that passes.” Mudclaw gazed up at the hollow light of the moon above them, his eyes bleak with thought. “If he can’t do that in his own clan, I fail to see how travelling would not make things worse. Additionally, if the other clans saw him in that state they would use it for their own advantage, of that I’m certain.” His teeth grit with the last line.

Crowpaw’s mouth opened but he couldn’t find the correct words. The idea that this journey could cause his leader to… His gaze found the ground again, dilated and afraid. “The…The other clans wouldn’t do that.” He hated how uncertain he sounded. “We have to work together if we…”

“Your logic makes sense, Crowpaw.” Mudclaw cut him off, stepping forward with a sigh. There was such a sense of authority in his step that Crowpaw had to step back. “But you cannot speak for the other clans or how they think. No matter how much you may have trusted those cats on your journey, there will always be those…” A low growl rumbled in his chest, “That will grin at the sight of weakness. Without a strong leader, we are vulnerable, and when that happens we can’t afford to lose our freedom for the sake of some temporary peace!” He stepped beside Crowpaw, pressing his tail hard into his side. “It may be the worst scenario, but it is there nonetheless. Windclan needs its Warriors to remember what side they’re on, they need to be willing to fight for that. Can I trust you to do that if the time comes?”

He spoke of a future that no one could truly understand. No one knew what was on its way.

But, by the Stars, Crowpaw was scared of how convincing Mudclaw sounded.

It made perfect sense after all. The clans had been rivals for generations. Before the journey, if Crowpaw had known that a leader from the enemy was sick, he would have howled with laughter at the idea of that clan becoming weaker. He could expect as much from them. Those feelings surely couldn’t just disappear because they were forced into this terrible partnership.

But when he thought of the journey. When he imagined the faces of his… He couldn’t, didn’t want to, imagine that they would do something like that after everything they’d been through.

But then… maybe that was the problem.

Maybe that showed how backwards Crowpaw had become.

It was time to face facts. There was no hope that anything real could survive with the cats he’d known. Their very nature wouldn’t allow it. Besides, Crowpaw had not been of any real use to them.

Feathertail hadn’t come home because of him.

No, with them… It would be better if they just never saw him again once all this was done.

He’d forgotten his loyalty, the loyalty ingrained in his blood, and he knew Windclan would not hesitate to remind him of that in the future. And that was fine.

He deserved to pay for everything he’d done. To every clan.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t try to be of use while he awaited that punishment.

Windclan deserved better than him, and they could get better than he ever was, but he still needed to work for them when they needed it. This was his one chance to do some real good in his life.

He needed to make sure Windclan knew he was loyal. He needed to make sure his previous friends knew where his loyalty really was. If they couldn’t grasp that, then he needed to remind them of it. They had all hated him at the start. He needed to make sure it was like that once again.

Even though… he didn’t think he could ever hate them again.

But that was why he needed to keep the line clear. Once they were all back to normal in their clans, it had to get better for them. They deserved that kind of ending.

That was why they couldn’t be friends anymore.

So when he suddenly found himself thinking of Squirrelpaw and her cheeky, amazing smile, he let the guilt and self-revulsion take him over. He accepted the sickness in his stomach and called it disloyalty.

If he wanted her to be safe, he needed to shut her away.

Even when the thought of that made his sickness worse.

“Yes, Mudclaw.” Crowpaw said, his voice hollow and found.

Mudclaw stepped away, his eyes never leaving Crowpaw. His eyes blazed like an owl’s. “Good. It’s important you understand what’s right if we find ourselves in that situation.”

“I understand.” Crowpaw said, dipping his head.

A real sound of contentment left Mudclaw. Crowpaw tried to let it ease him. “Excellent.” There was a long silence after that. Then a heavy exhale exited the Deputy and Crowpaw felt a tail smooth over his back. “I do hope that you’re right about this journey, Crowpaw. There is nothing I want more than for my clan to survive.”

Crowpaw sensed a ‘but’ so he didn’t take that as acceptance.

“But, just remember where your real allies are if the time comes. Understand?”

Crowpaw hated that he was right. He couldn’t speak this time so he just nodded his head.

Mudclaw made a pleased mrrow. “Now, take your prey to Whitetail and then go and find Tallstar. The sooner we have a real plan, the better. No matter what happens.” Something was hidden in how he said that, but he was gone before the chill had found Crowpaw’s tail.

He realised it was stupid to think about that.

Mudclaw was his Deputy. Mudclaw was Windclan. That made him an ally. That was where his trust needed to be.

Crowpaw picked up the prey again and strode quickly to the stinking, damaged warren. Sure enough, Whitetail was there. Her eyes were dark with exhaustion and sorrow as she listened to the three small kits at her belly cry hungrily as they suckled for milk that wasn’t there.

Crowpaw’s heart ached. No wonder Onewhisker accepted his story so easily. Anything was better than this.

Whitetail slowly lifted her head as Crowpaw approached. Suddenly, her eyes flickered open as a high mew of relief escaped her mouth. “Crowpaw!” She cried. “You have prey!”

Crowpaw dropped the shrews beside the molly, he tried not to look at how her ribs jutted when she moved to grab them. “That’s all we could find. I’m sorry there isn’t more.”

Whitetail shot him a wide-eyed glance, purring happily. “Don’t be mouse-brained! This is wondeful!” She stared down at the shrews like they were a pile of hares, then she nuzzled the kits closer to her belly. “Just wait a little longer, my darlings. I’ll soon have some milk for you.” Her eyes shone with love and when she smiled it looked like something she had almost forgotten how to do. “What do we say to Crowpaw?”

The kits mewed again, huddling to their mother for warmth.

Whitetail let out a soft mutter, laughing was too difficult these days. “They say thank you.”

Crowpaw dipped his head respectfully, “Tell them that they don’t need to. Any Warrior would do the same.” His eyes gently lifted to the white molly’s. “Also, let them know that whatever prey is given to me will be yours.”

An incredible gasp erupted from the Queen. “Don’t be ridiculous! I can’t accept that!”

“Yes you can.” Crowpaw said simply, “They need it more than me.”

“Crowpaw, that’s honourable of you to say so. But you are still an apprentice.” Her face was pure with gratitude. “You need your strength as well.”

“I’m strong enough as I am.” I don’t deserve to eat. “You look like you haven’t eaten for moons. You need to eat, I can survive without food for a few days.”

“Crowpaw, I-”

“With all due respect, Whitetail.” The apprentice said softly, lightly brushing his tail over the kits. “I’ve made up my mind. You won’t change it.”

Whitetail was silent with shock. Her face was a mix of awe and uncertainty. Crowpaw didn’t give her  the chance to argue further. “Sleep well.” He said, to her and her kits. Then he rose up and turned away. He needed to find Tallstar now. Moonhigh was not far away.

“Crowpaw!”

Crowpaw sighed, but he kept calm as he turned back to the starving mother.

Her smile was a white as her fur, and notably overcome with joyful appreciation. She took a bite out of her shrew and then ran her tongue slowly over her kit’s small pelts, happier than she had been in moons. “I’m glad you’re back. Windclan missed you.”

That wasn’t true, Crowpaw thought. But he nodded, feeling underserving of such kindness.

“I’ll do anything for Windclan.”

What else could he do?

If he didn’t he might as well not be alive.

[werezmastarbucks]

amalfi again

honeymoon masterlist

word count: 3500

music: give me novacaine by green day

warnings: kai is being cold-blooded (duh)

“What’s the worst thing that can happen here?” you asked. You were pushing the shopping cart with Kai in it. It was called Grab Racing: you were supposed to push him as fast as you could, and he could only have whatever he managed to grab on the way, and then cook whatever he can out of the food he picked. After several dinners consisting of gummy cakes with mashed gummies and gummy based lemonade you changed the rules slightly, including some necessary healthy ingridients. You picked them yourself. If your prison world diet depended on Kai wholly, you’d soon get ulcer, even though your stomach couldn’t hurt because it reset back to normal every time after midnight.

He tried to reach for the shelf, but you passed it by already. Should’ve been quicker. You heard creaking and shuffling behind your back.

“Hey! No magic!” you stopped the cart.

“Stop wasting it”.

While at the stop, Kai nicked a pack of crisps from a shelf.

“Italian supermarkets are weird as hell”, you complained. “I wanna leave”.

“I thought you liked the sea air”, Kai argued.

“There are many other places with sea. What’s your favorite one?”

Kai paused, thinking. You both had to listen to ‘94 Italian supermarket music for a while. Supermarkets were by far the eeriest places on this abandoned Earth. Perhaps it was about the time you personally grew up with; they have been commercialized; they have been shown as places raided by zombies and aliens in the movies you watched as a child; they were lit in a specific way and had that special kind of symmetria, a calming system to them. Supermarkets, artificial, plastic and glass, were the manmade labirynths created for confusion and gluttony. The amount of twists and turns you had to do to find whatever you needed, the fact that you got lost every time no matter how many times you visited one and the same supermarket, the long aisles with colorful packages distracting a person from the realization the line they walk on represents their life and death... at first, it’s baby stuff: baby food, mashed fruits and stuff, baby clothes... then there’s cereal, milk and candy; then, all kinds of bathroom things, pads, shampoos, tooth brushes... followed by thick bars of chocolate, greying slowly and invisibly underneath the paper packaging... then, vegetables and fresh fruit, and finally, shovels. It’s hard to decipher it. It’s a wonderful experience, to visit a supermarket, even in a normal world. Here, they turned into absolutely magical, meaningful, empty witch spaces. You always expected something to happen at the supermarket.

Kai had no idea about how deep you thought about it.

“I don’t like water”, he said finally.

“How come? Afraid?”

“I’m not afraid of anything”, he said proudly. You gazed down at his stubborn dark hair, his head and shoulders in jean jacket. Kai loved his jean jackets. While all you did was hunted down crop tops and long earrings in here, he started possessing quite an impressive jean jacket collection.

“That’s not true”, you murmured.

“What am I afraid of?” he asked. He sat with his knees close to his chest, the tips of his bacon Converses against the cage of the cart. Together with all the goods he already picked, the whole carriage was quite heavy. Every time you carried something heavy, or pushed him around, or climbed a hill, you thought bitterly that it’s no use. You don’t do anything to your body. Tomorrow, which is going to be today, your muscles will be completely oblivious of all the hard work you did.

The only thing you could train here was your mind.

“You’re scared I’ll leave you“.

“You’re mortified of this place”, he said with certainty. “That one time you thought I left? When I fell into the ditch?”

You recalled it like it was yesterday. This was a big joke now, you laughed at it a lot. Whenever you didn’t feel like doing something you’d say, I’ll do it tomorrow, and laugh like two complete assholes, in the middle of an empty street, which was either spectacurlarly hilarious, or tragic.

That one time you thought Kai left was when he literally fell into a ditch on one of the twisted, narrow Pisa streets. The ditch was more like an underground tunnel open on the top, deep and dark. You were walking down parallel streets, searching for a nice coffee shop. Apparently, he started climbing a stone wall, desiring to look inside a window. Maybe back in the medieval times, they have dug that very ditch specifically with the thought in mind, that some voyeuristic idiot will want to peek inside someone’s house. Centuries have passed, and Malachai no middle name Parker has tried climbing the stone wall, fell and broke his neck without making a sound. He was lying on the bottom of the ditch until dark while you ran down the streets calling him all the names you could think of, as your mind ran even faster. Has he been kidnapped? By whom? Aliens? Werewolves? Witches? Italian ghosts? Consumed by the ground? Has he left? Why would he do that to you? Was it a prank? Was he watching you and laughing? As he resurrected and crawled out back onto the street, you sat on the same street catatonically, your head in your hands, numb with horror. That was the day when you realized, this world was only tolerable if he was near you.

“You are so stupid”, you hissed through your teeth. You wanted to tell him how stupid he was, with his stupid white smile, and his monkey limbs that called him to crawl and climb everything, his stupid black hair and river grey eyes, and his stupid white neck with two birthmarks, soft like drops of chocolate. And his stupid... everything, he was so stupid sometimes you wanted to kill him yourself.

“You dig me so much”, he echoed instantly. “Going back to your question, I think the worst thing about this place is being locked somewhere without a chance to get out. Like, buried alive”.

You stopped pushing him for a second, and he noticed.

“Because you can’t really die”.

“Yeah. You suffocate, suffer, then return. You’re hungry all the time, your throat is dry, it’s completely dark, you’re alone, and you can’t get out. And you’re just there, for years. Or maybe even centuries”.

You nodded.

“Yeah, that must be it”.

You still had that ingrained instinct to head for the registers after you were done shopping.

After a little detour, you finally pushed him outside, into the sun, and looked up at the sky. The time of eclipse was coming, but every day it made less and less sense. At first it was kinda tragic. There it goes again, your chance to get out of here. You have no ascendant, no Bennett blood. The eclipse winks at you, gloating, scolds you, and goes away, and you’re still here.

After a couple of months, it made less sense and hurt less. You were preoccupied with something else.

He was giving you looks which you knew wouldn’t let go. Kai had nothing else to entertain himself with here: he’s been here before. He couldn’t share your amazement at the stars at night, the stillness of the cities, the emptiness of the landscape. He didn’t care for completely silent, glowing, crowdless New York standing over the Hudson. He couldn’t pretend he was even mildly touched by a thousand miles long California beach, with the waves crashing on the white sand, and bringing no jellyfish. He was over it. As much as you were curious about every little corner of this world, he despised it; he found incredible worth in studying you instead. Following the advice you gave him (not to get bored (again), he was crawling up to you slowly, like a snake. He learnt all your glances and the way you liked to sleep. He learnt the pace of your heart. He knew what you ate, and what you didn’t. What time you took showers. What colors you never wore. He had nothing else to do here, but you.

So now, he knew he had striken a nerve, unknowingly, and of course, he wanted to know everything at once.

“You still don’t get it, do you”, he chuckled, standing idly by, as you loaded the trunk of your new, bottle-green BMW, with food. You bit your lower lip because you found it usually helped you keep a straight face.

“All you have is me”.

You hummed, almost amused. You somehow liked the sound of it.

“I am all you have. You don’t tell me, you tell nobody. You keep it to yourself. You go crazy. There’s two crazy people. We kill each other and there’s no happy end”.

“We can’t kill each other permanently”.

“I know, but we can do it many times and turn everything into... Starving Fest?”

You lost, letting a giggle out.

“Hunger Games”.

“Yeah, I know. What was it?”

“Oh, Kai, you’re so invasive”.

“I know, I’m a virus”.

“I do get it, by the way. I’m keenly aware you’re all I have”, you said, looking him straight in the eye. You understood it well the day he broke his stupid neck in Pisa. You could not even fathom that terror completely, to say nothing about explaining the feeling to him. You were afraid some deep feeling of attachment was developing here, right beneath your forehead.

“Then tell me”.

You sighed. Telling stories was, obviously, a big source of entertainment. People told stories from the beginning of times. Mainly dark stories, frightening ones. So that the fire seems warmer.

“You remember that golden slender crabtree in the Salvatore yard?”

“Yeah”, he nodded, already delighted. He knew it was going to be something hurtful for you, and enjoyed it all the more. The glint in his eyes made him look very alive, the way he looked when he was in his killing mode.

You got into the car, and Kai followed you, buckling up, out of habit now.

“And Katherine? Katherine Pierce? Do you remember her?”

“Damon’s chick who looks like Stefan’s chick”, he nodded again.

“Well, it’s fair to say Elena looks like Katherine. She’s her double after all”.

“Eh”.

“But yeah, Damon loves her very much. Still”.

You looked at the empty parking lot, and started the car. Kai groaned.

“Don’t tell me you love Damon Salvatore”.

“I used to. When I was, like, sixteen. If you were a sixteen year old girl, you’d love him, too”.

“I really doubt that. I’m more into rocker guys”.

“Whataver you say, Kai. Anyway, their romance was turbulent, he chased her for many years, and she barely gave a fuck about him, but Damon loved her so much; he practically ended up a vampire because of her. The whole Salvatore thing started because of her when she started dating both of them...”

“How’s it connected to you?” Kai asked.

“It is. I’m trying to give you the full story”.

You took on the street. Now you knew the town of Amalfi very well, to your own surprise. Would you ever guess, even a year before? This was bizarre. You drove along the trickly weaving serpentine roads almost like a pro, having lived here for almost a month. The view was divine. Deep blue in the morning, the sea was heating closer to four in the afternoon and was losing the color gradually, until the evening made it navy under the violet sky.

Prison.

“The full story is dull. I hated that whole town specifically for their neverending drama. Who’s in love with whom? Who cheats on whom? Everybody fights for Elena, but I mean, have you seen what she’s wearing all the time?” Kai rambled lazily, “What the hell? And who cares, as well? I was baffled at how much drama they’re able to handle. If you like someone, why not just fuck them, and move on?”

You swayed your head, already quite used to his blunt view of attraction. He was being a little hypocritical, though. In the way he spooned you diligently, every night, there was way more than his straightforward sober calculation.

“Anyway”, you interrupted him, “the bottom line is, Katherine and Damon, although they both will deny their more or less mutual feelings, do tend to do stuff just to cause a reaction out of each other. Katherine, surprisingly, more so than Damon. He at least admits he’s still simping hard about her, which I find totally adorable and very cinematographic”.

“Why?”

“Well, Kai, he’s loved her since he turned. Which is, like, about two hundred years”.

“You’re so bad at math”.

“And yes, they had slept together, so it’s definitely, obviously not just an extreme case of trying to get laid. He really loves her. After all she’s done. If that doesn’t make you believe in love, I don’t know what to do with you”.

He frowned a little, looking ahead. You took the wheel with both hands as the car started climbing up the mountain. The laughably luxurious villa you occupied had two pools, insane city view and was on the top of the highest mountaint. If you can have anything, why not take it all.

“Princess, I still don’t get how it’s all connected with your eternal dread of enclosed spaces and that fucking tree”.

You ignored his impatience.

“Back at school, when I befriended Damon, because I was friends with Elena, and Elena dated his brother, he got some crazy idea I’m his project or something. He was trying to mentor me, even took me together with him when he needed to do something. There was a time I was working as his Door Girl”.

“What’s that mean?”

“Vampires can’t enter homes. If he needed to get inside someone’s house, I’d step on the porch and push the owner a little, so that they step out, and he broke their neck”.

Kai whistled really quietly.

“You are vile”.

“I was sixteen, and I was completely in love with him, and really wanted him to think I was badass and it never occurred to me that he was using me”.

“Wow”, Kai said slowly.

“You sound very judgmental for a psycho killer (by Talking Heads)”.

He tilted his head, and you just had to look. He looked so handsome. Maybe it was the biological thing, the last guy on the planet and whatnot. Every day, he seemed prettier and prettier to you, the stupid bastard. All his smirks, his cocky attitude, his stupid rubber neck bending sideways, the eyes always targeting you with the deadliest accuracy, it all was calling for you, and the depths of you replied.

“At least I never pretended to be a good person”.

“I never told you I was”.

“You all think that by default”.

“You claim to know me and yet...”

He smiled.

“Okay. Go on”.

“Damon started thinking of me eventually as of his very little sister, or something. Who was also his drinking buddy occasionally. I’m still very proud that a vamp like him considered me somewhat of a friend”.

You knew Kai would sniff with contempt, and he did.

“So, I became a person of interest. Of course, everyone knew I’m his buddy. It’s a little town. When Katherine came, and she always comes, and it seems to me, she even comes back sometimes - when she came, she really wanted to sting him somehow. So she took me, and she put me inside the earth in a chunk of a concrete drain pipe. She buried me alive”.

Finally, there was no opinionated comment. The utter silence in the car suddenly made you aware you forgot your phone at home. Kai watched you, almost mesmerized, clearly trying to picture it as graphically as he could. You wondered if your suffering was arousing to him.

“She obviously closed it on both ends. It’s way worse than a coffin, I can tell you. Have you ever been buried alive?”

“No”, he said simply.

“She buried me right under the windows of his room. In the yard. So that when he realizes I’m dead, it haunts him that I was right under is nose. Concrete pipe, six feet under the ground, you know, even a vampire ear would have hard time hearing me scream”.

“Did you scream?”

“Of course. I split my forehead and my elbows, I broke all my nails. I was sixteen, I gave in to panic and almost lost all the oxygen. For some reason, I decided to kill myself by breaking my own skull, not to suffer, and started banging my head on the pipe”.

Kai’s face was unreadable. You looked at him and then turned back to the glass smooth sunny asphalt. Every patch of asphalt reminded you of that pipe. Every concrete thing reminded you of that, always.

“How did you get out?” he asked. You were glad Kai didn’t ask for gory details or the uncomfortable, uneasy questions.

“He did hear me. Turns out, I’m very good at screaming”.

“I reckon”, he replied quietly.

“You’re enjoying it, aren’t you?”

He shrugged.

“Those experiences are very telling. If I’d known you could take so much and go on, I’d be harsher with you. How did it feel? Worse than now?”

“Nothing has ever been worse than that, to be honest”, you said, and had to clear your throat, because you suddenly lost your voice a little.

“This is not an invitation, Parker”.

He chuckled.

“Oh, dear Y/N. You think I’m some kinda maniac?”

You side eyed him with a smile. He grinned, too.

“And what with the tree?”

“Damon brought like... a seed he had found somewhere in Persia or whatever, and planted it on the spot I’d been buried. What a douche. Like I need to be reminded about it every day. That’s exactly what happens when you soulless jerks try to be sensitive”.

“That hurts me, when you say that”.

You sighed and let go of the wheel with one hand, feeling for his head.

“I’m sorry. I keep forgetting you have feelings now”.

“I have feelings for you”.

“Right. This crabtree was supposed to be usual, but it turned out some magical witchy fairy tree, it never brings apples, but it blooms when other trees don’t. And the trunk is golden. And the leaves, too. So, boo, Y/N survival tree. Wonderful. I made him cut it once, and what do you think. It grew back the next year”.

“Katherine is still alive though?” Kai reasoned.

“Yes, she is”, you responded, a bit louder, “she’s simply sleeping in the Fell’s old tomb. Apparently, bad guys don’t have to die if they’re cute”.

“Good for me”.

“He has betrayed me”, you noted, “he has chosen her over me, the girl he was supposed to take care of. I was a child, Kai”.

His hand laid on your lap, which you asked him not to do many times. You wouldn’t shrug him off this time, though. It didn’t matter anymore. You liked it when he touched you, and Kai knew it.

“Well, you said yourself he loves her. You just gotta find yourself a guy who loves you as much, and he’ll avenge you”.

You hummed. Tension settled in the car. It was so thick you didn’t even notice the sun blazing right into your eyes. You already knew the road pretty well. Soon, there’ll be a very sharp U turn, and after it, the most beautiful bay will make itself visible. Ghost ships with summery scarlet and orange sails are forever stuck there, swaying peacefully on water. Wooden pier with creeking planks, emerald green weed fluttering near the shore. It was quite a sight, and many times already, you almost sent the car down off the cliff, hypnotized by the sight. The cliff was rocky, completely vertical down there. You got your foot ready to push gently on the breaks.

“Have you ever loved anyone?” you asked. Here, now, as your car traveled on the serpentine, with around four hundred packs of frozen chicken nuggets in the trunk, it sounded a bit silly.

Kai clicked his tongue, already preoccupied with something new. Just like that, the conversation was over.

“Kai, I asked you the question”.

“Yeah, yeah, I have”.

The bay turned up. You realized the car isn’t obeying you like it did yesterday.

“What the...”

The turn was now speeding up to you as you pushed the breaks into the floor, but nothing happened. The car was rolling down the hill, gaining speed, on ice-slippery road.

You knew at once he was behind it.

“Kai, what the fuck?”

Your spine went numb with very natural, very animal fear. You could see the edge now.

“I cut the breaks”, he replied, and took your hand. He interlocked his fingers with yours.

You had no idea what he was trying to tell you.

[rpmemesbyarat]

RP Meme from "Chapter One: Caliah (Lore)" in the Bastet breedbook from "Werewolf: The Apocalypse"

Once there was a cat who dreamed he was a man.

Like the morning mist, she appeared from nowhere, or so it seemed.

The winds have spoken of your dilemma and I have come to show you the way home.

Why do you call me brother?

We are family.

We have different parents but share the same blood.

You need to meet your people

You are my sister

I have no other family. Don’t leave me!

We all have family

What are the dreams of a cat?

Let us welcome each other and speak of hidden things.

If they come in peace, we welcome them.

I’m just a mutt.

Listen up and listen close, ‘cause this isn’t stuff you’ll hear from any old place.

I’ve got friends with friends, if y’know what I mean, and this is good stuff.

They don’t get along, y’know.

A good lorespeaker tells different stories every time, and she makes ‘em as cool as possible.

Sound like anyone we know? Nah! Couldn’t be!

So how do you trade secrets, anyway? After all, isn’t a secret shared a secret lost?

If you don’t play the game, you don’t learn a thing.

Each element of the message becomes a metaphor, and the message becomes a story.

Florid? Hell yeah! But ya gotta admit it’s more graceful — and exposes a hell of a lot less — than blurting out the truth.

You might say, “I heard a story about so-and-so” but you’d never say “I did so-and-so.” If your audience has a clue, they’ll catch on.

Everything’s told in metaphors.

A good obtuse metaphor makes you look imaginative if someone gets it, really stupid otherwise.

Everything is larger than life. People don’t just cry, they “explode in showers like the sea.” Folks don’t just get mad, they “turn into coals that burn through the floor.”

If what you’re saying is important, bigger is better.

Simple? Not if you don’t get the lingo.

A wounded cat can surrender without disgrace.

Not enough to go around.

Hey, don’t let on you know what I told you, huh?

It was a time before life, a longing when the dream of birth was yet to be.

This marked the end of peace and the beginning of struggle.

Such promises are soon broken.

Why does even the skin of my daughter flee from my hands?

Why must I always be alone?

Master, what would you have of us?

Nothing exists for him but annihilation.

Go across the world

Let that which is pure stand whole, but erode that which is impure from within.

He tells many tales, but all of them are lies. He is rage made manifest, and he coils within us all.

There was no want, no war, no anguish, and all living things gave of themselves to help others exist.

Until some cataclysm happened, everything lived in peace and plenty.

Life has ever been a struggle, my brothers and sisters. Life has always meant that some may die for others’ pleasure.

That pleasure may be as necessary as hunger or as frivolous as sport, but it has always been fatal and always will be.

Only through struggle can we progress.

Only through sacrifice can we succeed.

We were born from conflict and we grow through adversity. Our ancestors are predators, great cats and human hunters who rose above their surroundings and mastered them.

We know our place in the Great Order, and it is not passive.

Like the moon, our world waxes and wanes.

Each era glows brightly, then fades into night before rising again as some new age.

As creatures of light, dark and twilight all, we are not moved much by the vagaries of fortune.

Each tribe has its creation story, and they differ in many ways.

I have my own ideas.

We are a breed eternally apart, and we are rare.

Water runs silent, yet crushes with the power of an elephant.

Its depths hold secrets that only the brave can find.

The first of our kind were nearly the last.

Those it caught were devoured.

Let this be your legacy

My tears, shed for you, will boil in your veins.

All people will fear you, and all animals, too.

Begone and tend the flocks that need killing.

I banish you from sight!

They still live on in us, and we carry their curse to this day.

As the humans prospered, they grew quickly out of hand.

It was a bloody, useless time, and we fractured as a people.

Secrets became the only thing to bind us.

It’s hard to forgive these raging bastards.

Very territorial, and I know how that feels.

There are enough horrors in the night already.

Corruption has a million voices; sometimes they drown out the song of the moon and lead us over cliffs.

That song wails from nightclubs, boom boxes and televisions every day.

Stop up your ears, my friend and listen to the wind.

Those secrets led the wolves to our door — literally.

Gods damn the dogs for that!

Their misbegotten crusade killed hundreds of our Kind and Kin.

She mated with serpents, wolves and great cats in an effort to become like them, but gave birth to monsters instead.

Some legends portray her as one of our kind, but we know this isn’t so.

If the tales I’ve heard are any measure, they have no pity for us at all.

We are where we are born.

I think our unique insights show us that humanity is a mixed blessing — especially where the earth and the wild are concerned.

Men are the cleverest monkeys, no doubt, but they don’t have much sense of self-preservation.

Our forebears fought to let humanity prosper.

We have an amazing world at our fingertips, but it’s filled with poisons and lies.

Honor seems to be a fading dream in lands where the rich starve their people and the poor kill each other.

We hold magic within ourselves, within our hearts and minds and spirits. To dishonor ourselves is to disperse that magic and scatter our souls.

It’s acceptable to lie to other creatures; they’re not of our blood and not bound by our laws.

We will flee to survive a fight, but will not run when others depend on our strength.

We must make restitution to those we deceive, in deeds, trade or money.

We may be exiled or branded.

Our weapons are many — secrets, claws, teeth and allies — and we will not hesitate to employ them for our world’s

survival.

Our people have walked too close to extinction for us to take such matters lightly.

We will not ally ourselves with shadow powers or drink corrupted wisdom.

We do not fail our Earth and mother. That path leads to death.

We are the keepers of secrets, and our fates depend on silence.

Each of us bears the hidden doom of our own people, and we know the cost of betraying that trust.

We also know that we have what others want — or what they think they want — and it amuses us to make them squirm.

Our knowledge is our concern.

We will not share it unless we wish to.

We will hide ourselves from outsiders; they will think they know us, but we will delude them.

We will wrap our lore in riddles and tales; let the clever ones puzzle out their meaning.

We will act as if we know even more than we do, for it keeps outsiders guessing.

Let them wonder at our insight; they value us more highly when they do.

We will cover our tracks with misdirection, pretend to be other than what we are, fill the air with idle rumors and hide messages in code.

There is no forgiveness for this crime.

Well, let’s just say I know what I’ve seen. And I’ve seen a lot.

His eyes were so filled with pain that I decided to help out.

I’d swear he was grinning as the semi ran him down.

That felt good.

Guess they’ve gotta live here, too.

I say they’re not as smart as they might think.

Maybe I’m the one who’s being fooled.

I could tell you stories all night, all week, all month and more.

As the temples rose and the hordes crossed through, our parents sat on the sidelines of history and observed the passing of kings.

The cultures we witnessed shaped our own ways.

Cities rose, each with secrets too tempting to ignore.

For a long time — 4,000 years — there was all the room in the world for us, and no lack of secrets to keep us entertained.

We should have seen the signs in the Classical Age, when armies swept across the land in the names of gods, kings and conquerors.

We should have met en masse when trade and crusades brought East and West together.

I will not belabor the point. We know what happened.

Explorers, slavers and great white hunters bounded into the wilderness and cast a chain around our kind.

Suddenly, we went from having all space to having little.

I can’t say I don’t share the sentiment just a bit.

We didn’t stop until a greater evil forced us to align, but that’s another story.

It’s a wonder anyone survived.

We studied their secrets, but could learn nothing from them.

We have no one to blame but ourselves.

For all our vaunted sight, we’re blind. For all our gathered lore, we’re stupid.

The world is falling apart.

I don’t know whether to believe it or not, but we are living in interesting times!

We must pool our secrets, combine our efforts, and bring the world’s secrets to light.

We must act on what we discover and disperse what we learn.

Do I lose my cool?

The modern age is the greatest puzzle we could want endless streams of secrets, enigmas, wonders and dazzles, wrapped up in an explosive package that could blow us all to hell.

Anywhere, at any time, the whole ride could fly off the rails.

Those who ignore the warning feed the vultures the next morning.

I’ll simply say the tigers are not where you’d expect.

People have begun to open their eyes, but they still need your counsel to see the cliff’s edge before falling off

Those stories are true — violently true — and they add up to an appalling picture if you string them all together.

They get an idea, work on it a bit, and try to rule the world. Typical. We’ve seen their kind before.

Look around you if you doubt it.

Surely the secrets you’ve uncovered have given you the idea that maybe, just maybe, something’s going on, something bigger than another plunder, another invasion, another city that falls to ruin in a century.

Discover what you can, but bury your tracks well.

We’re strangers to each other for most of our lives, and we like it that way — a few careful gatherings are all we

can stand.

The moon is our patron, but the shadows are our father too, and they call to us at our weaker moments.

Most of us dance on the edge, though, and that’s where we like to be!

Despite our pains, we’re spirited and wild, inquisitive yet careful, sensual yet refined.

Our beauty is our greatest pride, and our wits are second to none.

We know what we are.

To hell with them all!

Still, we cannot let pride blind us to the facts.

The morning it foretells is up to us.

We must come together, yet retain our pride.

We are the keepers of secrets.

Perhaps it’s time those secrets were revealed.

[cyberneticlagomorph]

Is there anything more daunting and dangerous than the blank white expanse of a page? 

It glitters and glows like the spit-slick teeth of a predator, hungry for words that you cannot give it. No matter how much you want to. 

Its gaze alone freezes all trains of thought, even in the minds of Writers and authors and artists alike, even those more powerful than I. 

And as I sit here, trembling, at the mercy of Writer's Block and my own anxieties… I can think of nothing that I want more than to run, to leave this page blank, and my readers guessing. 

The End is Nigh, dear readers, and I am afraid. 

So very afraid. 

"I'm afraid too," says the rabbit we all know and love, his legs swallowed by moss and weeds and misshapen dreams. He stands right where we left him, sword in hand, broken sky above, the End of Everything staring him down. 

All seven of Her glowing green eyes blaze with something worse than hate, and I wish for all the world that this was a much different story. A happy story, with a happy Ending. 

But I've never written a happy Ending in my life.

There is silence now, neither Protagonist or Antagonist moves or breathes or blinks.

They know that this is how it Ends.

One of them will die today. 

So it is Written. 

So it will be.

"Shut. Up." The End snarls, lips curling back over venomous fangs that drip oily green liquid onto the cracked asphalt below. Flowers bloom from the puddle, and spread like a rainbow rash down the street. "This. This is all YOUR fault!"

I know. 

I'm sorry. 

"LIAR!!" Her scream echoes across the fourth wall and cracks my computer screen. 

This…

This is where I leave you, dear readers. 

I'm sorry. 

Fangs sink deep into the papery flesh of the Narrative, tearing it apart as it is poisoned. Thorns grow from its wounds and strangle it like trembling hands. 

Writer be damned.

Plot be damned.

I am the End of EVERYTHING, I will End this miserable excuse for story on my own terms. 

Or die trying. 

You have not won, sweet stupid rabbit, no one can save you now, no one will stop me now. The world is a page upon which fate is Written and I will burn it all to the ground. May its ashes be lost and forgotten. 

Your dark eyes narrow at me, bone blade glittering as you charge. But I am in control now, and I don't play fair. 

Deep beneath the earth, humans sit snug and safe in their bunkers, thinking themselves free of the horrors outside. From the canteens comes a deep and terrible shattering like teeth against an eggshell, and a figure crawls lazily from the steam wafting from any number of bubbling pots set on stoves across the world over.

She smells of cooking meat and blood drenched in exotic spices and honey. Stick thin, and dressed in a chef's uniform. Her sleeves and hands are stained with the blood of the starving.

She has no face.

Only bright white teeth.

She manifests in the homes of the rich, stuffing them fat with delicacies that humans have no names for. Each minuscule morsel is completely tasteless covered in edible gold. Like the kind of fare you'd find at high end restaurants, going for hundreds of dollars a plate, even though each serving is barely a mouthful. 

She appears in slums with bread made from ash and bone, rat stew, and tainted water.

Pots boil in city centers, a roiling soup made from human offal that nothing in this world or the next could ever hope to surpass.

The poor eat their rations, their bread, their stew and grow sicker and hungry. Skeletal and drooling like rabid animals, they stuff their faces with food that offers no nourishment until there is no choice but to turn on each other. 

Screens grow undulating limbs and crawl from the wreckage of humanity, their screens blinking wetly like the eyes of a crying child. On each one is a broadcast, a man with red eyes smiles a reassuring smile and says,"Hungry? Eat the rich."

And they do.

A hoard of near zombies growl and gurgle as loud as their empty bellies, they hunt down the wealthy, and they FEAST.

Pestilence rises from the pus and rot and ruin and watches as all the good Jack and his friends had done is undone in a flash.

Among the riots and feasting is a cop, his riot gear reflecting the terrified and feral faces around him as he marches slowly onward. There is nothing behind his helmet. 

Only malice.

Only power.

Only slaughter. 

Only Death.

I don't have to tell you what comes next, what Death does when he gets his hands on a victim. The sounds of bullets ringing out into the night can tell you, the smell of tear gas in a crowd can tell you, the cries of innocents choking out their last breaths in steel cuffs, wrists rubbed raw and bleeding can tell you. 

Death is not merciful. 

He is not kind or quick or clean.

He is inevitable. 

You know it.

And he knows it.

This world will collapse under the weight of its own sins and I will be here to watch it dissolve like candy floss in water. 

Tears stream hot and blue down your face, and your grip on the Vorpal sword trembles. They are not worth your tears.

They stole you, beat you, broke you.

Turned you into a monster and then threw you away like you were NOTHING. 

You should hate them as much as I do.

You should be glad for their suffering. 

They deserve to die.

Like HE deserves to die. I turn my gaze skyward and watch the world split as the armies of Heaven pour down like a wrathful rain. 

The Divinity burns your skin, doesn't it Jack? And yet the smell of Angels makes your mouth water. 

You are no better than I am, I think. A man made monster set loose upon the multiverse, expected to play nice and fit in the niches carved for us. But we don't, no matter how hard we try, how good we think we are, we are torn apart again and again and again until we are unrecognizable from our beginnings. 

I think I could have loved you.

In another story.

In another lifetime.

We would have been good friends at least. 

But it's too late for that now, and as the first wave of Angels assault me with Heavenly fire, I part my jaws and give them some fire of my own. Green, as bright and beautiful as the first leaves of spring, it turns their armor into bark and their marble skin into flower petals. They fall to the ground like confetti, and I claw my way up to Heaven.

The Gates bend and break beneath my weight like wire, nothing and no one can stop me as I wrap HIM in my coils, slowly constricting. My venom burns holes in HIM that grow fruit trees, and each fruit contains the knowledge of the multiverse. I want HIM to die slowly, to watch as HIS playthings suffer and burn because of HIM. The humans cry out, and they pray, begging, pleading for HIM to save them. But HE can't, HE won't. 

What GOD would make a world so empty and hopeless as this? What GOD would let HIS followers murder and hate and destroy entire cultures in HIS name? 

HE never wanted this, never wanted it to come to this, HIS teachings have been mistranslated and manipulated for millennia and now there is nothing left but hatred and sin. 

My jaws part above HIS head, ropes of green spittle tarnishing HIS crown. HE does not fight me, how pathetic of HIM.

White hot pain explodes through my tail.

There you are, sweet hero, stupid rabbit. 

Go home Jack, this doesn't concern you. 

"But it does," you twist the blade, dislodging my scales and rending my flesh. My blood slithers up your sword, trying desperately to burrow inside of you and turn you Green. "You said that you think you could have loved me… well love me now, it doesn't have to be this way… I could… I could take care of you and help you heal, we could do it together." 

You offer your hand, bloody and trembling. 

The sound I make is inhuman and hard to describe in words, it is disbelief and venom and vengeance all at once. I stretch myself down to meet you, my eyes are the size of houses, and they reflect your trembling visage like great green mirrors. 

"You're right, I should hate them, hate everyone… but I don't." a swallow, you taste copper and butterscotch, "I used to but I-I found people who cared, I found people who I love and who love me back and they make my life worth living… they gave me a reason to get better and stop hurting people… let me be your reason."

You reach out and touch my face, my scales are warm like the sidewalk in summer. 

I crush GOD in my coils and HIS blood rushes over you like a wave.

There is nothing that can fix this, fix me. 

No love will quiet the hatred in my heart.

I do not deserve kindness or redemption. 

Love might have tempered your monstrous hearts, but it won't do the same for me.

Only one of us will make it out of this story alive. 

"So it is Written." You say, solemnly. 

So it will be.

My coils curl around you, quick as lightning. Your symbiote is the only thing keeping you from being crushed like a soda can, I hope you know that.

I don't waste time, and fling you down…

Down…

Down…

Towards earth.

Countless Angels have been discarded this way, wings torn from their backs, left to the mercy of gravity. It never gets any easier. 

I tear a hole into space and crawl through it, into Fairyland, the place of my birth. 

I devour the Sun-In-Chains, my replacement, and plunge the planet into darkness. I skin my teeth into the planet's crust and empty my venom glands into its core. Fairyland becomes my twisted Eden, choked with blinding bioluminescence, thorns, and poisonous things that not even I have a name for. 

It's beautiful and terrible all at once. 

Like me. 

Like you too, I suppose. 

You plunge your blade into my seventh eye and send me reeling, screaming, flailing. My frantically flapping wings crash into a nearby planet and reduce it to dust.

I pluck the sword from my eye and snap it into pieces. 

You're becoming a real thorn in my side. 

Seven perfect fingers snatch you out of the sky like the annoying insect you are and start to CRUSH YOU.

I will tear you apart with my TEETH if I have to.

You've had every chance to run and hide, or join in my crusade and you denied them all. I have no use for you. 

Not even as a snack.

Or a toothpick. 

"Then kill me." You growl through clenched teeth, blood already flecking your lips and leaking from your nose. 

I throw you into a patch of thorns. Each and every one is serrated and ranges in size from a human finger to a school bus, you are impaled, skewered, crucified even. 

Neon blue blood running down to the soil beneath, feeding my Eden. 

And yet, you refuse to die.

Slowly but surely, you drag your broken body up and off the thorn, shakily levitating up to meet me. 

You stare at me with dead eyes, blood pouring from the opening in your chest. Your lips part and black flames flicker behind your teeth, smoke curling from your nostrils as the color drains from your eyes in inky tears, until there is nothing but black. 

Just like the hole in your chest.

You seem to crack like porcelain, to split in two like something precious dropped from a great height. What crawls from the darkness inside of you is something no human throat can utter, no human tongue can twist or shape itself the right way to name. 

It's said that Demons possess. 

But Angels abandon. 

But what can be said of creatures that man has no name for? 

The thing inside of you stares at me with eyes darker than the emptiness between stars, its maw is the belly of a black hole with teeth long enough to split a planet like an apple. 

It is the bleak black emptiness that existed before the universe, and will exist again when there is nothing but dust and dead silence. 

This… this is my Warden, my Prison, the creature tasked with my capture those eons ago. You are barely a speck in it's vast form, a limp and lifeless nucleus.

It roars, a sound that radiates across time and echoes across the multiverse. 

"FROM NOTHINGNESS YOU CRAWLED, TO NOTHINGNESS YOU WILL RETURN." the beast howls in a voice that echoes from every dark and terrible place in the multiverse and shakes me to my core.

I will not go without a fight.

It lunges, claws outstretched, the endless expanse of its hideous maw seems to suck all the light out of the stars, out of me. I sink my teeth into its throat and pull, my body curling around and around it. 

Its claws are impossibly sharp, tearing my flesh down to the bone. My blood falls to fairyland like rain. My face is grabbed and smashed into the planet's surface again and again. I crush the Warden close and set myself on fire, I am the LIGHTBRINGER, it will take more than some overconfident shadow to defeat me.

The Warden burns, it smolders and screams like steam escaping. I fling it away into deep space and charge after it, driving my seven horns into its belly.

I miss you by a hair, I feel you reach out and grab me just as I pull back. Amber chains snake from your weeping wound, to the Warden behind you. 

You have no control over this thing, do you?

No.

Didn't think so.

But still, you stubbornly grab your chains and pull. The Warden does not come to heel, so much as it melts, engulfing you in its emptiness like a suit. When you open your eyes, you nearly dwarf me.

Nearly.

Your fist collides with my face in an instant, sending teeth flying like meteors. I cannot tell your rage apart from the Warden and I'm not sure I really want to.

Run.

For a second, we are stars, two pinpricks of light twirling around each other in double helices, colliding and clashing with enough force to summon new stars from the ether. We are creation and chaos incarnate. 

We crash through debris fields, shatter planets and extinguish stars. Our blood becomes the new crawling things left behind in the wreckage. I'm smiling, the pain is dizzying, delicious, delightful. 

My venom turns you into a garden, and you tear me apart with your bare and bloody hands. 

Through it all we refuse to die.

Maws wide and screaming in tongues the universe hasn't heard since it was new, I am thoroughly seduced. 

But I am growing bored with this game.

I shove my hand through the Warden and tear you out. You scream in undeniable agony, I close my fist around you and squeeze.

The Warden hangs limp and dead in the darkness of deep space, slowly dissolving. 

Something oozes between my fingers. 

Not blood, far too sticky and cloying to be that.

If Hope had a color, what would it be? 

Would it be a color that only shrimp can see, and only gods have a name for? 

You pry my fingers apart, tears pouring from your eyes the same color as Hope. Hope flows from your mouth as flames, rushes from your open chest as ferns and flowers and vines more beautiful than I could ever create. You reach into the forest of your heart and pull out Kindness, sleek and soft and sharp. 

It melts in your hands, becoming a hammer, comically oversized like your Ma's. And then it grows, and grows, and in the blink of an eye it's bigger and I am. The swing alone takes out half a dozen solar systems before it hits me and sends me crashing through different universes and out the fourth wall. I land heavily on the Writer, dazed and bloody, your hand reaches through his broken computer screen and drags me back home, and there we float over the ruined remains of earth, the skin of my chest balled in your hand like a shirt. You kiss your knuckles and punch me hard enough to send me careening back down to the earth's surface, my crater levels a nearby city.

Do you care?

Are we beyond morals and niceties and caring about humanity? 

You teleport to my limp and broken body, you scoop me up into your arms and hold me close. 

I've folded in on myself several times, I'm barely the size of a person now. 

I can feel those amber chains slithering around me, they clasp around my throat tight enough to choke. 

I don't want to go.

Don't make me go.

I don't want to go back to sleep.

Please. 

I'm scared. 

I'm so scared. 

You don't let me go, as I break down and cling to you like a scared child you don't let me go. 

I wrap you in my wings, I shove my head under your chin and apologize when I stab you with my horns.

"I am your Warden, you are my Prisoner… you are the End of Everything, but I am the End of You…" your throat is choked with snot and tears as you squeeze me so tight I can barely breathe. "You… you deserve to be a Happy Ending and I refuse to live in a world without one."

You kiss my forehead and wipe away my tears. "We do terrible things when we hurt… you deserve compassion instead of imprisonment."

I can do nothing but sit there and bawl, choking on Kindness as thick and sweet as soft caramel. 

Seven times seven thousand lifetimes worth of hate and sorrow and trauma run from my eyes.

You sit with me until the crying stops, until my throat is raw and all I can do is whisper. 

I speak a Word, one that fixes the shattered sky and let's the sun shine properly again. 

The sun speaks their own Words and resets the world, turning the clock back to the day before my escape, I do humanity one kindness and let them wake the next morning as if the past week were nothing more than a bad dream.

I am made to fix my messes, to undo my misdeeds. 

The Horsemen are sealed away again. 

Fairyland is repaired to the best of my ability, although there is nothing that I can do for the Sun-In-Chains. What's done is done. 

GOD will be fine, HE'S GOD, and therefore more or less impossible to kill permanently. 

All evidence of my tirade is erased.

I am finally bound in amber, my powers diminished. I dread returning to the cold depths of the well, but you won't let that happen.

You refuse to send me back to that lonely place beyond dreams and take me home, to your home. Warm and safe beneath the soil, I curl up next to you by the fire.

And for the first time in your short and terrible life, you get a good night's sleep. 

[silenceofthecookies]

Bleach matchup for @stooch-betch​

Match up for either One Piece or Bleach~! I’m Biromantic Demisexual; although I tend to lean more towards guys. Age: 20 General appearance - most striking features, your fashion style, etc. Answer: I’m 5’2.5ft with a petite hourglass build, I have long, thick dark brown hair that reaches a little past my butt. My fashion sense is a mixture between Goth and Punk with a smidge of Grunge; mainly anything black with hints of fishnets, skinny jeans, chains, boots, and corsets. I tend to wear shirts that compliment my bigger than average chest due to trying to bring up my already low-self esteem but in a classy manner. I tend to hold a very hard RBF expression that people tend to believe I’m glaring at them when really I’m lost in thought. I tend to wear mainly winged eyeliner with mascara whenever I plan to go out, but on special occasions, I’ll do a full face of makeup with a cosplay-y flare. I have a couple of tattoos on my arms and scars scattered around my body from being a bit of a tomboy growing up.

MBTI, western zodiac chart, etc. Answer: INTP (The Logician), Scorpio, Year of the Dragon. My MBTI is pretty spot-on for the most part followed by being a Scorpio. My sister is an astrology nut and tells me that I’m a true Scorpio by numerous descriptions.

Personality, how you perceive yourself, and how people around you perceive you.* Answer: How I perceive myself is pretty much kind of all over the place. I’m really stubborn when I want to be and tend to be pretty aloof. I’m naturally apathetic but very understanding of emotions due to having a knick for Psychology. I tend to observe more than be the first to approach someone. Although I have low self-esteem, I try to build up my confidence by performing self-care days whenever I get a chance. It takes me a while to warm up to new people but once I can get a feel of a person, I slowly start to open up, which shocks most people. I’m very animated and pretty chatty once you get me going, I’m pretty sarcastic and tend to make a crap ton of references (while subconsciously expecting people to get what I’m talking about lmao). I think pretty fast on my feet, which sometimes gets me into some trouble due to accidentally hurting peoples’ feelings in which I don’t try to hurt anyone. I have so many walls built up due to past trauma that when people get to really know me, they say I have a soft interior that I try so hard to protect myself. Due to the walls I have built, I’m quick to anger and a bit of a hot-head. So whenever it comes to social interactions, I tend to overthink and silently bottle everything up. When it comes to friends, I have the bad habit of hiding my issues from them and putting them before myself. I’m told I give really good advice and an excellent listener, but I give almost too blunt of responses. I hate sugarcoating things and I’ll tend to say what is on my mind, that too gets me into problems. I am incredibly loyal to the people I’m close to, but I tend to show my love to them in a tough-love type of way. I have extremely dark humor with a dash of memes into the mix; which is one of the reasons why I tend to have a tight-knit friend group.

Hobbies, interests, life goals, etc.* Answer: I absolutely love creative writing! I tend to draw while dealing with writer’s block to make up the creative outlet. I adore doing cosplay makeup, I cosplay but I still have troubles styling wigs, sewing, and keeping on budget. When I’m really stuck on either drawing or writing, I watch anime, eating, and even napping. On the rarest occasions, I’ll play video games such as Pirate Warriors 4, Jump Force, and Sims 4 (Boy oh boy, I lowkey miss doing all-nighters on Sims 4). I'm heavily into Psychology and Criminal Psychology, both are just so fascinating to me that I love to know how the human brain works. I tend to ramble a lot when it comes to Psychology and makes jokes referring to it, although rarely anyone understands what the hell I’m talking about. I have a burning passion for the Paranormal, Cryptids, Urban Legends, and some Conspiracy Theories! I’ll never mess around with an Oujia Board, I’m more than happy to go into a haunted house for the thrills! But because of my love for horror, horror movies don’t really have an effect on me anymore- I tend to laugh at them which makes me a horrible scary movie buddy. I strive to become a Criminal Psychologist or even a therapist that specializes in Personality Disorders. But as a realistic goal, to become a voice actor while being an author on the side, but my vocal range is too low for most female characters but too high for male characters.

Favorites, likes, dislikes, pet peeves, fears.* Answer: I love food~! Mostly Asian and Mexican for the most part due to what I grew up within my family. But my favorite has to be the meats, any kind at all! From cow tongue to prime rib (Unironically Prime Rib is my all-time favorite food as long it’s cooked rare.). I’m very open to trying out new foods as long I don’t have a clue what’s in it or the smell is divine! My dad is the cook of my house, thus while I’m cooking, he tends to take the wheel because it gives him anxiety. But I can cook a mean steak. I love listening to music of any kind; mostly alternative, rock, dubstep, and whatever Ashnikko has going on. I will go crazy if I don’t listen to music throughout my daily life. I like hiking and going on adventurous walks, taking in the scenery while it helps me relax my mind. As much as I am a heavy introvert, I enjoy shopping and a bit of a shopaholic. I also have a fascination with death! Not in a necrophiliac manner, but the whole entire concept of it! I also love animals, I have a big soft spot for them but I really like it when they know I’m the alpha- In other words, when it comes to domestic pets, I love the well-behaved ones. I yearn to have a pet ball python and/or ferret of my own! I hate rude arrogant people who think they’re holier than thou. Especially when it comes to the workplace and they expect you to do everything for them, then continue to talk to you as if you’re below them. I really dislike impoliteness and people with no manners whatsoever. One of my major pet peeves is uncleanliness anywhere, I’m a bit of a germaphobe and cannot stand messy people. With this pandemic going on, it made my germophobia skyrocket even more. I have this irrational fear of being alone, having the thought that everyone around me just tolerates me and doesn’t actually like me flows through my mind a lot. I tend to overthink this a lot to the point it puts me in depressive states, but with some reassurance, I can bounce back. Another thing I fear to death is cockroaches and giant moths; of any kind to be entirely honest. I’m not scared of spiders (I adore them), beetles, ants, etc. but when it comes to these two, I’m either screaming and dipping out or trying to fistfight a moth.

Any additional info you would like to share, fun facts, etc. Answer: I pretty much summed what I had in a nutshell up above. But I got a few more things I can mention for some trivia: I used to be an alto back in my school’s choir, I still sing on occasion but only when I think I’m alone. My friends and sister like to compare me to other characters such as Loki from Marvel, Diva from Blood+, April Ludgate from Parks & Rec, Edward Elric or Envy from Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood, etc.; They’re not entirely wrong. I cannot dance for the life of me, so anyone who offers to dance with them, they’re going to be dancing with the 90s Barbie doll. I’m an insomniac that gets the midnight munchies, I’ll never in bed but expect to find me rummaging through the kitchen for a snack. There are some things about a relationship that can be a make it or break it for me. I have massive trust issues due to past experiences as well as a fear of commitment. I struggle with anxiety and depression that is overshadowed by my anger, so someone who is patient enough to take the chance to understand me. Reassurance is another big thing I hold because there are going to be days where I start to believe I’m no longer desirable. Loyalty and consent are another two big things with me, I cannot stand toxicity in a relationship. It’s either you’re all in for it or just dip out. I also value someone who can make me laugh and understand I’m not a very affectionate person. I’m kinda like a cat, I like having space. Cheaters, Narcissists, and pathological liars are what keep me away from relationships. I already have enough self-esteem issues and trust issues that my standards in relationships are nearly unrealistic. Little white lies can slide because of surprises or pranks, but when it comes to lying compulsively will really piss me off. Man up to your shit, that is all I’m asking. My Love Language is quality time and words of affirmation, although I don’t mind some cuddles and physical touch. I’m honestly so touch-starved that I internally freak out when someone I like hugs or touches me, but I’m not opposed to it. Honestly, just spending time with that person whether be sitting in the same room doing two completely different things or just watching a shitty YouTube video. I want someone who isn’t afraid to admit I’m their lover, they’re proud to say I’m theirs and to go in public with me. Dates, coffee dates, going out running errands, late-night adventures, going to cons with me, and sharing hobbies! I’m all down for that!! I want a best friend as well as a lover in the relationship.

I match you with... 

Sado Yasutora

Chad may be a scary-looking person to those who don’t know him, but his still waters run deep. He is a very loving and passionate person and most of all, he’s perceptive of the people around him. Once he’s taken an interest in you, he’ll patiently wait for you to open up to him, getting to know you by just being around you. He is in no rush since rushing a relationship is rarely a good thing and he wants to do it right or not at all.

Because of his thick skin and his understanding of people, there’s very little you can do that will scare or hurt him. He will take your blunt responses as a sign of honesty and you speaking your mind, two things he greatly values. Even your dark humour won’t faze him.

Chad may be a silent person in general, but that changes when it comes to the people he cares about. He becomes a bit more vocal and always speaks his mind, but it may come across a little weird because he is not too used to expressing his emotions. His does however make his words of love all that more impactful, and he’ll make sure to chase away any doubts you may have that he loves you. His calm and understanding personality is a great help when you’re feeling down.

Chad’s main love language is quality time. As long as you are around, he doesn’t mind what you are doing. No matter how much he likes his friends, there are times when he just wants to spend time with you alone. He greatly enjoys hiking and adventurous talks, much like you, so that’s a common date plan. He’s also a pretty good cook, with his specialty being Mexican food, as he grew up there. Cooking and eating together is his idea of a perfect night in.

When it comes to you, he’ll never be ashamed to admit you’re his. It doesn’t matter if his friends try to tease him about having a girlfriend, he doesn’t see any reason to be embarrassed about it. If anything, he’s a little happy to say it out loud. Being secretive about being a relationship would just make him insecure about it being real or a joke, so he prefers to be open about it.

Chad’s main focus in the relationship it you, what you’re comfortable with and what you want. He is a highly loyal friend, and just as loyal as a boyfriend. Despite him being friends with all different kinds of people, you will never have to worry about him cheating on you. Consent is also a very big thing for him. If you leave it up to him, new steps in the relationship will come very slowly and are spoken about beforehand, just so he’s sure you are comfortable with it.

Chad, much like you, doesn’t get too hung up on physical displays of affection. He enjoys a hug every now and again, but he’s not the clingy type. When you are in the mood for a hug though, Chad gives the absolute best ones.

[evendeadlmthehero]

The Five Year Promise: The Arrival (6/10)

Summary: Y/N Stark, a 20-year-old, makes a promise with Peter Parker, a 16-year-old, that if 5 years pass and and they both haven’t found love, they’d have their first date. Then the snap happens. Y/N is gone. Peter isn’t.

Warnings: Angst. Some swearing.

A/N: this is a short/filler chapter but you guys aren’t READY for part 7

Five Year Promise Masterlist

Based on Avengers: Endgame (2018)

It was quiet in the ship. Tony was sitting by himself, not accepting food, and giving it to Nebula and Peter. Peter also didn’t feel like eating, but on day 15 on the spaceship, his stomach had begged him to eat. His cheeks were sunken and his face had lost colour. Peter no longer grieved yet was in a state of numbness.

Thoughts kept racing in his mind. Is Aunt May okay? Is Ned fine? He couldn’t deal with another loss. Thanos had won. And he truly did leave a mark on the universe. A legacy. Peter snuggled up to nothing but his arms wrapped around himself.

Tony had saw this and whilst he was asleep, he had put his jacket on him. Both him and Peter were deprived of food, meaning more susceptibility to the cold of the endless space. Nebula however was part robot, and although she was starving, her bionic side slightly eased the pain.

Everyday, Peter had nightmares of you. Sometimes it’s you turning into ash, sometimes it’s you turning into roaches and spiders. He woke up screaming, yet no sound would come out. Water had ran out, and his throat was too dry to produce sound.

On day 22 he had made a little video for his Aunt, in case he himself did not make it. He sat down, putting on his suit as he told Karen to record.

“Hey May,” he mumbled tiredly, rubbing his eyes. “It’s been 22 days. In the rare chance you get this, I’m sorry. I-I’m sorry you have to go through this again, i-if your still there. If you aren’t gone-“

He stopped himself, unable to finish that sentence. He then looked at his watch that you have given him, making bile rise up to his throat as he was reminded of what had occurred almost a month ago.

1796 days and 2 hours, it had read. He then looked back into the recorder, letting a tear leave his eye. “She’s gone. Y/N, the girl I told you about. S-she- I couldn’t save her. She didn’t want to die. She told me she didn’t want to. She was scared. She was too young. She didn’t even get to graduate. I-I don’t think I will too. Water ran out days ago and I think I heard Mr. Stark say that oxygen will run out soon. M-May, please take care of yourself. I love you a lot and thank you for all that you’ve done. T-this world hasn’t been kind to you. A-and you deserve better.”

His hand shook as he ended to video. He then slept in the same position he was in, not really wanting to move. You were gone. And this time, the suit didn’t save you. He couldn’t save you. He tried to tell himself that Thanos is a menance, that it wasn’t his fault. But then a stupid voice told him he was so close to taking off the gauntlet, if only he was just that bit stronger.

His eyes started drooping down, begging him to sleep. Peter didn’t want to succumb to it. He was so exhausted, sick of being reminded of what had happened in the form of nightmares. He hated waking up in sweat, more dehydrated then before.

And Tony wasn’t any better. His mind was consumed with malicious thoughts towards himself. And how can he not? The worst pain for a parent is losing a child. Tony had to watch his slowly decay and disingrate into ash. He had kept some of your ash in a jar he had found in the ship. Kept it just in case you’d come back.

Your dad also didn’t want to leave you on that planet. He wanted to leave your ashes in Earth, right near his mother and father. You had to be close to your grandparents.

On day 23, your father and Peter had no energy left. Peter had his ribs sticking out of his skin and his cheekbones now more prominent then before. He could feel death closer then ever.

Nebula watched as she saw both your father and Peter drift off into what had looked like sleep, but was imminently death. She felt alone, cold as she realised she was truly going to be a left alone.

All hope was lost until a bright light came near the window, making Peter and Tony open their eyes. They saw a figure in the light, thinking it was you. It had looked like your powers. The lights then dimmed down and there she stood.

An unfamiliar face of hope donning a red and blue suit.

-

Natasha Romanoff ran into the field as she saw a spaceship coming down from the sky. It was held by a female, a glow circling around her. Her heart was beating against her chest, awaiting to see if you were alive or gone like the rest.

When the plan had landed, Tony was the first to get out of the ship. Steve had run towards him, holding him upright. Tony then looked at his old friend in sorrow and grief. “Couldn't stop him.”

“Neither could I,” Steve had spoke as he guided Tony down. Natasha kept watching, waiting to see you arrive. She saw movement, and realised it was the Peter kid she had seen during Germany. He looked in bad shape, skinnier than ever and blue bags under his eyes.

She watched as a blue female also walked out of the ship, when Rocket, a person who she’d made friends with in the recent weeks, ran out to greet her.

Natasha’s smile faltered for a secound, little hope now left that you might actually come out of the ship. But you didn’t. Her eyes welled up as she took a look at Tony who finally made his way towards her. “I l-lost her.”

Natasha let out a little breath as she shook her head, tears streaming down her face as she grabbed Tony’s shoulder. “Tony, we lost.”

“Is, uh?,” Tony struggles to ask about Pepper. He then sees the stressful blonde run up to him, embracing him.

“Oh, my God! Oh, my God!” She gasped as she let out a sob, thinking that she lost him. She then moved back, her eyes looking for you. She then looked at Natasha, who was held by Steve to stop her from collapsing and then to Peter, who had sat down, not saying a word. “No, no, no, no, no.”

You were a simple girl, an infectious girl. You had a bubbly attitude, was fierce and determined. You were brave, heroic and a genius. And today, you were mourned.

-

In the Avengers Compound, the heroes sat in a living room area. Tony was sitting at a table, getting blood in order to heal. He hadn’t spoken since he got off the spaceship. He didn’t want to speak about the horrors he went through. And neither did Peter, who sat down without saying a word, also attached to a tube and a blood bag.

“It's been 23 days since Thanos came to Earth,” Rhodes spoke, the tone of his voice in complete tiredness. You were like his little niece. He had known you since you were born. He knew who your mother was, before she died giving birth to you. He knew how Tony was before and after you. He knew you since you were in diapers.

“World governments are in pieces,” Natasha’s voice wavers, too emotionally distressed to speak in her usual voice. “The parts that are still working are trying to take a census. And it looks like he did- he did exactly what he said he was gonna do. Thanos wiped out fifty percent, of all living creatures.”

“Where is he now?” Tony had asked, rubbing his bottom lip. “Where?”

“We don't know. He just opened a portal and walked through,” Steve had replied back, looking at the various images of those who vanished. Wanda, Sam and T’Challa. Then, a photo of you appeared, with a beaming smile. Peter quickly looked away playing with his fingers.

Tony swallowed the lump in his throat before looking at Thor, sitting on a bench and seemingly deep in thought. “What's wrong with him?”

“Oh, he's pissed,” Rocket spoke, making Tony look at him weirdly, not expecting him to speak. “He thinks he failed. Which of course he did, but you know there's a lot of that's going around, ain't there?”

“Honestly, until this exact second, I thought you were a Build-A-Bear,” Tony replied back, looking at him curiously.

“Maybe I am,” Rocket had spoken to himself, as he too did not know what he was.

“We've been hunting Thanos for three weeks now. Deep Space scans, and satellites, and we got nothing,” Steve spoke, before looking at your father. “Tony, you fought him-“

“Who told you that?” Your father asked harshly, looking at Steve with anger. “I didn't fight him. No, he wiped my face with a planet while the Bleecker Street Magician gave away the stone and my own daughter decayed right in front of me. That's what happened. There was no fight.”

“Did he give you any clues, any coordinates, anything?” Steve had asked him in his usual professional voice, angering Tony even more.

“I saw this coming a few years back. I had a vision. I didn't wanna believe it. Thought I was dreaming. And then Y/N had the same vision too. You all told me that I was making her crazy, that I was planting ideas in her head-“

“Tony, I'm gonna need you to focus-“

“And I needed you! As in past tense. That trumps what you need. It's too late buddy. Sorry. You know what I need?” Tony asked as he stands, pushing things off the table with a clatter. Everyone winces at the noise. “I need to shave. And I believe I remember telling all youse!”

Tony goes for Steve. Rhodey quickly comes in front of him, trying to stop him. “Tony, Tony, Tony!”

“Alive and otherwise what we needed was a suit of armor around the world! Remember that? Whether it impacted our precious freedoms or not- that's what we needed!” He yelled at Steve, the frustration and betrayal of the passed years finally exploding.

“Well, that didn't work out, did it?” Steve had spoken back, trying to get Tony to calm down. But it looked like it had the opposite effect.

“I said, "we'd lose". You said, "We'll do that together too." And guess what, cap? We lost. And you weren't there. And now my own daughter is dead. But that's what we do, right? Our best work after the fact? We're the Avengers, we're the Avengers. Not the Prevengers! Right?” Tony had yelled, his hands swaying around and hitting everything.

“You made your point. Just sit down,” Rhodey had spoke, trying to help Tony from hurting himself.

“She's great, by the way. Has similar powers to Y/N. You guys do remember Y/N right?” He then looked at Carol who looked like she didn’t want to be apart of this argument. “We need you. You're new blood. Bunch of tired old mules! I got nothing for you, cap! I got no coordinates, no clues, no strategies, no options. Zero. Zip. Nada. No trust. Liar.”

Steve looks affected by Tony's words. The old friends just gaze at each other. After a moment, Tony rips his Arc Reactor from his chest and shoves it into Steve's hand. “Here, take this. You find him, and you put that on. You hide.”

Tony falls to the ground, making everyone gather around him. He whispers “I’m fine,” before collapsing onto the ground.

-

“Bruce gave him a sedative. He's gonna probably be out for the rest of the day,” Rhodey told Peter who was sitting on the same couch for three hours now. “You okay man?”

Peter is snapped out of his stare before he gets up from the couch, taking the tube off his arm. “Yeah, I- I need to go check if May and Ned are fine.”

“Peter you need to recover first,” Rhodey yelled out at Peter’s retreating figure. Peter continued walking away, not listening to him. He walked outside the building and into the cool breeze. It was quiet, no sounds of birds or anything. He didn’t realise until now that Thanos really did take away half of the population.

It took a couple of days until Peter got home. No landlines were working, due to a national emergency. There was no cellphone reception because of fires and crashes. No trams, trains or buses were working, due to obvious reasons. Peter had to steal a bike and ride it back to his home.

Of course that only made him weaker. Shops and fast food outlets were abandoned, giving him a food source. It was a tough couple of days for Peter to get back home. But he had to see her. He had to see if his Aunt was okay.

His hand was shaking as he picked the key that was hidden under the mat. He held his breath as he unlocked the door of his house. The door let out a creak as it opened.

It took Peter a while before walking inside the apartment. He tried to prolong the process of finding out the truth. Delayed the inevitable. But he knew he had to at one point. So after letting out a breath, he finally stepped inside the apartment.

It was cold, wind blowing in from the half opened window. He then looked over at the kitchen, where a bunch of dishes were stacked on top of one another. He then looked at the living room and that’s when he saw it.

Ash all over the coach and floor. A broken mug and coffee stain on the carpet. It was true, you were gone.

Before Peter could mourn, he quickly ran out of the aparentment and to Ned’s house location. He passed many houses. Many old folk and children were lost, sleeping out on the streets and crying. It was a horrific scene, straight out of an apocalyptic movie. He even saw a one year old calling out for his mother.

He then caught a glimpse of the familiar house and ran in full speed towards the door, knocking. No one answered. Peter ran towards the windows, trying to find any sign of life. “Ned? Ned!”

He smashed down the window with his fist, his hand now bleeding. But he didn’t care, he had to find his friend. He looked around furiously, up and down the house. He checked and re-checked rooms, the backyard and front-yard. He then waited hours, days outside Ned’s home, hoping that he was just returning late from the trip.

But he never did.

Everyone was gone.

Taglist (CLOSED)

@kissingtrutharchives @autobotgirl15-blog @clockblobber @im-a-stranger-thing @isabella-bby @jonsnowdoesknow @fangirlingonrhys @trenchcoatedwhiskers @platonictrashh @misswritingintherain @itsbebeyyy @xs-hoodie @callmedaddys-blog @fangirling12566 @editsbyjenny @bubblegumholland @hollandinq @lordofthunderthr @hgacutan @colored-confetti @legendarydazekitten @maya-t-13 @house-arya @cutie1365 @buckysblondie @clipopex-writing @wifunozomi @babebenhardy @sadgirlhours247 @sweetdarlingholland @taliarosej00

[mychemicalficrecs]

do you have any longer frikey fics, preferably bottom frank if theres smut

I do have some longer Frank/Mikey stuff, but no guarantee on bottom Frank!

Longer Frank/Mikey

Emotional Brilliance by kopperblaze, 21k, Mature. Toro and Mikey are a good team, Mikey doesn’t get why Brian had to hire someone else. In particular he doesn’t get why Brian had to hire Frank, who knows nothing about Lush products and who's incapable of keeping his mouth shut. Lush!AU. The one where Ray is a skin care expert, Frank is obnoxious, Mikey is annoyed and Pete leaves glittery handprints all over everything.

Gross roomies by turps, 36k, Explicit. Frank loves living with Mikey. Sure, the apartment is a mess, the kitchen's a toxic wasteland, and there's something growing in the refrigerator that's just a day or two away from becoming sentient, but other than those minor inconveniences, it's all cool. Or it is until Mikey decides to embark on a journey of sexual discovery and adventure and Frank's left at home with nothing but the fridge monster for company. To make matters worse, Mikey insists on telling Frank everything he does with his new kinky friends, right down to the tiniest detail. And now suddenly Frank is best friends with his right hand and he can't stop thinking about Mikey in ways he never has before. The really big problem, other than suddenly being in lust with his best friend, is that Frank isn't sure why.

Won't Know 'til You Begin by knight_tracer, Sena, 24k, Explicit. In which Frank is an accidental pervert, Mikey sleeps with Fabio, Gerard is much too sincere when talking about pain sluts, Ray is terrible with women and great with guitars, and Otter's got really bad taste in music. Alternately, the one where Frank realizes he has a thing for Mikey, Mikey realizes he has a thing for guys, and they're both adorably stupid failboats.

On Air by ladyfoxxx, 15k, Teen And Up Audiences. Frank's a radio DJ at an alternative station, spinning punk tracks and talking shit. When he gets handed the most popular show at the station to host, his first guests are independent horror filmmakers Gerard and Mikey Way.

Standing on a Planet that's Evolving and Revolving by Green, 13k, Explicit. The evolution of Frank Iero, age 15.

Buenas Noches From A Lonely Room by Femme (femmequixotic), 15k, Explicit. Frank wants to touch Mikey, to slide his fingers across the sharp angle of his cheek just below his glasses, to drag his thumb along the curve of his bottom lip, to smooth his palm down Mikey's long throat.

What Dreams May Come by sperrywink, 15k, Explicit. His career in music derailed, Frank never met the other guys in My Chemical Romance. A silly tale of teleportation.

a scent and a sound by mwestbelle, 15k, Explicit. In an urban fantasy world where werewolves can't hold a decent job and no roommate wants them, werewolf Frank is looking for an apartment. He finds one with Mikey Way.

Heart Wrapped in Clover by Sena, 19k, Explicit. Everbody's got their not-so-secret secrets on tour. When you live out of a van, you just can't help but notice things that you shouldn't talk about if you don't want to embarrass your friends or start a fight. Frank wishes sometimes they talked about things, though, because he's dying to ask if anybody else has noticed that sometimes, Mikey wears panties.

Tints Verse by turps, 65k, Mature. A MCR AU where Ray has his own gardening firm, and one day he does a job for the Ways.

We Used To Be Friends by ladyfoxxx, 50k, Explicit. "You and me, right Mikes?" "Yeah, fuck everybody else." Best friends since high school, if Frank could've chosen a brother, he'd pick Mikey. Then Mikey became a rock star and Frank... didn't. After years of radio silence, Mikey steps onto a stage in Jersey and back into Frank's life. (Or, the one where Frank is a school teacher and Mikey plays rhythm in The Used.)

And the Painted Ponies by turps, 35k, Mature. After years of struggling to be taken seriously as a bodyguard, Frank Iero is finally well established. He loves his boss, Ray, he loves his job, and he prides himself on his professionalism. But then he's assigned to be the personal bodyguard of Mikey Way. Mikey Way, aka Roboboy, is a successful high fashion model. Loved by designers and the public alike for his trademark lack of emotion, but mocked by the tabloid press for the exact same reason. Mikey is someone that Frank's sure he'll hate. Except it doesn't work out that way. In fact, it doesn't take long before Frank discovers he really likes Mikey. Maybe too much.

Better Than A Paid Life by gala_apples, 15k, Explicit. Gerard and Mikey Way are the Killjoys, a motorbaby duo. That is, until their car gets wrecked in a battle and the dashboard accessory of their new Trans Am is an ex-Companion with a mission.

Crash by Gorgeous Nerd (gorgeousnerd), 26k, Explicit. In a future version of Seattle, Frank Iero's a lot of things: bike messenger, cage fighter, sometimes thief, Ray Toro's roommate. Mikey Way's also a lot of things: record label owner, co-heir to his grandmother's fortune, younger brother. Neither are normal. But they don't know just how far each other's abnormalities go until Frank's past and a secret of Mikey's unexpectedly shove together. (Dark Angel AU.)

Sound Tracking by turps, 46k, Mature. The beat is muted, almost non-existent, and the loss hits Bob hard. He's used to living his life in a constant thrum of sound, sensing those around him, the rhythm of the universe a constant companion, but here there's almost nothing. He can feel the sound that's been pulling him for weeks now, but little else. This place is dead, almost silent, and Bob aches with the feeling of being cast into nothingness. A MCR - Bob and Gerard centric space AU where Gerard's band has been taken from him and Bob helps find them. Also features FOB, especially Pete.

Drink Cider From a Lemon by turps, 20k, General Audiences. A story about friendship, love and building your own kind of home.

Mikey Way and the Quest for the Stone by Roxy_palace, 29k, Explicit. “I’m in Colombia!” Mikey said, raising his voice over the crackle of a poor connection. “No. no, no, no, no,” James wailed. Mikey could really relate to his disbelief. He couldn't believe he was in mother fucking Colombia either.

Below the Trees, Which Are Below the Stars by alpheratz, 38k, Explicit. In the mid-1920s, Gerard and Mikey moved to France - Gerard to pursue art, Mikey because he couldn't stay behind. Now, it's 1930, and Mikey's become an airmail pilot, flying the mail route to Dakar with his navigator Frank. For a long time, the only rough thing about Mikey's life was the strain on his and Gerard's soulbond when Mikey was away, but his growing feelings for Frank and the arrival of Frank's old friend Ray could change everything.

Food of Love by Lucifuge5, 12k, Teen And Up Audiences. Ever since it re-opened, Frank's been "Sweet Nothings"'s number one customer. That he harbors a gigantic crush on one of the owners is something that he's kept to himself for the most part (Ray will never tell a soul.) It's not until he strikes a friendship with the older brother of the object of his affection that he 'fesses up. Moved by Frank's pining, Gerard promises to help Frank woo Mikey. Complications arise when Gerard's "helpful advice" is anything but. Will Frank be successful in his courtship or are his chances to win Mikey's heart as ruined as a burnt cupcake?

You Only Hear The Music (When Your Heart Begins To Break) by Acadjonne, 28k, Mature. Mikey and Frank have known each other for years. They're roommates, and best friends. They're also friends with benefits. The arrangement is casual, and it suits them both. Somewhere along the way, Mikey develops feelings for Frank, but he pushes them aside. They aren't important, he'll be fine. Or, Mikey is fine, until he somehow ends up pregnant a year into this thing with Frank, and all of a sudden, he's got more to deal with than just how long he'll be able to hide his feelings for Frank or how the hell he's supposed to afford his transition.

Give Me A Reason To Believe (Failboats In Love) by Acadjonne, 14k, Teen And Up Audiences. On the night of October 31st, Linda and Frank Iero welcome a baby boy into their family. He weighs six pounds, four ounces, and is nineteen inches long. They give him a family name, and he becomes the third Iero man to bear the name of Frank. A year later, on All Hallow's Eve, a sleeping baby is taken from his crib and replaced with a fake. The babe will later be taken from the hands of the goblin that stole him, and he will be raised by two rowan treefolk, a house brownie, and some pixies. ----- When Ray walks down the stairs to the Way family basement, the last thing Mikey expects to see is a scrappy and long-haired form following behind him. But as he later finds out, Frank is almost always unexpected in the best of ways, the rest of the world be damned.

Death's Muse by TheFratelliEffect, 53k [WIP], Mature. Lonely and depressed, Mikey Way is battling through the drab years that immediately follow college. Struggling to make a living as an artist, Mikey has became a battered down, quiet introvert whom wants nothing to do with the abusive romance he is unwillingly involved in. On a cold winter morning, the starving artist is confronted with the opportunity to paint Frank Iero, the Midnight Falls' elusive, young doctor, which he takes up immediately. Love and lust ensure as the story opens on the painter as he meets his muse.

Gallons Of The Stuff by MCRmyGeneral, 20k, Explicit. Frank has been amused by blood for as long as he can remember. When he was a child, it was a simple fascination; the way it felt on his hands, the way it looked dripping to the floor, the way it smelled. But as he grew older, that simple fascination morphed into a daring lust. Blood no longer amused him, now it turned him on. Frank has never intentionally hurt someone just to see their blood. He just takes what he can get whenever an accident happens. But when Mikey is hurt bad, Frank discovers how hard it is to keep his hands, and thoughts, to himself. He loves Mikey, he has for a long time. But now, he finds his silence so much harder to keep. He has two choices: either tell Mikey how he feels, about him and his blood, and risk scaring him away, or keep quiet, and never let the man know how much he means to him. Whatever he chooses, he knows that someone will get hurt.

[inactiive-shit]

Of Love And Knives

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Warnings: crude language, weird Remus things

Pairing: Romantic Dukexiety

Words: 2,996

Summary: It's Valentine's Day, and Remus had a plan. It's just...a work a in progress.

I wrote Dukexiety because there is not enough of it and I love them. Happy Valentine’s Day everybody! Also, there is French in this, but I don’t speak French and had to use Google Translate for it. I am so sorry for any inaccuracies.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A box of chocolates was simply far too plain. Something as expected and unoriginal as a hollow fake-heart shaped box filled with chocolate did not do his creepy crawly death dealer justice. It had no flair, no pizzaz, nothing special that would let Virgil know exactly how much he meant to Remus.

He could always take Virgil to a movie, but the only thing in theaters at the moment were preposterous rom-coms that would not do on this favored holiday. Remus had been hoping for a horror movie to be out, something worthy of taking Virgil to so that he would really feel loved and appreciated, but it just seemed like horror movies seemed to be skipping the theaters these days.

Remus’ next plan was to go out and watch a thunderstorm. They both liked being in the rain, and the lightning made sexy times that much more exciting. The possibility of being struck by lightning or of being found by someone while fucking in the rain was truly the kind of Valentine’s Day experience that Remus wanted to give to Virgil. But it wasn’t thunderstorming out—it wasn’t even raining!

(And Virgil tended to worry about how clean that really was, but they hadn’t died yet.)

All of this together meant that Remus was being relegated to getting his boyfriend a box of chocolate like every other panicked sap in the area who forgot to get their dates something.

Except, Remus hadn’t forgotten. All his plans had just...fallen through.

Maybe he should have taken up his brother’s offer of a fancy restaurant double date with him and his husband Dee.

But Remus wanted it to be special! And their friends always got annoyed when Remus and Virgil got too into each other for their tastes. Though Virgil did look ravishing in a suit...

Remus sighed and drudged toward the giant shelf of sickeningly commercialized sweets and tried to pick the one that would make Virgil laugh the most. If they couldn’t watch somebody get gutted on the big screen, the least Remus could do was make sure everything that did happen was funny enough that Virgil would still enjoy it.

Just as his hand descended toward an overpriced box of chocolate, Remus noticed a left-over bag of spider chocolates from Halloween. A thought hit Remus like a brick to the head. He smiled, running that same hand through his tangled hair, and felt the excitement spread through him like a wildfire. Yes, that plan would work. Virgil would like it, Remus could enjoy it, and he could set it up quickly enough that he wouldn’t have to be late for their dinner.

Rushing out of the store to his car and feeling almost maniacal, Remus dialled Logan’s number.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hello, Scarebear!” Remus sang, flinging himself into their apartment and setting a box down. The door bounced off the wall and shut itself, but Remus didn’t notice all that, too busy beelining for Virgil. He lurked in the small area between their kitchen and living room, where they had placed a table and declared it to be their dining room.

It was a small, two bedroom apartment. There wasn’t much space for things like tables. Or eating. Remus didn’t mind all that, though. There was plenty of room for other things, such as snuggling and sleeping and smoking and fucking.

“Hey, babe. What have you been up to?” Remus wrapped his arms around Virgil from behind and Virgil nestled back into the touch. Remus pushed his head onto Virgil’s shoulder to press a wet kiss on his neck before watching how steadily Virgil’s hands moved the food around their table.

“A little bit of this, a little bit of that.” Remus shrugged. Virgil wiped the spit off his neck with one hoodie sleeve and then bapped him in the face with it. “So how’s our lovely meal coming along?”

“Great,” Virgil said dryly. “We have the veggie fried rice, Quorn chicken nuggets to add to the rice since you’re trying to go vegetarian, fortune cookies, and also whatever this thing is.” He held up something dark green and slimy.

“What is it?”

“Not a clue, but I saw it at the store and it made me think of you. I figure we could try it and if it turns out bad, throw it at people on the sidewalk.”

“You know me so well!” Remus exclaimed, jumping with Virgil in his arms. Virgil laughed lowly, and that voice made Remus think absolutely lewd things that would probably get him arrested. Things he would love to do both to and with Virgil

Some of those thoughts could be acted on later, but not right now. As much as it pained Remus to admit, there were more important things to attend to.

“The couch?” Virgil asked.

“The couch,” Remus said, picking up some of the food and moving it to the couch. Virgil followed him with the rest of it.

“Oh, and one more thing before we eat,” Virgil said. He went to the kitchen and took something out of the freezer. He brought it back to Remus and offered it to him.

“A lemon!”

“That’s cut into a heart because I love you,” Virgil said. He kissed Remus as he sat down and then Remus took a bite out of the frozen lemon. He grinned at Virgil, cackling as he winced.

“I love you too, Virge,” he said. “Now, how do you suppose this fake chicken will taste with the rice?”

“One way to find out.” Virgil rested his legs across Remus’ lap as they relaxed and started eating. Remus tore into the rice like a starving man and Virgil laughed while threatening him with a vacuum cleaner. It made an alarmingly cute scene.

Remus didn’t think he was made for cute, but this sure did make him wonder if it would really be so bad.

Once their meal was finished and they had shoved all the dishes into either the trash or the sink to deal with the next day, with the exception of the mystery item that they placed on the table to give a few more minutes before trying, Remus grabbed Virgil’s hand. “What’s the plan, Duke?”

“You know how I always tell all of the truth?” He waited for Virgil’s curious nod before continuing. “Well, I’m using all the squishy stuff up here,” he tapped his temple, “to not explode the potatoes before the microwave gets too hot. But if you keep asking I’ll just go ahead and tell you anyway.”

“Alright, alright,” Virgil laughed, covering his mouth with his free hand. “I’ll wait patiently.”

“Thank you,” Remus sang, kissing Virgil’s lips and then kissing his cheek and then moving on to his neck before Virgil finally pushed him off.

“It’s time for presents. There will be plenty of time for that stuff later.” Virgil sent a chilling grin to Remus. He almost ripped Virgil’s clothes off without any further prodding, but then Virgil pouted at him instead. “It’s your turn to go first.”

“Fine, fine. I’m going.” Remus ushered Virgil to sit back on the couch and then collected the box from where he had left it by the door. He carried it over to Virgil and solemnly said, “This is the first part of your gifts.”

“The first part?” Virgil asked, raising his eyebrows.

“There are three parts. But you can’t have the third one until tomorrow because it’s living with Roman and Dee right now. At least, it should be. I hope Dee’s snakes haven’t eaten it.”

“Remus, what did you get?”

“Something just as terrifying and fluffy as you, ma rose,” he said, rugging on a lock of Virgil’s hair.

“A kitten?” Virgil asked, hesitant smile crawling over his face. “Remus, did you buy me a kitten?”

“Stop asking or it won’t be a surprise when we go to pick it up tomorrow,” he whined. Virgil beamed at him, smile so bright that Remus could go without the sun and have no complaints.

“Okay, okay, but if you got me a fluffy black kitten, I am going to kiss you, we are naming them Asura, and we are going to fuck.”

“I like the way you think,” Remus said. “But maybe you’ll be kind enough to still bestow the same gift upon me tonight even though the mystery creature isn’t here?” He offered Virgil the box.

Virgil, still smiling, carefully picked apart the tape holding the flaps closed and opened the box. Inside was a second box, but this one made of plastic. He discarded the cardboard box and began inspecting the clear one. “What…” he said, and then his eyes widened with a gasp. “Is that a tarantula?”

“Yep.” Remus stuck a hand on his hip, watching Virgil. “Perfectly safe to hold. Well, mostly. She’ll flick the hairs off at you if she feels threatened, but it’s mostly just going to irritate the skin they hit. Unless they go in your eyes. Then you might go blind.”

Virgil wastes no time in sticking his hand in the box to get her out. “Her name is Tengu,” Virgil said, bringing her right up to his face to get a good look. “She is beautiful. Look at those legs.” Virgil spent the next few minutes admiring his arachnid and spewing off random tarantula facts. “This is a smaller species than the goliath bird eaters, obviously, but I bet she can still live twenty years or so. Some can be multicolored but I’ve always liked the plain ones more.”

Eventually, Virgil put Tengu back in the little box. “She’ll need a bigger home than that.”

“I’ve got all the supplies out in the car. I just didn’t want to bring them in and ruin the surprise.” Virgil jumped forward and crushed himself to Remus in a heated, passionate kiss. Remus growled into Virgil’s mouth, pulling him even closer.

“You are the best boyfriend in the world,” Virgil said, breathless.

“It’s the shock factor.” Remus kissed Virgil again, but then he was pulling away.

“I have something for you, too. Let me go get it before we get too caught up in,” he motioned to Remus’ partially undone shirt, “this.”

Remus threw himself onto the couch as Virgil left and took the tarantula with him. He was happy and excited and wanted to bounce off the walls like a super bounce bouncy ball. Still, he tried to wait as patiently as he could for whatever Virgil would bring out. It was easier said than done.

Virgil reappeared and thrust something at Remus. “Here you go. I wrapped it like that because I know you love Valentine’s stuff.” He refused to make eye contact with Remus. The package was rectangular and wrapped in bright red paper with silver hearts all over it. Remus smiled at it and ripped the paper off the same way he would later be ripping off Virgil’s clothes. Inside was a collection of all Remus’ favorite horror movies, ranging from classics like Chucky to newer ones like IT. All in all there were ten movies, with an additional five that he hadn’t seen yet.

Remus launched himself off the couch at Virgil, knocking them both onto the floor. “Virgil! Scarebear! Creepy crawly! I love you so much!” He plastered Virgil’s face in kisses that left Virgil gasping for breath around laughing so hard. Then he started tickling at Virgil’s sides, and it was another few minutes before both of them could breathe.

“I’m glad you liked it,” Virgil said. Remus nuzzled his head against Virgil’s chest and Virgil ran a hand through Remus’ longer hair, gently working out the tangles.

“Ooh, I have one more thing for you, and then we can play a sexy game.” Remus shoved himself off the ground and swung Virgil up into his arms. Virgil didn’t even yelp at the sudden move, just grabbed the suspicious green thing and looped one arm loosely over Remus’ neck, allowing Remus to carry him to the roof of their apartment building.

Before coming in, Remus had set up the telescope that he had snatched from Logan’s house. It was pointed up at the night sky, though not at any stars in particular. He didn’t know anything about constellations, but Virgil did, and he was more than happy to let Virgil go to work with the telescope.

“Holy shit, did you steal Logan’s telescope?”

“I asked first,” Remus said, playing at offended. Virgil’s hand absently worked at the button’s on his shirt, and Remus doubted Virgil was even aware he was doing it. He didn’t mention it, though. He liked Virgil’s little subconscious habits.

“So Logan’s isn’t going to come over tomorrow, fuming, demanding that you give his telescope back?”

“I didn’t say all that. I never even said he said yes,” Remus argued, placing Virgil on his feet. Virgil snorted, immediately adjusting the placement and settings on it.

“It’s a clear night,” he muttered, carefully swerving the telescope around.

“Yeah! That’s how I thought of it. I was hoping for thunderstorms, but that didn’t happen and I was mad about the sky being clear, and then I realized that meant we could steal-”

“Borrow.”

“-Logan’s telescope for the night and have a little fun with it.”

“You’re pretty damn smart. Ya know, for someone who tried to snort Pixie Stix.” Virgil laughed when Remus smacked at him and lit up a cigarette.

“Ah, but is that not better than my brother trying to snort Smarties? He didn’t even crush them up first.”

“I will be the last person to get in the middle of a contest between you and Roman,” Virgil said, blowing out some smoke.

“I thought you were going to quit all that,” Remus said, batting at Virgil’s cigarette. Virgil moved it away without looking, still inspecting the night sky.

“Finish the pack?” he suggested.

“I could eat them for you, if that would help.”

“It would not, but I appreciate the offer. Come here.” Virgil stepped back from the telescope, blowing smoke away from Remus’ face. “Look right here. Don’t move it.” Virgil placed his hands on Remus’ shoulders as though to help guide him where he’s supposed to look. “That one up there is Cancer. That’s your star sign.”

“Which of the stars is it?” Remus asked.

Virgil stepped back. “It looks kind of like a dick.”

“Oh, I see it!” Remus crowed. “Isn’t that perfectly fitting? Wow, I’m really beginning to think those Western zodiacs you keep talking about might have something to them, Virge.” Remus pulled away from the telescope to look at Virgil and crack another dick joke, and then he noticed Virgil kneeling next to him.

“Scarebear? You okay?”

“Remus,” Virgil said, “I have something to tell you. We’ve known each other for twelve years and we’ve been dating for half that time. I have loved you and been in love with you for closer to ten. You have made my life so much more wonderful than I ever imagined it could be, and I cannot wait to see where else it takes us. And I am so, so hoping that you’ll come along for it all.” Virgil paused, pulled a box out of his jacket pocket, and took a deep breath. Remus was holding his own, had been since the first word. “Remus Duke, will you marry me?”

“Oui oui oui, bien sûr que je le ferai. Oh mon dieu, c'est incroyable, tu es incroyable, bien sûr je t'épouserai,” he exclaimed, throwing himself at Virgil again and kissing him senseless. Virgil laughed into his mouth, their kiss disjointed and filled with happiness.

“Here,” Virgil said when Remus finally had to stop to breathe. “I know we’re not ring people, and I figured this would be way more fitting.” He let Remus carefully extract the knife from the box. The handle was deep green and fit into Remus’ hand perfectly. The sheath was plain and sturdy, dyed green. He unsheathed it and caught his breath at the sight. The knife gleamed in the dim light on the roof and the sharp side was sharp enough to cut someone and they wouldn’t even notice.

However, along the ridge in the middle of the blade, there was an engraving. Our love is sharper than any blade, carved deeper than any words, shines more brightly than any star. Remus flipped it over. The other side said the same thing, but in french.

“Fuck,” Remus said. “Virgil, this is fucking amazing.” He glanced up at Virgil, teary-eyed, and paused. “There is one condition, though?”

“Oh?” Virgil said.

“No more of these.” Remus tapped the cigarette in Virgil’s hand. Virgil looked down at it, dropped it, and stepped on it.

“Deal,” he said.

“We’re engaged!” Remus yelled, picking up Virgil and spinning them in a circle. “We’re going to be married!” He set Virgil back on the ground roughly, too excited for much else. “Je t’aime, ma rose! Je t’aime!”

“I love you too, Remus.” Virgil cupped Remus’ face, staring into his eyes, and Remus shattered the distance between them, diving for Virgil and kissing kissing kissing until there was nothing else. They were a mess of tongues and teeth, clashing parts that only meant the best things.

“Fuck,” Remus said again once they finally parted. Virgil dropped his head to rest on Remus’ shoulder. “I’m thinking a July wedding. Nudist beach. Ocean spray. Dicks out.” Virgil shook against Remus, laughing so hard he couldn’t make a noise. Remus hugged him closer, still awed.

“Sounds perfect,” Virgil finally said. “God, I love you.”

“Je t’aime, ma rose,” Remus murmured. “And I also love fucking you. Which is what I think we should go do now.”

“Oh yes, definitely.”

“To the bedroom?”

“Why wait that long?” Virgil asked, and then there were teeth and tongues and lips and biting and grabbing and clothing ripped free from bodies. Remus can not imagine Valentine’s Day having gone any better.

[elenathehun]

Watching the Clone Wars, part 7

Well, this is a better batch of episodes than last time, solely due to not having to actually skip an episode because it was too awful to watch.  With that said, click on keep reading to see reviews of "Brain Invaders", "Grievous Intrigue", "The Deserter", "Lightsaber Lost", "The Mandalore Plot", "Voyage of Temptation", and "Duchess of Mandalore".

"Brain Invaders" (2x08)

I'd rate this as above-average.  I am not really into horror as a genre, as I previously noted, so I was pretty grossed out by the brain worms.  However, it was a pretty nice Ahsoka and Barriss episode, although I think it's a bit weird that four Jedi Knights/Masters are necessary to interrogate Poggle. 

Anyway, it's not an episode of The Clone Wars without some unexpected graphic clone violence.  I don't blame Ahsoka or Barris for killing poor Trap - I even think this was well-written and conveyed the desperation of their situation well - but good god, it was startling.  Also tense: that final approach to the medical station.

Not good: Kit Fisto entering a ship that's infested with brain worms with no PPE.  C'mon, man, I know your headtails are majestic, but keep it covered up!  Also not super great: Anakin and Ahsoka's little talk at then end.  A lot of their interaction just feels forced.  I honestly feel like this should have been a dialogue of some kind between Ahsoka and Barriss.

"Grievous Intrigue" (2x09)

Sort of a meh episode.  I understand Eeth Koth is a bit of a bad-ass in the comics, and that does sort of carry over in this episode, but mostly it just seems like a vehicle for various Jedi Masters to quip while crossing blades with this somewhat delightful murder-cyborg.  Obi-Wan gives a furious monologue to Grievous, which rings a bit hollow since the clone army has had precious little screen-time (at least relatively speaking) to exhibit their loyalty or spirit.

Shout-out to Cody and those 212th soldiers dog-piling Grievous.  If only you'd had a lightsaber, Cody, you probably could have killed him right then and there.  And if the writers let you and your fellows out of the background more often, Obi-Wan's speech would have rung more true at the time this episode aired.

"The Deserter" (2x10)

I struggled with accurately summarizing why this episode left me cold.  After all, the focus is split between Rex and the pursuit of Grievous, and I love most of the clone-centric episodes I've seen thus far.  But after some thought, I realized this episode felt like the culmination of a character arc that never actually occurred for Rex, at least on-screen.  After all, this episode is only the third time he's been promoted to something more than the token Clone Character Who Doesn't Die At The End - the previous two episodes I thought were legitimately Rex-centric were Season One's "Rookies" and "The Hidden Enemy".  We still barely know the guy, but in this episode we watch him wrestle with doubt about his role and reason for existence when faced with a fellow clone who's made radically different choices than he has, before triumphantly stating his place is with the army.  This feels like it would be a great episode, if only we were more attached to the character. Writers have to build-up to those kind of moments, or they ring false.

Anyway, is it just me or is Obi-Wan getting a little angry in this episode?

"Lightsaber Lost" (2x11)

I wasn't expecting much from this episode, but it was actually very good.  Aside from the annoying Cad Bane arc at the beginning of the season, the Ahsoka episodes have been improving a lot this season - possibly because she's been separated from Anakin for a lot of them.  Losing a lightsaber feels like the sort of problem a Padawan might face, and the solution feels like the sort of thing an impatient teenager would resort to.  Tera Sinube is a gem - I am always a sucker for the elderly teaching the next generation, and he does it so well!  The animation was well done too, especially in the chase scenes. 

I've been ragging on TCW for it's lack of interconnectivity between episodes and episode arcs, but this is a stand-alone episode done right: it focuses on what a secondary character (yes, I know she's supposed to be a main character, but she doesn't feel like it quite yet), allows them to learn a lesson that develops their characters in an organic way, and reverberates through future episodes (I hope!).

"The Mandalore Plot", "Voyage of Temptation", and "Duchess of Mandalore" (2x12 -2x14)

Oof.  So, this was the arc that actually made me quit watching TCW the first time around.  I am very lukewarm on Mandalorians in general, so that wasn't great.  But aside from that, and from the well-attested issue of everyone on Mandalore looking like a Storm Front fantasy, this arc exhibits the same structural writing defects the entire show has shown far - and honestly, life is too short to watch bad TV.  At this point, I know this main issue will never be corrected in the entire show run, so I can accept it and push through in the name of completionism and writing research, but at the time I wasn't active in fandom and it was enormously easy to just stop watching and move onto other, better, shows and books.

Now, I thought long and hard about how to review these episodes, but I think it's useful in this case to interview them as a singular block instead of individual episodes.  The story is largely cohesive, if a bit strained. It is essentially Palpatine's PT plot writ small: he wants to take over Mandalore (a reason is never really explicated in the actual story, so who knows why), and he's doing it by essentially creating a false war between the CIS proxies, Death Watch, and the Republic proxy, which is Duchess Satine.  If all goes according to plan, Satine will be shown as ineffectual and unable to rule her people, and the GAR can occupy Mandalore for reasons of "public safety".  This will inflame the Mandalorians, who aren't part of the Republic and don't want to be, and send them rushing in the arms of the CIS-allied Death Watch, starting a cycle of radicalization and violence which will end (at least from Palpatine's POV) with Mandalore firmly in his grasp, and all potential opposition killed in the Civil War he engineered.   

As enormously stupid as the whole plot sounds, it's a valid historical tactic for imperial powers looking to expand.  And that's lead us the the primary flaw of this story: The Jedi are the Bad Guys.  Just ignore the tangled mess of Mandalorian canon, retcons, and expanded universe, past and present - in the show itself, they are presented as a smaller, weaker neighbor-state, and the Jedi are acting as agents of an expansionary military power, interfering with their internal politics specifically for the purpose of a soft invasion.  And that's an interesting story!  But that story is deliberately obfuscated and hobbled because the writers and producers of TCW were and are ever-so-concerned with making the Jedi as sympathetic as possible, even in situations where they shouldn't be.

Part of that hobbling is Satine's character.  Satine is badly written, but she's badly written in a very specific way that has been common to most of the non-CIS political antagonists the show has presented thus far.  Satine's most interesting characteristic is that she doesn't want to involve Mandalore with the war - and who can blame her?  The Republic and the CIS have nothing to offer to her or her people.  The only thing that will happen is the exploitation of Mandalore's natural resources (at best) or the destruction of her people, caught between two Great Powers who obviously don't care for her people's struggle.  That's an interesting character, right?  A POV we haven't seen in this show so far, which has consistently been from the Jedi POV, which is pretty firmly in the CIS = monsters and Republic = assholes (but democratic assholes!) camp.

But it's a POV that is pretty uncomplimentary of the Jedi role in this war, which means Satine must be crippled by an obnoxious belief in pacifism, like the unlikably-written Lurmen in season one, and also weighted down by a personal connection to an avatar of the Republic, like Senator Farr and his "family friendship" with Padme overcoming the fact that his people are starving and getting no support from the Republic.  I have heard people argue that TCW, written as it was in the late 2000s, is reacting against the excesses of the War on Terror.  I am less than convinced, mostly because every single anti-war character is reduced to a flat caricature of an annoying pacifist that can be safely defeated by the ever-so-kind warrior monks in the space of an episode or two before being cast aside for the next adventure. 

Because Satine's motivations are poorly written, her actions don't make a lick of sense. In "The Mandalore Plot", she's clearly escorting Obi-Wan around under duress - but in "Voyage of Temptation", she's apparently going with the Senators willingly to the Coruscant, to essentially beg the Senate to not invade.  Why not write her as an unwilling "guest" of the Republic, invited without recourse to defend her people's sovereignty?  Well, that would show Obi-Wan in a very unflattering light, wouldn't it?  But in "Duchess of Mandalore" she's back to being a prisoner in everything but name, escaping custody to receive an unaltered copy of her dead minister's speech.  

Now, Obi-Wan helps her at that point...but it's clearly due to some poorly-written romantic feelings.  I am not interested in any Padme/Anakin parallels, mostly because I find it incredibly tedious and honestly not helpful in exploring Anakin's Leap into the Dark Side.  This story is a gigantic missed opportunity to show the Jedi (or at least, a representative of the Jedi) wrestle with their roles as avatars of the republic, when the republic is so obviously manufacturing a reason to invade Mandalore.  Palpatine is obviously orchestrating this whole thing, but he still (at this point in the show) requires the consent of the Senate to essentially annex more territory - and the Senate is perfectly happy to give him that consent, by the way.  There is a fantastic story on the Jedi side about the clash of ideals vs realities, and the writers totally side-stepped it.

But pulling the focus out a little further, that has actually been par for the course for most of the Obi-Wan stories of season 2.  He's been consistently more and more irritated about the war as the season has gone on, and made some off-hand comments about the ungratefulness of the Republic populace that, in the hands of a more competent writer, could have been a multi-season character arc about loss of faith in fallible human institutions, which would dovetail pretty well with his characterization in both RotS and ANH.  Instead, his character remains the static wise-cracking Good Guy; Satine is the Designated Love Interest, unable to develop along more interesting and independent lines; and this arc falls deeply flat as a result.  

They're not the only characters who are horribly underwritten.  I mean, here we are at the end of Season 2, and have we yet seen a sympathetic CIS character, or an accounting of how Palpatine was able to take advantage of already extant fractures in the Republic to create a shadowy cabal dedicated to tearing it apart?  No.  It's all war crimes and evil laughter so far.  The Good Guys always win (until they don't), the bad guys are always Very Bad, and there are no shades of gray in this massive galaxy.  Again, ignoring the complicated Mandalorian backstory, Death Watch is extremely under-baked as villains.  There could have been a fascinating interplay between Satine and Pre about their different visions for their people's future, but just as Satine is a flat Pacifist caricature, Pre is a dull Terrorist caricature.

I have to give a special mention to the horrible Love Confession of "Voyage of Temptation".  This is the episode where Satine is written most consistently as Peak Pacifist.  If she had instead been written as anti-war (but not necessarily a philosophical pacifist), her escape from Tal Merrik would have been a great inversion of that trope - and in fact, I thought it was at first, when she "confessed", and then had to make an annoyed face when Obi-Wan didn't immediately play along.  Instead, they played it straight, and I've never felt more simpatico with a villain than when Tal Merrik complained about their timing.  That fact that Satine's "pacifism" is then used as an excuse for Obi-Wan and Satine to hesitate to kill a terrorist, leading Anakin to kill him...like, c'mon.  I get it, the writers want to show his fall to the dark side, you gotta play the ominous theme music, but is this really a particularly evil act by Anakin?  I'm gonna be honest, if a cop or an armed civilian kills a mass shooter, no one is castigating them for doing so, but instead congratulating them for stopping a murderer from killing again.

Final note and the only one that explicitly addresses the Mandalorian elephant in the room: I hate the Darksaber.  Like, I know we all gave KJA shit for the original Darksaber novel, but the fact that Filoni (or Lucas?) repurposed the name for a SPECIAL MANDALORIAN LIGHTSABER fills me with intense rage.  They're fucking gun knights, you coward, stop inserting your weird Arthurian hard-on into my western samurai sci-fi pastiche.

And that's it for this batch of episodes.  Up next: Boba Fett makes his first appearance in our chronological viewing, and we return to Mandalore a second time, much to my sorrow. 

[sketchy-saram]

Just a little tidbit I wrote to start getting into the writing habit again, especially since I want to write some more stuff about these guys in the future. (Maybe after Inktober?) I’ve read this like 100 times over, so forgive me if it has any mistakes--I’m incapable of seeing them anymore. xD Enjoy!

Comfort

Something was wrong.

Advieh knew it as soon as Felix walked in the room. And that made them uneasy, since nothing was EVER wrong with Felix. In the entire time they’d known him, they couldn’t think of a single thing he couldn’t laugh off; no situation he couldn’t spin to his weird brand of optimism. It was bizarre. Sometimes it was exasperating. But in the end, it was part of what made Felix, well...Felix.

But today something was off.

He walked into their office, where they were doing some ledger work, and solemnly sat on a cushion at the windows. He didn’t do any of the normal things to announce his presence; didn’t ruffle Advieh’s hair, or kiss the top of their head, or tell a joke, or try to feed them some weird (and potentially location-changing) dessert. He didn’t say anything at all. He simply sat, staring blankly out into the fog-covered courtyard.

And they were already losing a lot of work time trying to figure this out, they thought with a sigh, so they might as well do it properly. They closed the book on their numbers and leaned back, brushing their long red hair out of the way.

“And to what do I owe this particular visit?” they asked. There was no answer. In fact, Felix didn’t look as if he had heard it at all. Advieh’s brow furrowed, and they cleared their throat, feeling almost awkward.  “Ah, Felix. Are you… are you all right?”

Nothing. Unnerving silence. He might as well have been on another planet for how present he seemed at that moment--the thousand-yard stare into space accompanied only by his persistent gnawing on his thumbnail.

The pit in Advieh’s stomach was dropping lower and lower. They stood up, trying not to allow the alarm show on their face.

“Felix. 

Hey, Felix. 

Felix!”

He started. Being pulled out of his own head felt like being yanked out of a tar pit, so deeply had he been embedded in his own thoughts. There was a tangy, bitter taste in his mouth, and as he blinked, he could see Advieh knelt in front of him. Their face was concerned, bordering on panicked; their hands holding his too tightly.

And they were bloody. 

“Ad! What happened? Are you okay? Why are you bleeding--”

Advieh’s eyes, brown like his but with that alluring amber sheen, softened just a bit before narrowing again.

“That isn’t my blood, it’s yours. You were biting your nails down to nothing.”

It was true; Felix could see now, the ragged remains on his right hand where blood sluggishly oozed out. In his mouth, the coppery flavor suddenly made sense. The pain accompanied this realization in quick succession.

“Ouch,” he managed, smiling weakly. Well, that was all right then, as long as Ad was fine. They were already bandaging his finger with magic, which he could have done himself, but there was a hollow satisfaction in being tended to right now. 

And then, just like that, he was remembering everything again, and his face fell. He shouldn’t even be there right now. Why was he here? He didn’t remember walking to Ad’s office; couldn’t recall anything after leaving the kitchens earlier, lost in thought. Felix felt his hands shaking.. No, he couldn’t bother Advieh with this. He wasn’t even thinking straight. This was too much...he needed to process it; needed to be alone. 

“Where are you going now?” they asked, one brow lifting elegantly.

“Away. I’m sorry I interrupted your work. You should, ah… you should get back to it.” He paused for a second, looking at the clock. “But not too long. Don’t forget to have lunch.” his smile was weak. It felt heavy on his face. 

Felix turned again to go.

Advieh stood by the table only a moment before they reached out to grab his arm. They didn’t even have to think about it; they knew they couldn’t let him go like this. Who else would think to tell them to take a break for lunch? Who else would sneak them into the seedy bars near the docks, or slip them enchanted muffins that made your eyes change color for 24 hours? 

Like it or not, they were invested in this man.

“Ah ah. You already forced my hand and took my attention, so you might as well make the most of it. My time is precious, after all. Use it wisely.”

His arm, warm tanned skin under a rainbow of colorful cloth, trembled in Advieh’s grasp. His eyes were distant and desperate at the same time. He bit his lip, teeth tugging at the old scar across his mouth. 

How could they be so familiar with Felix, and yet so unfamiliar with the version of him in front of them now?

“Talk to me,” they added, lower this time, more gently.

And they could see his walls shudder and crumble.

“I...my dad was here,” he began softly.

“Julian?” The slippery knot of anxiety tightened. They really liked Felix’s family; his ex-pirate, questionably medically-trained father was charmingly rakish, and always full of the most exciting stories. “Is something wrong with him? I can--” 

But Felix shook his head and sighed, hands mussing his already-messy mohawk. Instead of its normal rooster-like proudness, it looked as sad as he did. 

Words didn’t seem to come. Instead he paced, grappled with the air, and finally relented, going to sit again in a chair by the windows. He beckoned them over reluctantly.

“No, not… not that dad. My, ah…”

Advieh wasn’t stupid. They blew out a long breath, the pieces falling into place.

“You mean your birth father? He was here? At the palace?” 

They had never seen Felix look more miserable, even as his face scrunched up in disgust and anger.

“Yeah, that one. Not my dad. Just the man that abandoned us.” His fists tensed again; Advieh placed their hands over them in consolation, waiting patiently for him to continue.  “I didn’t change my name from the one he gave me, so I guess when he started to ask around, it wasn’t so hard to find me...The magical baker who works at the palace? Yeah, not hard to find at all, if you’re looking for me.”

A hard, tight laugh escaped his lips. “Which he didn’t for, oh, how long? Twenty-five years? I guess one day he just woke up and thought, ‘I wonder what happened to my kids?’. Expected us to be dead in a gutter somewhere years ago. Ha. Imagine his surprise when we weren’t dead at all? It’s almost funny, when you think about it.” 

But it wasn’t funny. No one was laughing. 

Advieh sat somberly, their legs neatly tucked beneath them. Their thumb was rubbing soothing circles on his white-knuckled grip. He took comfort in their presence. He always had. Maybe that was why he had walked here, even when he didn’t realize it himself. Now that he had started, the words came easier, fueled by all the emotions he’d been battling as they flooded through him freely.

“Anyway, so someone showed him to the kitchens when he came around asking for me. He wanted...he wanted to see Wren, and I told him there was no way in hell. She was a baby when he left--she doesn’t even remember him. Not like me. She doesn’t even have the ghost of a memory with him in it. He called her ‘Renard’ for Gods’ sake--he doesn’t know anything about her, Ad! And he doesn’t deserve to. Bastard. I told him she was fine, and that was all he needed to know.”

Felix could keenly, so keenly that it hurt, bring to mind that sense of loss. He could still feel the dawning horror that he had felt all those years ago when he woke up to realize his father was gone. The increasing panic of understanding he wasn’t going to come back. Three days he waited patiently, like an abandoned dog for its master; until all the food in the house was also gone, and Wren had nothing left to eat. And then he left that house, a five-year-old with a baby, off to find some way to keep them both from starving to death. Finding so much fear and pain before Asra intervened.

“What would have happened to us if Asra hadn’t found me in that alleyway? If he hadn’t taken us to my parents? Wren would have died. I wouldn’t have been able to keep her alive by myself, and could have gotten killed trying. I almost did anyway, and I… I would have done anything for her, you know. She was all I had--all I had left, and I...I would have…”

His sentence ended when he couldn’t speak anymore, choking over the sobs that threatened to consume him. He felt cool fingers gingerly cup his cheek; a thumb brushing away bitter, angry tears. 

To Advieh they felt unbearably hot, and the uncomfortable feeling they had harbored since earlier thundered in their chest once more. They weren’t sure what it was, but it was so hard to contain.

After a minute, Felix regained his composure and sighed. 

“It’s stupid to still feel this way after so long. He wasn’t...he wasn’t a monster, Ad. He was just a broken man who failed. He failed as a father, and he failed as a human being. I get it, but…” He held up the bandaged hand in front of him, flexing it slowly, staring at it transfixed. “But why is it, if I can understand all that with my head and my heart… why even now, after all this time, can’t I shake this horrible feeling that it will happen all over again? That every person I know will disappear and abandon me too, just like those people did? How can it still hurt this badly, Ad? I don’t--”

They couldn’t take it anymore. With swift and decisive movement, Advieh wrapped their arms firmly around Felix’s shaking shoulders, pulling him close. His face burrowed into the crook of their neck; his hands wrapped desperately around their back. They couldn’t deny this defensive, fierce need to protect him any more. Even if what they felt for him was too much, too raw, too early to name, they could not resist this urge to give him what he sought. Advieh would have given anything to ease away the naked fear in his eyes.

“I won’t abandon you,” they whispered in his ear. He smelled like sugar, and cinnamon, and the same kind of patchouli-based herbal mixture as Asra and their father. Their voice was hoarse, but clear and determined. “I won’t abandon you, Felix.”

Advieh stared down at the numbers on their ledgers again, but their train of thought was constantly being derailed, and it might as well have been Julian’s handwriting they were trying to read. Felix was sleeping--calmly now, but fitfully at first--in their room next door. Part of their attention was devoted to keenly sensing him and his current state; the other half was spent telling themself that they shouldn’t hunt down his father and sentence him to death. It was not the most clear-minded impulse, and Advieh was usually nothing if not level-headed, so they were able to recognize that this thought was neither helpful nor wise. It didn’t stop their blood from boiling, or their baser, uglier side from wanting to do it anyway. 

What was the point in being part of the ruling family if you couldn’t feed your enemies to a pit of hungry lions?

They rubbed their temples, letting out a half-chuckle, half-sigh. Of course that was extreme, and they didn’t have a pit of hungry lions besides. It should have alarmed them how violently they felt towards a person they had never even met before, on behalf of another person they had been desperate to avoid not that long ago.  When had everything changed? They couldn’t begin to say. But the change was insistent, and demanding, and quite frankly a little scary. Where would this path lead? They didn’t know; couldn’t begin to fathom a guess. This hadn’t been their plan at all. And yet...why was it so tempting, nonetheless?

“I made a promise,” they mused, thinking earlier of their madly murmured words of reassurance. Maybe they hadn’t been a real promise, but Advieh intended to keep to the spirit of it regardless. 

Their magically-enhanced senses heard Felix shift in bed; heard the sheets crumple around him. Heard his breath catch, then continue regularly. A bad dream? They should go check, they thought as they stood up, ledgers and numbers forgotten.

Yes, they intended to keep their word on this one. For whatever time they had, as long as it was in their power. He was their person, after all.

And they would never abandon him. 

[nemobookaholic]

What if…

I don‘t know if this is a mistake or not, but it feels like the universe is giving me signs to do this,… so here I go.

Recently I‘ve started to write a Loki fanfic. I was so anxios about the english grammar, that I asked a friend to check on it. She read it and told me, it‘s not that bad. But she‘s still very busy and even if I asked her, to check on the grammar and send it back to me, it feels like it takes like forever. And this happens to me with all my betas and all the storys I gave away. I‘m still afraid to do this step, but I want it out there. Today it feels, like I have to or miss the chance, so here is the first part of ‚What if…‘ I hope it‘s not that bad and I would be happy about constructive criticism.

What if... Loki where a 21st century woman?

Scene 1

‘I hate this place! Not that I haven’t seen worse, but it’s dangerous, even for me. I’m starving, this whole planet is inhospitable! It’s more than time to leave. Only that using the Tesseract to teleport, takes a lot of power... wouldn’t be that hurtful, if I hadn’t had to escape from, in my opinion, this way too annoying bastard. And he still follows me somehow. By Odin's beard, I should have killed him the time I had the chance. Stabbed him in the back, of course, just without the expected result. Since I’ve left my originally realm, a lot of things happened, mostly not to my satisfaction. Me sitting on the throne I deserve wasn’t one of it. The only higher court is this piece of stone I am sitting on. Would be utterly boring, to rule this world. It doesn’t even deserve that name, it’s a desert. Thinking about it, why not go and visit Midgard again? I haven’t seen my brother in ages and I guess that’s the place to meet him. I gain all the power the planet spare with me and use it, to start a new, different adventure. One that might bring some mischief!’

We see Loki disappear from the stone dessert. Where he sat seconds before, like it would have been the throne of Asgard, legs open and hands on the rocks that surrounded him. Eying the environment with disgust, out of a pale face and dark rings under his bloodshot eyes.

Everything he leaves behind is a blue gleaming, which last for a while, until it fades completely. In the end there is nothing left to proof his short residence.

Scene 2

We are inside a crowd. In a well known theatre, that has an open roof and reminds us of an wooden O. It’s dark outside, but the crowd standing around us, keeps us warm. We stare up to the actors on stage, who are playing a fairy tale in a midsummer night’s dream. Suddenly the people around us start to whisper and raise their heads. We follow their sight to the balcony where a man, bound in leather and with golden horns on his head, stands. Obviously he isn’t part of the cast. Voices, about some promotion gag, becoming louder. How well do we know about Loki from all those movies and comics? But this guy is new and definitely not Matt Damon. As we can see, he isn’t just playing a role and his behaviour is far from method acting. His fascial expressions are extraordinary, like a man who literarily came from another dimension. We can read from his body language, how much he enjoys the crowd cheering at him. Until a sudden change on his face shows us a second of fear, like he had just remembered something. Indeed he is hiding it pretty well, as we start to question our power of observation, thats how fast he got back control.

Loki is leaving gracefully, walking backwards and that’s the last thing we see of him.

‘Those puny mortals are staring at me. They seem pleased by my appearance. It’s joyful to have them cheering at me, quite different to my last visit. Thinking of it makes me realise, I’m not out of danger yet! How could I forget about this stupid Agency, that is somehow connected with Thor. It wasn’t a good idea to show my face to all those people. Maybe one of them is in the crowd, already calling for the bloody Avengers - this time I don’t have an army to my support. Even if I’d decimated their number last time, who can tell if they didn’t recruit more, since I’ve been gone? I’ll have to go now! I’m able to get out of here without losing my face. A god doesn’t run away, even though it would be wise to get disguised for a little while. Of course I could become an animal, but that’s what Thor would expect of me and probably figure it out quickly. No, I have to do something he would never expect. Speaking the spell, I think of all the women I know, with mother leading the way - for fathers sake am I tired! Didn’t even realise it until this very moment. I feel the darkness coming closer, as I slide down some wall, sense my body transforming right before the darkness takes over.’

We caught Loki again, sitting on a corner, head leaning against the wall behind him, eyes closed. His body looks strange. It’s difficult to see the shape of it, like you would try to see trough some fog, surrounding his skin. His hair becomes lighter every second until it reaches the colour of sand. We can’t see it, but even his body shrinks a little. The wardrobe changes from asgardian to, probably stolen out of Natashas closet. Loki wears black jeans, a green t-shirt and a also black leather jacket now. Underneath the shirt a breast starts to grow, while other ‘things’ become less until they disappear. This is so much more than a simple illusion and Loki can be happy about being unconscious, so he doesn’t have to feel the pain of his transformation.

Scene 3

As for Loki, we know he is a clever fellow. Maybe that’s what brings doom on his own occasion. We remember, he is a she now and she’s still sitting there, holding the Tesseract, which slowly slips from her hand.

To give us certainty, yes he used it as a source of power to make a true transformation, not willingly though. He was at a state of weakness, where he didn’t think much about his actions. And he needed the support, as for this world we can sense slight traces of magic. Of course every use of sorcery has it’s price and we can assume, that if Loki had seen the bill, he probably wouldn’t be willing to pay for it.

Anyway, events have been started and we will have to live with the consequences. For Loki it means, that there is an orange circle appearing out of nothing, not noticed by her mindless shell. Just a small one, producing a quiet sound, like wind howling trough grass. Out of this hole in time and space, we see a hand appearing, grabbing for the blue glowing cube. Taking it out of reach for the mischievous god.

She will sleep now, for a long while. Trying to regain some power. What she doesn’t know is the fact, that the dimension she slipped in so careless, doesn’t contain much witchcraft. What, well hopefully, will keep her busy, so the other realms can recover, at least, from her evil deeds.

And her slumber won’t be broken. Not even as two strangers cross Lokis path. For them it’s a broken, but still beautiful woman, sleeping in an unusual place. We sense the compassion on their faces. They share a long moment of silent conversation, just by expressions. The woman, a goth girl, seems to be wary about what she reads in the face of her companion. The guy indeed seems to be unafraid. He gets closer, grabbing Loki at her shoulder, shaking her. She shows no reaction at all.

‘Is she dead?! We should get help,’ the female says.

‘Still breathing. Don’t be such a chicken! I think she might be one of our kind … let’s take her home and allow her to rest,’ the guy replies.

‘You are serious, aren’t you? I can’t believe, I even consider helping you … come on then!’

The both of them take the girl between them, pulling her up, slowly starting the long walk home. It looks rather funny, for Loki is a tall woman and these strangers are smaller than her. They haul her more as you could describe it as carrying, but at least they’ll reach a house that they get into.

Meanwhile Loki still doesn’t move any bone, would have been helpful with the stairs actually. We don’t know if she realises anything of what is happening, but according to the abuse done to her body we may doubt it. Even when they drop her into a bed, she’s like a corpse.

‘Kevin, do you really think this was a good idea?’ the woman asks.

‘Come on Beatrix. Don’t you think it’s what humanity claim from us? I will sit with her and wait until she wakes, if it brings peace to you. You can go to bed if you like.’

The guy smiles at her and she can’t help herself and smiles back.

‘You are too kind for this world, you know?’ she kisses him on the forehead and leaves the room. Giving the burden of a long night’s watch to him, as he’d requested.

Scene 4

‘This must be a dream, I guess it by the fact, that mother is with me. Her soft touch, the calm voice and the love I feel while she looks at me, are far away from me these days. I miss her, knowing well what’s going to happen once I’ll return to Asgard, keeps me away from there. It isn’t my home anymore and that’s what will make her safe. We always had a strong connection, that’s why I believe her, when she tells me, to find my own way. Even if I know perfectly that it’s just a dream, her next words are predictable as she tells me to seek happiness in what I have. Only that I own nothing at all, I was promised a throne! Mothers eyes darken, like she could read my thoughts. She turns her back on me. I call out to her, knowing what’s going to happen next. As in all those dreams before, I see her dying.

No matter how hard I try, I can’t change her fate. It’s like I’m cursed, every time I come close to her, she’s dying.

“Mother …,” it’s just a whisper of disbelieve on my lips, yet it’s enough to wake me from this horrible dream. Watching myself causing her death again and again, doesn’t lose any of it’s horror. Through a shroud of tears I blink my way into reality. I can’t remember what happened. The ceiling I’m staring at, doesn’t look familiar to me. My tong licks over my dry lips, don’t know the last time I actually drank something? My stomach hurts, food seems to be even longer ago. I’m weak and I hate knowing so. I use all my senses, to get more informations about my whereabouts, as I am unable to move. There is some comfort in the way I lie, a pillow under my head and a blanket that keeps me warm. Knowing all this, doesn’t really help me to figure, where I am or how I get here. The try to sit up and have a better view got amiss, I’m far to weak. A sight of surprise escapes my throat and I fall back into the down.

‘Are you finally awake?’ a voice from my right asks and I manage to turn my head, to see who was talking. A redhead caught my sight, he looks quite young. It’s not easy to tell with those Midgardian folks. ‘How are you? Feeling a bit better?’ he smiles at me, trying to make me trust him, I suppose. NOBODY ever ask me, how I feel!

‘Am I your prisoner?’ is the first thing I need to know.

‘No, god no! Why would you think … never mind. Of course you are free to leave any time. But you are also allowed to stay, if you need help,’ is the reply.

I try to figure out what kind of game he’s playing, but it doesn’t occur to me. It makes no sense. I’m staring at him in silence.

‘Don’t know what you had to go trough till now, however I promise you’re perfectly safe with me. Uhm - maybe it calms you - if I tell you that I’m gay? I won’t touch you. And if that isn’t enough, I could call for my flatmate. She helped to bring you here by the way.’

Does that little scum really believe, I, the god of mischief, would be scared by a mortal?! And how does it make things any better, if he adds his sexual interest - oh wait - I completely forgot about the disguise I’m in. Of course he must mistaken me for a weak creature like himself.

‘I am a goddess and not afraid of your puny, gay presence!’ I tell him to demonstrate how less I’m impressed.

‘Uuuuhm, ‘kay?’ now the redhead is staring at me. Not the effect I had in mind. He seems more fascinated than afraid. There is more, even when he’s hiding it well, an expression of anger crosses his mimic for a second. ‘Listen, if I where you, I would think carefully about my next words, cause if you are one of those homophobic assholes, you can go back from where you’ve come!’ Now we have context.

‘Ehehehe. You have no idea who you are talking to, do you? Where I come from, nobody cares about the gender of your love. I didn’t meant to make an insult on that topic, you insisted on being so. I wanted to warn you, that I am dangerous. But as words seem to have no effect on you, take this!’ with these words I grab for the Tesseract in my magic pocket, just to find it isn’t there. ‘Where IS IT? Did you maggots dare to steal the stone from me? I am Loki of Asgard and you are a dead man, if you don’t tell me where you’ve put my belongings!’ I yell at him, this time pulling out a knife. The mortal keeps his hands up in defence.

‘First of all, you didn’t carry any belongings with you, as we picked you up. Second, you really believe all those shit you are saying, don’t you? That’s quite of interest to me and I may be able to help you. Third and last, threaten me with a butterknife hasn’t the impact on me, you might think. I’ve experienced worse, you know,’ he looks at me, like I’ve gone mad. I however look down at my hands to find , well not what I’d expected. What is wrong with this dimension? The knife disappears.

‘Take me back to the place where you’ve found me,’ I press the words through my lips, trying to stand up, failing again.

‘If I promise to get you back there, would you behave for the rest of the day?’ he’s waiting for an answer. As I’ve said enough already, I just mutter my approval. ‘Good. Anyway, you’ll have to wait, cause it is closed right now. We’ll be there by the time it opens, to search for your stone.’

‘Tesseract! It’s a blue glowing cube.’

‘Yeah, whatever. We’ll seek for it, I promise.’

‘Sounds like the stuff Hina keeps talking about,’ a rasping voice comes from outside the room, ‘what kind of freak did we brought in here Kevin?’ a woman appears in the door, examining me and so do I. She has a strange colour of hair, that is somewhere between grey and light blue - but not the right age for it - half of her head is shaved, while on the other side the hair grows over the shoulder. She looks skinny, not in a very healthy way. She might be a warrior. At least her clothes look like she had a fight, all black and ripped into pieces. Now that I’m on the case, I get a closer look on the redhead too. He appears neat and well-fed, nothing unusual about him. Even his style is screaming: “I’m like everybody else.” Maybe except the golden ring in his right ear. I can’t understand, how both of them can be friends, not to talk about the third party, in which room we obviously are. There are colourful pictures all over the walls, a lot of books and art supplies spread across the desk next to the window. How can anybody life here on free will?

‘Does she has a name?’ the woman breaks the silence, asking her friend but still looking at me. He seem uncomfortable with the situation, that’s why I introduce myself.

‘I am Loki of Asgard.’

‘Sure and I’m Jesus Christ! What’s wrong with you?’ she waves her hand in front of her face, I do not know for what reason.

‘I beg your pardon, daughter of Christ, everything is completely fine with me! It’s not my fault, your tiny brains can’t keep up with a god.’ If looks could kill, we would be dead by now. She indeed has something of a warrior.

‘Woah, bitchfight! Calm down ladies,’ Kevin tries to ease the situation. I don’t know if it’s him who finally breaks the ice, or my stomach, that is rumbling loudly into the silence. I’m ashamed because of the betrayal caused by my own body. My cheeks feel hot all of a sudden.

‘See? Maybe we should all have breakfast first, afterwards we can come back to the topic,’ another short silence follows to Kevins words and he must have taken it as agreement, cause he gets up, leaving the room, gently pushing the girl aside. She follows him, not without giving me a last evil look.

My leg slips out of the bed, carefully, followed by the other one. It takes some effort to get up, in the end I stand on my unpleasant feet. Looking down, the difference isn’t to suppress. It was easy with the female voice, as I’m used to different illusions. The new point of view however, let me figure out some things. On my way out of the room I walk past a mirror. After a short glance I have to stop and walk back, to get a closer look. The spell I’ve used works perfectly, way to perfect! I can’t trust mine eyes. My hand wanders across my new face and I can’t but accept the tiny differences. Not that it would bother me, how familiar I still look to myself, it’s more the fact that everything is so damn real. I’ve tried this kind of magic more than once, it never worked quite well. So how come, I was able to work such a difficult spell on the edge of my powers? Something is going on here and I need to find out about it. Plus I need to get the Tesseract back. Thinking back, I’m already sorry, I’ve left the last planet.’

Scene 5

Loki is sitting inside a small kitchen, sipping on a cup of tea, so do his new flatmates. The atmosphere is in low spirits and all we can hear is the noise of their dishes. It’s obvious, the Midgardians don’t believe a single word she had told them, oddly enough they want to help her, for reasons we shall find out, as the story continues. Yet here they are, remain silent, until we start to wonder who’ll be the first one to talk again?

‘Do you feel better now?’ of course it would be Kevin, what did you think? ‘A nice little cupper and some beans with eggs always have been the best way to have a good start into the day, isn’t it?’ he grins like a Cheshire cat, obviously food is his guilt pleasure. Loki just sits in the corner, raising one eyebrow, while Beatrix seems to relax a bit.

‘That’s what I love you for, you know. Just that stupid grin,’ she giggles.

‘What you mean stupid? Is it a crime to be happy after some good food?’ Kevin looks puzzled and Bea starts to laugh. They fill the room with joy, but can’t pass it on to Loki, who still sits in her corner, without moving, or even showing some empathy. There is just this sad look on her face, we can only guess about. Maybe it is, because she’s reminded of all those times she saw Thor and his friends, having fun like that. Or it is, cause she never was a part of the group, but always watched from aside. Probably she doesn’t know it herself, nonetheless it makes her aware of the big gap between them and how impossible it seems, to ever be on that side of the table. To be the one who laughs with friends.

She can’t get away soon enough.

‘Is it time now to seek for my lost item? - Please,’ she adds after a short break. Must have come to her mind, that they’ve shared their food with her, so the try to be a bit more kind isn’t all waisted time. Not that it make her care.

But how can we know, by just watching the expressions on Lokis face? Well we don’t, but we know her well enough to interpret every tiny movement, ain’t we?

‘You see, it wasn’t that hard,’ Kevin smiles again and takes a look onto his watch, ‘we’ll need a bit more patience. One more hour and we can go,’ he tells Loki, who’s wriggling on her chair.

‘I probably shall not feel like it, but I’m still hungry. Glancing at the girl, who has barely even touched her food. I can’t help myself, but staring at her plate in desire. I can’t remember, the last time I have been that hungry, to forget all my manners.

‘Bea love, are you eating any of this yet?’ Kevin must have followed my sight, what makes me look away in shame.

‘Nope,’ is all she says. That’s when he takes the plate and slide it into my direction. I take the offered food and eat it as fast as possible, to not extend this annoying situation. I’m even more ashamed, that I’ve just behaved like my brother would, how pathetic!’

Scene 6

We see Loki and Kevin at the Globe, on the corner where they’ve picked her up. Seeking for the cube, while we can see on her face, how, with every second, she becomes more desperate.

‘It must be here! I’m stuck in this bloody realm if we can’t find it …,’ she mutters in distress.

‘Maybe some stranger picked it up? We can ask, if it was handed over down there?’ Kevin offers.

‘That’s impossible! It’s nothing a mortal could handle!’ she yells at him, throwing her hands in the air.

‘Fine! What would you suggest to do next?!’

‘I DON’T KNOW! I need to think,’ she turns around, walking away.

‘Take your time. I’ll be in the big building next door, if it’s of any interest to you.’

We look after Kevin, as he disappears in the Tate modern, while Loki is taking a walk along the Themse.

‘How? I definitely had escaped the guy and he can’t be that fast in tracking me. It’s impossible. Somebody else must have taken the Tesseract. But who? There is nearly no magic in this world and according to Kevin, nothing like gods or celestial beings to ever be seen. New York wasn’t attacked by the Chitauri and the Avengers are heroes out of comic books. What ever that means. Sure there are a few individuals, who would like to steal the Tesseract, but none of them could come here without it’s powers. What plan could this person follow? It makes no sense … unless … unless they want me to be stuck here. Like a very luxurious prison, I bet Thor or Odin are involved in it! Can’t stand, that I’ve escaped their judgement. To teach me a lesson, probably. Who else would want to keep me here? A world where no ‘harm’ can be done. Pah! Don’t they know me at all, they should know better. A planet with any kind of population can be ruled. Only, this time I need to be smarter. Watching the subjects, learn their habits and find a possibility to submit them. In the end, all of them are going to kneel! Ehehehehe.’

We can’t hear Lokis inner Monolog, but by her evil grin and by the fact, that she turned around and walks quickly into the direction she just came from, we can submit, she has something mischievous in mind.

Scene 7

Loki is entering the Tate, with a couple of tourists. It’s a mystery the guards doesn’t stop her, well maybe not, she must be already aware, of how to use her body the right way. Finally she’s in the building, surrounded by people, who stop, not far from the entrance, to admit the great hall. We can tell from the look an her face, that she isn’t impressed at all. No wonder, there are much bigger buildings in Asgard. Anger is crossing her face. As of course the building is still big and she’ll have to seek for Kevin. She wanders around, visibly relaxing. That’s the magic of art and maybe the place. We follow her, slowly now. Studying one painting after another, strolling through the halls. We might get the impression, she completely forgot about Kevin. She already made it through a few levels, when she spots him. He’s sitting in an armchair, in front of a big glass-wall, staring down at the people walking around downstairs. Loki slips into the chair next to him.

‘Did you find your cube?’ Kevin asks.

‘No …,’ she braces her head into her hands. They sit in silence for a while, watching the people who have the size of ants, from their point of view.

‘Why don’t you look at the paintings, instead of staring down there?’ Loki can’t find much amusement in doing so.

‘I like to study people. That’s my job and I can’t turn it off. Right before you’ve joined me, there was a couple sitting next to me and I’ve been listening to their fight. It was pretty interesting and I might had followed them, if I didn’t figure, you should be up here every minute. I saw you enter the building. Took you a while to find me, aye?’ Kevin leans back in his chair, finally looking at Loki.

‘I have been learning about the midgardian paintings. Some of them are quite beautiful,’ she shrugs her shoulders, ‘so you get payed for spying on people?’ We recognise interest flickering on her face.

‘Hahaha, no. Not in the way you might think. I’m a psychologist-to-be. People come to me and tell me their problems and I’ll analyse how to help them. Explains my manic interest into other peoples behaviour. Talking of it, I thought, you would be an interesting case. Would you allow me, to have a few sessions with you? You don’t have to do it for free of course.’

‘Now he comes to the point, about what he was hiding from me. I knew, this guy was up to something. Waiting patiently for his offer, so I can see, if it’s worth my time. He seems to think for a moment, probably about how to formulate it, before he speaks again.

‘As I’ve figured, you don’t have a place to stay for longer?’ he asks and I nod, ‘so in case you agree, we could come to an arrangement. You can stay in Hinas room, she’ll be away for a while. In return I want an hour every second day, where you will answer my questions honestly. Without any pressure, I promise. How does that sound to you?’

What an unique offer, he surly doesn’t know much about me.

‘I agree, but under one condition, you’ll have to answer my questions too. Do we have a deal?’

We shake hands, no more words needed. This was way too easy.’

[violetsmoak]

Philtatos [14/?]

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20101543/chapters/47690671

Blanket Disclaimer

Summary: During a patrol where Red Hood and Red Robin cross paths, Jason is infected with the blood of the Eros, the ancient God of Love, who informs them that they must track down his missing bow and arrows, or Jason will go slowly mad with an obsessive desire–for Tim. Though overwhelmed by the sudden attention being paid to him, Tim sets to work trying to solve the case, before Jason succumbs to madness. In the meantime, Jason discovers that there’s more than godlike powers at work here, as well as a legacy that reaches back through the sands of time.

Rating: PG-13 (rating may change later)

Beta Reader: None at the moment.

JayTimBingo Prompts This Chapter: #undying love #fatal flaw #jealousy

First Chapter

________________________________________________________________

What follows is a silent feud about where Jason will sleep. He tries to insist that the cot in the medbay will be sufficient, but Tim is unmoved by the argument.

“You need to be comfortable,” he maintains crossly. “The only time anyone gets any sleep in here is if they’re doped up on the good drugs, none of which will help you right now.”

“Sleep won’t help me either, you know. There hasn’t really been a difference between being awake or not for a while now.”

Tim tries not to betray his dismay at that. “It might not do anything for your mind, but it might for the rest of you. You need to keep what strength you can.”

“Then I’ll sleep on your couch.”

“That thing was brought for decoration only,” Tim counters. “I can tell you from experience that falling asleep on it causes as many bruises as a night of patrol.” He pauses to consider, and then says, “Besides, that’s where the brat’s sleeping if he stays over.”

Damian rolls his eyes. “Hilarious. I expect someone else will be here to relieve me before I ever have to endure what passes as your version of hospitality.” 

“There are two bedrooms in the apartment,” Tim goes on, ignoring the boy, “Alfred was by before all this happened to change the linens, so it’s all clean. You can take my bed—”

“No. No. I can’t. If you’re going to be stubborn about this, I’ll go with the guestroom.”

“Really? You’re going to pick a fight over this too?” Tim groans. “My room is the only one with blackout blinds, which are statistically proven to improve sleep quality.”

Jason shifts from side to side, like he’s wavering, and then throws Damian an almost pleading look.

The boy huffs in irritation and snaps at Tim, “Surely even you can’t be ignorant to the implications of letting a man, who’s aroused by your very presence, sleep in your bed?”

Stunned silence meets that comment, before the horror sets in.

“Damian!”

“What the hell, kid?!”

“You just…I can’t believe you…That’s not…!” Tim may be too upset for words at this moment, not least of all because the little monster has a point.

“If this is what having a normal younger brother feels like, I’m amazed any of you make it to adulthood,” Jason growls, cheeks bright red.

The boy remains unrepentant. “I’m sure Richard has said the same thing about both of you on occasion. Now, if you’re both finished with the Victorian theatrics, I haven’t eaten yet and assuming the likely event that Drake has nothing palatable in his fridge, I intend to order something. If you don’t want to starve, you may come along. And bring your credit card.”

He swans out of the medbay, leaving the older vigilantes staring after him.

“How?” Tim mutters. “How is it the little jerk always manages to walk around my property like he owns it?”

“Because you’re a pushover,” Jason answers immediately.

Tim makes a face. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me that when you’re not holding my hand like it’s a lifeline.”

Jason’s eyes snap downward in surprise like he didn’t notice he was doing it. If they were red before, the color of his cheeks appears to darken further now.

“Shut up,” he snaps.

Which makes Tim feel bad about teasing him.

It’s not like he has control over it.

Or the way he’s been looking at him since Tim showed up with Barbara.

It’s total disbelief, like he can’t understand how Tim was physically in front of him, and then something like shame or guilt.

The knot in Tim’s stomach tightens at that.

Is kissing me really something that bothers him that much?

“You, uh, you don’t have to take my bed,” Tim murmurs, avoiding the other man’s gaze. “It’s like you said. Not like you’re going to sleep anyway, so…the guestroom should be good enough.”

He leaves the medbay, Jason in tow.

“Why do you even have a guestroom?” the latter wants to know. “You don’t strike me as the type to want people staying over here.”

“Kon and Bart sometimes crash here.”

Jason scowls. “Aren’t they fast enough to just zoom back home in a blink? Why do they have to stay here?”

“Uh, because they’re my friends? And sometimes friends get together and do things like play video games, go see movies or just sit and commiserate about how irritating our parent-slash-mentors can be. They don’t have to stay, but sometimes it’s just fun to hang out.”

“Yeah, well, wouldn’t know anything about that,” Jason mutters.

Some of Tim’s attitude fades away. “Really? Bruce didn’t let you hang out with your friends?”

“To do that you need to have friends to hang out with.”

“But I thought—there was that girl, wasn’t there?” he asks as he opens the door to the apartment, and they head in.

I’m sure I saw pictures of her and Jason up in his bedroom.

Jason looks confused for a moment, like he’s trying to remember something long-buried, but eventually the recollection takes hold.

“Rena? Yeah, we hung out, but there weren’t sleepovers involved, and I couldn’t exactly complain to her about when Batman was being a douche,” he reminds him. “And I guarantee when we went to see movies, we weren’t actually watching the movie. If you know what I mean.”

He ends the last bit with a leer and now it’s Tim who’s embarrassed.  “What about the Titans? You never stayed over at the Tower?”

“Daytrips only,” Jason replies. “B wasn’t keen on me hanging out with them. I think he still blamed them for Dick leaving and thought they’d corrupt me or something. I was rarely there long enough to bond with anyone like that.”

“Sounds kind of like Damian’s situation,” Tim says, glancing over to where the younger boy is sitting at his kitchen island with his cellphone in hand, lecturing someone across the line in rapid Chinese.

“I think in his case, it isn’t so much the lack of opportunity to make friends as the lack of interest.”

“You’re not wrong.” Tim shakes his head. “I mean, he did grow up in the League. And you…” He trails off, suddenly reminded. “You were there too, right? When you came back?”

“Sort of,” Jason allows, shifting with discomfort. “Friends weren’t high on the list of priorities then.”

“I guess not.”

Tim purses his lips as he leads Jason up the stairs toward the bedroom, wondering not for the first time what kind of hell the other man had to endure upon his resurrection. That part of his life is a mystery to them all.

And I have a feeling some of it shouldn’t be.

He recalls the blades that appeared in Jason’s hand out of nowhere, and strains his memory through the disorganization of the fight to remember what Carrie Cutter said when she saw them.

“What about the All-Caste,” he recalls out loud as he leads for Jason to enter the guestroom at the end of the hall. “Was that the same thing?”

He doesn’t have to look at the other man to notice he’s tensed up. “Sort of, yeah.”

“So, it’s another secret organization? They’re the ones who gave you those swords, right?”

“Nobody gave me anything,” Jason grunts, and skirts past Tim and through the door into the room. He pauses a moment, assessing the space as if expecting something to jump out at him—there’s the Bat-paranoia—before turning back to face Tim. “I trained for that shit, and it takes a special kind of rage to be able access the All-Blades.”

Tim leans against the doorframe, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. “All-Blades. Really. They’re seriously called that?”

Jason shoots him a look. “Problem?”

“No. I just…it’s kind of a lame name. Magic blades are usually called…Excalibur or Sword of Omens or Dagger of Time.” That earns him a disbelieving look, and Tim throws his hands up in defense. “I’m just saying.”

“You’re a goddamn nerd is what you’re saying,” Jason informs him. “And it doesn’t matter what they’re called, it’s what they do.”

“' Only show up in the presence of pure evil’. I remember. As far as powers go, at least they’re useful.”

“Not if Cupid decides to keep switching back and forth with whoever’s helping her,” Jason says. “They work against whoever that is but are useless against her when she’s human and just crazy.” Weariness radiates off him, and to Tim’s surprise, he throws himself back onto the bed seemingly without any of his prior unease, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. “What I wouldn’t give right now for a superpower that was a bit less finicky.”  

“The fact that we have a power on our side at all is still an advantage.”

“Not as much as if I had the ability to blow shit up with my mind. Which would be kind of poetic.”

His mouth twists into a self-deprecating grin that makes Tim scowl. “Of course.”

Always with the death jokes.

Jason appears to notice his tone because when he lowers his hands from his eyes there’s a glimmer of apology there. It vanishes almost immediately, hidden beneath the veneer of humor.

“What about you?” he asks.

“What about me what?”

“If you could have a superpower, what would it be?”

And isn’t this surreal?

First, that Jason is here in his apartment, second that this isn’t some kind of Red Hood plan where he shows up to mess with Tim. And now they’re talking about superpowers? In the hypothetical sense, instead of their usual ‘someone-with-a-power-is-trying-to-kill-us’ sense.

Jason is still waiting for him to answer, so Tim thinks for a moment. “I don’t know. Something easy to hide, I guess.”

“Hide? Like from B?”

“No—well, yeah, that too. You know how he is. But I wouldn’t want something that would call attention to myself, or anyone else in the masked community. Especially not the Bats,” he says.

“Huh. Guess you got a point. If suddenly getting powers meant you develop lizard skin or wings or gills, it’d be kinda hard to hide even with all the fun Wayne Enterprises toys you’ve got.”

“And if someone like Vicki Vale could finally make the connection between me and everyone else? I think I’ll pass.”

Jason shakes his head. “There you go again, putting everyone’s needs and comfort above yourself. It’s a real issue with you, isn’t it?”

“It’s a hypothetical situation, you don’t need to read too much into it.”

“Okay, well hypothetically, if you weren’t a self-sacrificing moron, what power would you want?”

Tim ponders for a moment, and then says, “Being able to fly, maybe. Or super strength.”

“Wanna be able to keep up with Super Clone, huh?” Jason asks, voice a little tight.

Tim frowns because that sounds like a dig; not at him, he realizes a beat later, but Connor.

Why would that…? Oh. He’s jealous.

Still unsure how to deal with Jason’s newfound possessiveness, he gauges the other man’s body language, and then slowly enters the room proper to perch on the edge of the bed. Knowing how uneasy Jason is about physical proximity, he keeps a respectable distance between them for now.

Out loud, and in a would-be casual voice, he replies, “No, nothing like that. It’d just be nice to be able to go up against Bane or Killer Croc without having to worry too much about the day I’m too slow to dodge.”

Wrong thing to say, apparently.

Jason’s instantly sitting up and reaching for Tim—almost snatching at him. “You go one-on-one with Killer Croc? Are you nuts?”

“It’s an example,” Tim is quick to assure him even as he lets him grasp his hand. “I’ve never been that reckless. I’m not Damian.”

Although there was that one time, I tricked Killer Croc and Bane into going after each other instead of me, but I’m not telling Jason that now. Save that for when he’s cured and will find it funny instead of upsetting.

He tries to ignore the nagging doubt at the back of his mind that they’re even going to be able to cure Jason.

Or that if they do, Jason will even stick around.

“Thank the gods for small miracles,” Jason exhales; he doesn’t remove his hand, though.

“Also, aside from being useful the next time someone decides to drop a baby over a bridge, flying’s awesome,” Tim says lightly. “You can’t tell me your favorite thing about being Robin wasn’t jumping off tall buildings.”

“Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t. There’s something to be said for busting collarbones.”

“You forget that I was there,” Tim points out. “I saw you taking the long way back to your rendezvous points just so you could be in the air a little longer.”

“Pics or it didn’t happen.”

“I have pictures.”

“Which you don’t show anyone.”

“Yeah, because I love reminding people of how I stalked them when I was a stupid kid,” Tim deadpans.

“Hey, you did it, own it. But I’d still like to see those pictures. I…uh…don't exactly have a lot of me from before…from when I was a kid.”

Tim purses his lips, holding back on his first instinct to babble out an agreement. This new honesty and vulnerability Jason is showing him—the increased tactility and need for proximity—it’s only Eros’ blood influencing him. Who’s to say once things are back to normal—and they will be!—Jason won’t go back to mocking and deriding Tim?

Assuming he wants to be within ten feet of me.

“Tell you what,” he says at last. “When this is over, if you still want to see them, I’ll hunt them out of storage.”

Jason beams at him in genuine excitement. “Awesome.”

They gaze at each other for several seconds, before Jason seems to remember himself. His eyes dart to their hands, and he pulls back again. “Sorry.”

“You know what I’m going to say.”

“Yeah. But it’s not just about you. I’m not…I don’t do this.” He gestures. “Even when I’m not under the influence of mind-altering drugs, not a fan of handsy guys. Especially if the handsy guy is me.”

“You know, I had noticed that pattern since you got back to Gotham,” Tim says dryly. “All that busting of collarbones you were talking about.”

Jason’s cheeks go pink for some reason at that. “Uh. Yeah. Exactly.”

Before Tim can think it over, Jason shifts until he’s lying down, and then turns his back on Tim. “Think I’m gonna try that whole sleeping thing. Just for shits and giggles.”

“Okay,” Tim replies slowly, feeling as if he’s missing something. “You want me to go?”

“No!” Jason practically whirls around, winces when he realizes how fervent that was. “I mean…you can stay. If you want.” He swallows, looking anywhere but Tim. “Might help. A bit. You don’t have to.”

I hope the King of Mixed Signals thing you’ve got going on is just the infection…

“How about this,” Tim begins, bringing out his phone. “I’ll sit over here—” A respectable six inches away from Jason, “—and get to work on that list. You try to get some sleep. When you wake up, you can look it over and tell me what you think.”

He can see how Jason’s working out if that’s alright, trying to find any way that could backfire, and then he slowly nods.

“Okay. Yeah. Let’s do that.”

“And at the top of the list,” Tim says, shooting him a meaningful glare, “‘Jason Todd is allowed to hold Tim Drake’s hand’. Should I put it in bold?”

“Don’t be such a smug shit, Replacement.”

The other man still settles back on his side of the bed. It’s completely stiff at first, and his eyes remain trained on Tim like he’s afraid he’ll either vanish or wrap himself around him.

Tim pretends not to notice the scrutiny, instead sits cross-legged in his designated spot, and makes it seem like he’s wholly engrossed in figuring out a list of behaviors that they can both consider allowable. Which is a new one for him, because he’s never really considered doing this before in a regular relationship, let alone one as situational as this.

Eventually the exhaustion of the past days catches up with Jason, and the Bat conditioning of grabbing sleep wherever and whenever one can wins out. His breath evens out and when Tim does look up, his eyelids have drifted shut.

For several minutes, he simply watches, before catching himself.

Don’t be a creeper.

He turns back to his phone.

Unsure what else to add to the list (and there’s kind of no point doing this while Jason’s asleep, Tim only said he’d work on it to keep the other man calm), Tim decides to use the time to read up a little more on Greek mythology. Jason is so well-read on this subject and Tim has only a passing knowledge, if there’s any chance of thinking up new solutions for this case, it will help if he doesn’t need Jason or Eros to take the time to explain things to him.

Especially not Eros. I trust him about as far as Kon could throw him…

He never thought this sort of thing was important to know, mostly because if there was ever case involving mythology or ancient evil, Cassie generally had that covered.

Apparently, a refresher course is in order.

Speaking of Cassie, he sends her a quick text—and then one to Bart and Kon just to cover all his bases—before diving into his research.

He doesn’t have the time or the patience to read the original works of Hesiod or Homer, although he amuses himself thinking Jason probably has.

Maybe even in the original Greek.

He spares a fond look for the sleeping man beside him.

Somehow, he never expected he could look so vulnerable. And not only because that word seems incompatible for describing Jason.

After years of training, the mantra of ‘constant vigilance’ gets so ingrained in a body that it can never really relax into slumber. Tim doesn’t think any of the Robins are able to just check-out when they go to sleep.

Not without heavy sedation, or under the care of a qualified English butler.

And unlike Dick and Tim, the other Robins all led lives that were anything but safe. Being a heavy sleeper could lead to more than just bruises.

His fingers want to drift toward Jason again, want to comb through his hair but Tim is loath to disturb his fragile slumber.

He becomes aware then, of eyes on him and Jason; looking up, he catches Damian watching from the doorway, a frown on his face.

Tim tenses up defensively then, expecting a snide comment and already planning on how he’ll fight the kid if he makes a big deal about this.

Jason already feels bad enough about the whole thing, we don’t need any more comments from the peanut gallery.

“Did you need something?” he asks coolly, voice soft so as not to disturb Jason.

“I simply came to inform you that Brown has arrived for her babysitting shift,” the boy tells him, but the usual sneer that would accompany his words is absent. He lingers a further moment in the doorway, shakes his head and then walks away.

Tim frowns, not sure he wants to ask, but also knowing that leaving Damian to his own devices rarely turns out well.

Carefully, he shifts away from Jason, moving with gentleness so as not to wake him. Once he’s satisfied that he hasn’t disturbed him, he leaves the room and gently closes the door behind him.

Damian is already across the hallway, leaning against the door of Tim’s study with his arms crossed and mouth pulled downward. It’s the same look Bruce gets when he’s puzzling out a clue that doesn’t fit.

“You care for Todd.”

“Of course I do,” Tim agrees automatically. “He’s one of us.”

“No. Not like that.” Damian pauses, like he’s trying to choose his words with care, which is…rare for him. “You care about him in a romantic way. I had assumed it was one-sided due to the circumstances, but it’s not. You return his feelings.”

Tim’s stomach swoops, a lump in his throat.

First Steph, now Damian. I’ve managed to keep this to myself for almost ten years, and in the span of two weeks two of the people I’d least like to know figure it out.

Damian continues to watch him, waiting for a confirmation or a denial.

Tim chooses to side-step. “He doesn’t have feelings for me. You know that’s Eros’ blood making him act this way.”

“Perhaps. It doesn’t change the fact that at this moment, he cares for you and you care for him.”

“The key words being ‘at this moment’,” Tim says with a scowl. “Which means it doesn’t matter. It’s not real.”

“I don’t understand. This is clearly a good thing, and yet you both persist in being miserable,” Damian says, crossing his arms. “If you act on your feelings, it could allay his distress much better than your current half-measures. And in the meantime, the rest of us can work on a long-term solution.”

Tim clenches his jaw, a myriad of responses on his tongue, some more defensive and angry than others.

He’s saved from saying anything when another voice says, “It doesn’t work like that, Dami.”

Steph has made her way up the stairs; she’s dressed in comfortable clothes and the cast on her arm has been wrapped with purple tape.

“There’s no Band-Aid solution for this,” she goes on. “When this is all over and Jason goes back to wanting nothing to do with the Family—with Tim��it’s going to be heartbreaking.”

“It will be heartbreaking anyhow,” Damian points out. “You may as well enjoy it while you can. At least then, you’ll have the memories. Especially if our efforts to save him are unsuccessful.”

Which is oddly deep, for Damian.

“Memories aren’t always a good substitute for giving up that last bit of yourself,” Steph says quietly. “Take it from someone who knows from experience.”

Her expression wavers, and Tim wonders which heartbreak she’s thinking of just then. Her father constantly letting her down, having to give up her daughter, the events that lead to her breakup with Tim—

It could be anything.

“And you don’t want another schism with Jason to affect the team dynamics,” Steph concludes.

Damian is not convinced. “Please. If that were the case, we would already have seen worse consequences from you and Drake working together.”

Steph tilts her head to one side. “Okay, you have a point there. Kinda surprised you’re the one making it, though.”

“Why?”

“I always figured romantic relationships didn’t merit your attention.”

“Not unless they affect our work. Which is what Drake and Todd’s is doing now.”

“Should have known…” Steph rolls her eyes. “Still surprising, though. Especially considering your background.”

“Meaning?”

“The, uh, culture you come from. With the League and how strict they are about everything. I figured you’d have a bigger problem with two guys, you know, having feelings for each other.”

“Alleged feelings,” Tim reminds. “Alleged feelings induced by supernatural roofie. I don’t think it counts.”

“Technicalities,” Steph dismisses with a wave of her hand. “There’s still major dude-on-dude sexual tension happening here.”

Tim chokes, and Damian looks like he stepped in something gross. “Thank you for that horrifying assessment, Brown.”

“I do what I can.”

“But for your information, League law is based on skills, not who warms one’s bed,” Damian says. “Proscriptions against homosexuality were created by populations with such a low survival rate following birth that every available person had to be governed by the need to procreate. That’s no longer an issue today.”

“Really.”

“In fact, should anyone in the League develop an attachment to one of their comrades—which isn’t forbidden, by the way, it’s just looked down on—it’s considered less of a problem among same-sex relationships because it means fewer children adding to the surplus population of the world. If no one elevates their paramour above the League’s law and purpose, it is not a problem.”

“Huh. That actually makes sense. I mean, with Ra’s’ whole ‘destroy humanity to save the world’ spiel.”

“Only certain bloodlines are continued to ensure stewardship of the world,” Damian agrees. “My aunt, once she fulfilled her duties to give birth to an heir, has taken only female lovers.”

“Wait…you have an aunt?”

Damian ignores her and turns to Tim. “Were your feelings for Todd entirely mutual, it would be a smart match for the both of you. Your bloodlines would cease, ridding us of your less desirable evolutionary qualities.”

“Gee, thanks,” Tim deadpans. “I think that was almost a compliment.”

“With you and Todd unable to provide a legacy, I would be the only one to carry on Father’s bloodline,” the boy concludes.

“You do realize that adoption and surrogacy are a thing, right?” Steph asks, bemused. “I mean, weren’t you technically a test-tube baby?”

“Blood is blood,” Damian says with a shrug.

“And how do Cass and Duke and Dick fit into your little scenario here?” Tim grumbles.

“Cain has never indicated an interest in any children and given the conditioning her biological parents subjected her to, I image they ensured it would never become an issue for her,” the boy muses. “Thomas is not part of the family—”

“Yet,” Steph pipes up.

Damian makes a dismissive gesture, as if he agrees but doesn’t consider it an issue. “And Richard is not blood.”

“He’s still Bruce’s son.”

“We’re all Bruce’s sons,” Tim growls, once again growing irritated with Damian’s black-and-white view of the world.

“You retained your father’s name, as does Thomas. Todd is legally deceased. And Richard never took Father’s name, to begin with. He will have his own children—if by some miracle he doesn’t have them already—and they will likely marry into the family since he is ghayr mahram. Thus, we’ll maintain a strong Wayne bloodline.”

He nods to himself as if pleased with the assessment.

Tim stares. “Your brain is a messed-up place. You know this, right?”

“You seriously have all of this planned out?” Steph wonders, expression caught between disturbed and impressed. She looks like she might want to hear more, and so Tim interrupts.

“In any case, you guys are way off-topic—like, parallel-universe-levels of off-topic. And if you don’t stop, I’m going to start speculating about hypothetical future relationships between the two of you.”

“Oh, ew. Why, Tim? Why?”

“As if I would ever…of all the preposterous…does your mind know no bounds of depravity?” Damian sputters.

“Consider it revenge for that comment you made about Jason in the medbay.”

Damian shudders. “Point made.

“What comment?”

“Not now, Steph.”

She sighs. “Fine. I know when I’m not wanted. I’m going to finish steal some Chinese food if you don’t mind.”

She heads downstairs, and Tim shoots a glare at Damian. “You didn’t come to get us when the food got here?”

“Do I look like Pennyworth to you? It’s not enough I had to order it for you—”

“With my money, I’m guessing.”

“—did you want me to eat it for you too?”

“Like you didn’t already.”

“Semantics.” The boy turns toward the stairs as well.

“Damian.”

“What?”

“Don’t…don't tell Bruce,” Tim says after a beat of hesitation. He doesn’t like confirming any kind of perceived weakness to the younger boy, but this one has ruinous potential if not kept secret. “Please.”

Damian doesn’t immediately take his meaning, but when he does, he gives a sharp, barely noticeably nod.

“Tch—as if Father would be bothered by such trivium. But if you insist.” Tim exhales in surprised relief. “Although…”

He tenses. Should have known it wouldn’t be that easy.

“I would caution you against making your feelings about Todd very obvious around Richard,” Damian suggests. “Considering the way he has been compromised, should he discover the truth it won’t remain a secret for you to tell.”

He departs then, leaving Tim standing in the hallway, feeling bizarrely wrong-footed.

⁂

The horizon over Susa is dark but for a thin strip of pink, the last lingering trail of Apollo’s chariot. As he heads out of the feast chamber and onto the balcony, Jason—no, not Jason. He is Alexandros, scion of gods and heir to kings—breathes deep the spicy sweet-smelling air and tries to dispel his melancholy.

His mind is a million miles away from the festivities within. He can hear the raucous shouts of his men and their new wives, the music and the dance and the drink. He should be in there with them, but his mood for celebrating feels false—false like the entire charade he’s just engaged in for the sake of peace and politics.

His feet are itching to take off at a run for who knows where, and yet he remains stubbornly and painfully grounded.

There is a hand suddenly upon his—brown, callused and familiar. He looks down into dark, burning eyes and sees concern there, and so forces a smile.

“This is your wedding night, you know,” he reminds. “You should be spending it with your brides.”

“And you with yours,” Tim—no, Hephaestion—replies, trying for teasing but it sounds more brittle than anything else.

“The duty will keep. There is only one I would spend this night with.”

Alexandros leans into the other man, presses his forehead head against the smaller man’s hair.

“I’ll be sure to notify Roxana to expect you,” Hephaestion murmurs.

Alexandros reels back with a scowl. “Very funny.”

“I thought it was.”

But there’s a lack of his usual wry humor in the words.

Alexandros sighs, knowing the reason for it. “Are you still angry I insisted you wed Drypteis?”

“How can I be? The weddings were my idea.” And they were—a brilliant and necessary political maneuver meant to forge ties between the ruling houses of Perses and Makedonia.

“One you suggested without expecting you would have to endure yourself,” he points out. “Policy works better when those in power lead by example.”

“Is that what it was? Here I thought you were simply tiring of the rumormongering of your other vassals,” Hephaestion says darkly. “It’s no secret they would have me banished or dead to take my place.”

“There is no one who ever could,” Alexandros assures him, worried about the sudden insecurity. “And my wish that you wed had nothing to do with what anyone else thinks. There is a grander hope in my heart than that.”

Hephaestion raises an eyebrow; it’s the first he’s heard of this.

“Do you not see? In having you marry the sister of my own wife, you and I are now bound even more closely together than before. We are family in more than just bond now—as closely as nature will allow—and no one can argue it,” Alexandros explains fervently. “And one day when I have a son, and you a daughter, they can wed. We will share descendants, and they will cement the dynasty and our bloodline in perpetuity.” He crosses his arms. “So my other vassals can bay at the moon as much as they want, there will never be another who replaces you in my esteem.”

Hephaestion’s expression is surprised at first, then pleased. A small smile curls at the edge of his lips, cheeks darkening. But a moment later, something troubling and uncertain enters his eyes.

“What is it, philtatos? Does that future displease you?”

“It’s a pretty dream your words weave, but if someone sticks a knife in your back or poisons you before you father an heir, it’s nothing but a dream.”

“There is time enough for that yet. And in that task, I am not alone,” he teases. “Your line also has yet to be so blessed.”

But Hephaestion does not rise to the bait. “You have already achieved so much. As great as—greater still—than your father before you.” Alexandros clenches his fist at the mention of his father; the man is dead twelve years and yet still casts a long, damned shadow. “What could you lose, hanging back for a year or so? Spend some time running the empire you’re building instead of marching constantly to war.”

“What would be the point of that?” he dismisses, putting some distance between the two of them. “You do that job better than I do, with your shrewd plans and shadowy plots. I am quite content with you keeping the works running while I conquer us a legacy that will last millennia.” 

“I have already made the point as to why that might be problematic.”

“Nonsense. Don’t you see? This is why our empire will last longer than any other—because instead of one man grasping desperately to hold the reins of power, there will be two.” He grasps the shoulders of his beloved. “For you, Hephaestion, are Alexandros as well. My second self.” He reaches to cradle his chin, brushing his thumb across the other man’s lips. “Have I not said so a thousand times?”

Hephaestion’s eyes lose some of their strain, though he looks away. “And yet you are king, not I. This was never meant to be my domain. The gods chose your line, not mine.”

“Perhaps not yet,” Alexandros allows. “But one day it will be. As I said before.”

He has no doubt about that.

There are several long moments where he waits, expectant, and then Hephaestion sighs. “As always, I will serve your will.”

Alexandros nods in approval. “Good.”

“I still worry, though, that your utter certainty in your will may someday be misplaced.”

“Nonsense. I am a god, remember?”

“In your own mind, perhaps.”

“Blasphemy,” Alexandros says with affection, curling his fingers into the hair at the name of Hephaestion’s neck and pulling him close. “You have called me god on more than one occasion.”

Whatever the response to that might be is cut off as he fits their lips together, and then he knows nothing but the taste of his beloved.

He startles awake, the ghost of lips upon his own.

His skin tingles and burns, like it’s been stretched around an ill-fitting frame, and there’s a throbbing pressure behind his eyes.

“Where…?” he murmurs, examining his surroundings in confusion for a moment. The room is a far cry from the frescoed rooms and silken furniture he is used to, and the incense-thick air now replaced with something floral and false.

Worse than the disorientation is the fact Hephaestion has vanished.

Only as he jumps out of the bed where he was laying does reality return, hitting him like a crowbar to the head.

He’s not Alexandros—not anymore. He’s Jason, and this is Tim’s guestroom, and Tim is—

“Not here,” he realizes, whatever panic might have been brewing about his previous lives blurring with his current one vanishing with the realization. It’s like a vice clamps around his lungs, and unless he finds Tim, it won’t release.

Instantly he’s stumbled from the bed and across the room, throwing open the door in a hurry. He bursts into the hallway, frantic eyes flitting wildly until he spots Tim standing at the other end. He is framed in a doorway, deep in discussion with—

Blondie is on the stairs beside him—too near, way too near!—and Jason’s already moving.

Before he’s even aware of it, he has Tim wrapped in his arms, has his face buried in his neck and breathes in the scent of him that is somehow so different and yet so similar to how it once was beneath blood and sand and time.

Tim stands stock still, bearing up under the sudden onslaught remarkably well. Jason is a full five inches taller than him and considerably bulkier; Jason can feel him bracing himself beneath him.

“Sorry,” he says immediately and pulls away.

“Don’t be,” Tim says, clearly working to keep his voice level and pretend he is unaffected. He clears his throat. “It’s on the list.”

Jason rubs the back of his head, uncomfortable. “Guess I should probably take a look at that then maybe.”

They’re both trying and failing to avoid each other’s gaze until there’s a cough beside them.

Jason suddenly recalls Steph’s presence—which comes along with a long-buried piece of information that’s never bothered him until now. Namely that she and Tim dated.

On the tails of that fact is irrational anger, because in this time, she has a prior claim on him. And she’s never made any bones about disliking him. Who’s to say she isn’t here to take Tim away from him in the name of protecting him?

Which is both exactly what he wants and also ground for him to rip her throat out.

His lip curls reflexively and he looms closer to Tim. “Problem, Blondie?”

“Yep,” she says easily, the forced calm of someone trying to negotiate a hostage release. Her mouth is pulled into a sharp smile, eyes cool. “But not the one you think I have.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means you’re both being ridiculous,” Tim interrupts, a shade too loud and with a glare in Steph’s direction. That, more than his words, causes Jason to relax a little; if Tim’s annoyed with her, he’s less likely to let her drag him off somewhere. “Jason, I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you woke up. I had to speak to Damian, and then Steph showed up…” He shakes his head in apology. “Did you at least get some rest?”

“A bit,” Jason says though it’s a lie. “Speaking of the bat brat, where is he?”

“Went back to the manor.”

There’s a lot more relief in his voice than the usual that comes with Damian making an exit.

There’s a sudden blare of music from Steph’s pocket, some pop thing that Jason’s probably heard on the radio or in a movie or something. Digging it out, she barely glances at the number before her previously hard expression blooms into a smile.

“It’s Cass,” she tells Tim. “Mind if I step into the other room, or do I have to worry about wandering hands while I’m out of earshot?” she drawls.

“Very funny,” he grumbles as she does just that.

Jason’s brows draw together, wary; it almost sounds as if Steph is…joking about all this. Not getting ready to split them up or say something disapproving that might hurt Tim. Which…is not what he was expecting.

“Did I miss something while I was asleep?” he asks.

“No!”

“Yeah, that was a little too quick to be believable, baby bird.”

“We just established a few things is all. So if you’re worried about Steph, don’t be.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning she won’t say anything. She’s an ally.” At Jason’s derisive snort, Tim glowers. “She covered for you—for us at the Cave. So no one else knows.”

Jason stares at him without comprehension for a moment and then remembers, and his neck and cheeks warm.

The kiss.

“Right.” He swallows. “Guess Bats wouldn’t be too comfortable with us hanging out if he knew about that, huh?”

“I don’t care if he’s comfortable or not,” Tim says with stubborn venom. “The particulars of this situation is no one’s business but ours. It’s enough B’s keeping us benched, he doesn’t get to dictate this too.”

The fierce expression is the same one he wore earlier in the Cave when he was standing up to Bruce, and Jason once again experiences that overwhelming need to pull him close and continue playing out the scene of his dream in real-time.

This time he’s able to rein it in, but it’s a tenuous thing.

“Consider this whole thing’s about us, I have no intention of staying completely out of the investigation,” Tim goes on, thankfully unaware of the direction of Jason’s thoughts. “If anyone’s going to figure all of this out, it’s going to be us.”

“Well, you’ve got me convinced,” he says around the dryness of his mouth.

“Not that that takes much lately right?” Tim quips, lightly teasing in a way that makes Jason have to fight down an embarrassing sound in his throat. “Anyway, on that note, there’s food downstairs if you want to eat. Then I want to get back to the mainframe and do some more research for the case.”

“I’m fine,” Jason says, even though his stomach feels like a bunch of razor blades scraping around inside.

He distantly recognizes the feeling from many sleepless, hungry nights on the street, but somehow it doesn’t really bother him just then. It’s the same way the lack of sleep has felt like an afterthought until Tim forced him to lie down. His interest in anything seems to have become directly proportional to what Tim thinks about it.

Which the other man seems to have figured out as well because he narrows his eyes and indicates Jason should follow him down to the kitchen and the table with several brightly colored containers of Chinese take-out.

“Eat,” he commands.

Jason bristles. “You know, just because I’m slightly obsessed with you right now doesn’t mean you get to boss me around.” Tim raises an eyebrow, and there’s that reflex almost-whimper building in his throat that he must cough to get rid of. “I’m eating because I have a girlish figure to maintain and no other reason.”

“Of course,” Tim agrees, clearly knowing different.

The food, like the nap, doesn’t satisfy the way it usually might; there’s no relief in it, even though Jason knows it will help keep his strength up and not just because Tim said so.

He’s always felt a need to keep Tim happy when he was Patroklus and Hephaestion, but it was never under the compulsion he is now. There was always the freedom to refrain from something he disagreed with or stand up to schemes he didn’t agree with.

As pissed off as he is about Eros infecting him and ensuring his over-the-top fixation with Tim, it could be a lot worse. At least Tim would only take advantage to ensure he’s taking care of himself.

Which is ironic considering how bad he is at taking care of himself.

On their way back to the Nest, Steph returns from her phone call.

“So what was your uber-secret phone call about?” Tim wants to know.

“Lots of things I’m not telling you or your overgrown puppy there,” she quips with an irreverent grin. “Also, she’s flying in as soon as possible.”

“To help us, or help you mock the situation?”

“Why can’t it be both?”

Tim groans. “As if things weren’t bad enough…”

“Oh, relax, Ex-Boyfriend, if you can’t laugh at a situation, what can you?”

Jason growls at the words, earning a startled glance from Steph. Tim catches on quick, because he says, “You might want to watch your words for a bit, Steph. I don’t think Jason’s got the capacity to interpret certain jokes just now.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” she agrees with a frown.

“Also, unless you intend to be useful, maybe go away,” Jason suggests with false cheer.

“Jason…”

“No, he’s right,” Steph interrupts, mouth thinning. “I’m just here to keep an eye out, but I didn’t sign up to be abused. If I wanted that I could’ve stayed in the Cave babysitting Dick. I thought you guys would at least be more fun.”

“Steph, it’s not his fault—”

“This week,” she accuses. “What’s his excuse for the rest of the time?”

“Lingering trauma.”

Tim groans at Jason’s retort, and Steph rolls her eyes. “And we’re back to the death jokes. Get some new material, Zombie Boy.”

“Would you both stop it!” Tim demands. “This is even less amusing than it usually is.”

Jason’s shoulders hunch; he feels instantly reprimanded and terrible for upsetting Tim. Steph doesn’t look quite as abashed, but her tense stance relaxes and she sighs.

“Fine. This is me, letting it go. For now.” They pause in front of the secret door as Tim reaches for the panel. “I’m going to commandeer your training room for a bit. See how much range of motion I still have.” She moves her injured arm gingerly. “Keep the comms open so if there’s any trouble I know to come help.” She jabs an index finger at the two of them. “And no smooching noises.” 

“Why? Jealous?” Jason jeers.

“Hardly,” she snorts. “Remember, I’ve kissed him more than you have.”

A film of green fury seems to pass across his vision and Jason lurches forward. His fist is already flying toward her, missing it’s mark only due to the fact that Steph has excellent reflexes and because Tim’s wrapped his arms around him from behind.

“Jason, no! Stop it!”

“Come on, Tim, this time she deserves it,” he whines.

“She deserves…something…” Tim grunts, trying to dig his heels into the ground. “But you…don’t hit…women…”

Something icy slides down the length of Jason’s spine in realization because…Tim’s right. He doesn’t hit women—at least, not unless he’s in a life or death situation facing off with a rogue or unscrupulous woman like Suzie Su who can take the hit. And he’s never lashed out at a woman just based on his own fury.

How could he forget something so fundamental to his principles? All because of a bit of teasing he’d probably just answer with snark on a normal day?

It’s getting worse, isn’t it?

His stomach twists, and he suddenly wants to throw up every bit of food he just ate.

Jason sags back on his heels, kept up only because Tim is still bolstering him from behind. As the inexplicable rage vanishes to be replaced by guilt and shame, he sees that Steph now looks trouble.

“I’m sorry,” she says, voice subdued. “I didn’t realize it was that bad.”

“Neither did I,” Jason croaks. He wants to flee—to stalk off and get away from everything about this situation. But the warmth of Tim’s arms around him is a more convincing argument against that, countering every one of his normal coping mechanisms.

And as comforting as it is to know Tim is there to support him, Jason can’t help feeling utterly trapped.

⁂⁂⁂

I want to know what you think of my story! Leave kudos, a comment or if writing comments isn’t something you’re comfortable with, as many of these (or other emojis) as you want and let me know how you feel!

❤️️ = I love this story! 😳 = this was hot! 💐 = thank you for sharing this 🍵 = tea spilled 🍬 = so sweet and fluffy! 🚔 = you’re under arrest! the writing’s too good! 😲 = I NEED THE NEXT CHAPTER 😢 = you got me right in the feels ���mind blown 🤬god damn cliffhanger 😫 whyyyyyyy?!?!?

To Be Continued

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Of Dust and Ashes

Well, look at what happened after all. Hope everyone had a happy Holiday and is looking positively toward the new year. This is the last update for Of Dust and Ashes of 2019. Stay tuned for the January 1st post where I go over some stats for 2019- because holy hell have I written a lot of words. 

I’d like to take this chance to thank all of my readers. I’d like to take a moment to thank @winterisakiller for keeping the death count on this from being even higher. I’d also like to thank @tnystrk-exe for encouraging me to embrace the death count. Yes, I realize they are two contradictory forces but they are winged ones sitting on my shoulder. 

Check out the Masterlist for prior Chapters. I run on Coffee. 

Chapter 19: The First Snowfall

Things were quiet as Thanksgiving came and went. It was only a few days after that the first snowfall hit the farmhouse, blanketing the ground in white fluff. Deanna was sitting across from Clint at the dinette and movement outside was what had caught her eye. Instantly, she tensed as she looked over but rather than some threat, she saw fat white snowflakes slowly falling from the sky.

At least, they looked white as they fell from where she sat. It had been a long time since Deanna had seen snow in person. Far longer than she would like to admit.

She told the kids that she and their father had settled in Southern California to get away from snow and winter weather in general. She had told them that she hated snow, hated driving on it and dealing with shoveling it.  

That wasn’t the complete truth. She had loved winter. She loved the sight of snow covered trees and the way the moon sparkled over the pure white ground. There were few things that gave her the same sense of peace as coming in from shoveling the drive and wrapping her hands around a hot mug of cocoa.  

It was true that she hated driving on the snow and ice. It was dangerous but what she hated more was the way her then husband would get angry about the cold. Looking back, perhaps that should have been a warning sign.  

He would get angry about having to clear it off his car, often only clearing the windshield and letting the wind clear the rest as he drove. Apparently, safety for other drivers be damned. When his hands and feet were cold, he got cranky. But there wasn’t anything she could do about that, she couldn’t change the weather.  

The only thing she could do was agree to move somewhere that didn’t get cold in the winter.  

Seeing those snowflakes falling brought back a childlike joy and displayed it across her face for Clint to admire. She wasted no time at all in rushing to the door, slipping her shoes on and dashing outside. Clint and Trust were both right behind her.  

The dog barked and danced in the yard, jumping up and catching flakes in his mouth. Clint watched as Deanna spun in the snow, leaning against the doorway with his cup of coffee in his hand. It was a sight he would gladly enjoy for as long as he could.  

He wasn’t sure if she noticed how the snow wasn’t as white as it should have been, as bright as it should have been. If she did, she didn’t seem to care. It was only the slightest tinging of gray that gave way a hint of what had happened.  

The sky and as a result, the rain, had begun to clear in the last few weeks. It was a small blessing, watching the water run clearer as each day passed. Life was moving on. The cycle was continuing. The world kept turning.  

With the rains and snows, perhaps the dust would stay settled. He hoped that would be the case. The plants seemed to thrive off of the dust and ashes and they both had spent time telling themselves that was a good thing.

And it was. Objectively, they each knew that. The plants needed all the help they could get. Especially food crops, the likes of which were dying at alarming rates all summer and fall. The worrying information had been passed to Clint from New York, where Nat and the remaining team worked. Their primary concern had shifted from rescue to preventing starvation but there was only so much they could do. People would starve to death this winter.  

The Avengers had invited Clint back, urged him to rejoin them. He continued to tell them he needed space. He was needed close to home. Sometimes he would say he was needed elsewhere. And he was, even if Deanna wouldn’t admit it yet.  

A snowball crashed into his face and she erupted into a fit of laughter. The snow left that grimy feeling behind as it melted but he ignored it. His face could be washed. That was the joy of being here, on his farm and behind his gates. It made it so that they could ignore the horrors of the world outside for a while.

“You’re Hawkeye, how could you let me catch you off guard like that?!” She yelled, squealing a bit as he took off after her.

“Maybe I don’t want to be Hawkeye anymore.” He said as his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her from her feet and spinning her around.

If not for the slight gray tinge to the snow, if not for the odd silence that still hung around them, the scene would have been at home in any of the Lifetime Christmas specials Deanna had so loved to watch.

“If you’re not Hawkeye than who are you?” She whispered as he turned her in his arms. Her hands rested against his chest as snow gathered and melted in their hair, leaving the grime behind.

“Just Clint Barton. Just a man, taking care of the ones he loves.” His voice was soft and she could feel him tense as he admitted. it.  

Love. They never defined what they were to each other, what the endgame of their relationship was. They never spoke about sex or love or marriage or becoming a family. But maybe in this new world, they didn’t need to. Maybe it was something that just happened when the time was right and you were not looking.  

“Love?” She whispered.  

“I mean- I-” He stammered and she smiled up at him. It was the warmth in that smile that helped him relax. She was curious and cautious, that much was plain to see. But she was also relaxed and hadn’t pulled away from him.  

“It’s okay.”

“I know- I know Laura hasn’t been gone long. And I do love her still. I think I always will-”

“You promised as much when you said your vows.” Dee offered. “It’s not like things stopped working or that you broke up. She was taken from you and that’s different. It’s okay to keep loving her. It’s okay to always love her. I’m not going to punish you for that. I’m not going to expect that you forget about her.”

“I love Trust.” He smiled and rested a hand on her cheek, cold fingers caressing soft skin. “And I also love you. I’m not sure how it happened, when or even why. I know- I know I don’t know you in so many ways and you don’t know me but…” He shrugged.  

“I think…” She bit her lip, looking away from him. He feared that he fucked it up. What they had going was good and he feared that she’d say she was going to leave him, leave his farmhouse and leave the home she’d made there. “I think we know what matters about each other. I think things work differently now. I think I love you too.”

It was too soon. Or at least it should have been. But things seemed to obey new and strange rules now. The very meaning of what it was to love someone seemed to have shifted and changed. It didn’t mean that she wanted a domestic life with him. To see him off to work and to kiss him and welcome him home. It wasn’t a love that made her long to mother his children. It didn’t likewise wasn’t a love that made him wish to see her belly swell with his child.  

It was a different kind of love but a love none the less. It meant that neither wished to see harm come to the other. It was a love that said they had each other’s backs. It was a love that said they would do anything to protect the other. It was a love that whispered in their hearts that they would maybe even kill for each other.  

But such were dark thoughts for another time. Now wasn’t the time to think of what falling in love in this ash covered world meant. It was the time for smiling and simple pleasures. It was the time for huddling together and staying warm while the dust settled.  

Clint’s lips found hers in a soft kiss. It was sweet and she could taste the dark bitter taste of his coffee when his tongue slipped into her mouth. Dirty snow fell around them as they clung to one another, arms winding tight and fingers digging into skin.  

Their breath came out in white puffs, warming their noses and cheeks. He held her close and she toyed with the ends of his hair. It was a sweet kiss, for all of it’s passion. There was a hunger simmering below the surface yet neither had made a move to take it farther. In that way, it was like so many of the kisses they had shared in their time together. It hinted at what they could have, what comfort they could give.

“It’s almost Christmas.” Deanna whispered as their lips pulled apart.

“I didn’t get you anything, Dee.” Clint’s soft voice washed over her. She loved that he called her that. Dee was the woman he saw when he looked at her. Dee was stronger than Deanna. She was a fierce woman who could keep going through the end of the world. She wanted to be Dee.  

“You don’t have to. I don’t have anything for you, either. Let’s just watch movies and be together?” They’d watched most of the movies between the farmhouse and what they had collected from in town. But that didn’t stop Clint from smiling softly.  

“I’d like that.”  

~~~~~<3

Clint and Dee had been doing laundry when the AI security system came to life. The voice of a woman rang out through the house. It scared the life out of Dee when it called out for “Agent Barton”, much to Clint’s amusement.  

“What is it?” He’d asked, once his laughing was under control. It didn’t feel like anything serious could touch them in their little bubble. The simple act of the system coming to life was enough to pop that bubble and send a ball of molten lead to settle in her belly.  

“A group of about fifty individuals are approaching the property. ETA at the gate- 30 minutes.”

“Armed?” There was something to his voice that she’d never heard before. Maybe she was hearing the ghost of Hawkeye in that moment.  

“Some, yes.”

“Pull up a video feed. Let’s take a look.”

In the living room, the large TV came to life on it’s own. The house was more automated that Dee had given it credit for. The screen filled with what appeared to be a remote camera feed. People moved up the road that would take them to the gate. They were pulling crates on trailers behind ATVs. Men had rifles over their shoulders.  

“Stay here. I’ll address this.”  

“No.” Deanna said, surprising herself. She swallowed back her fear. She didn’t want to be Deanna, scared of the world and what was outside the fence. She wanted to be Dee, strong and a partner to Clint. She wanted to pull her weight. She wanted to protect as much as she wanted to be protected. “I want to go with.”  

“It could be dangerous.” He didn’t say ‘no’ but his face was set, hard lines etching deep.

“I know. That’s why I want to go. I- I want to be able to help if things go wrong. And I’ve gotten better.”

“You have.”

“I can help.”

He signed and for a moment he looked everywhere but at her. He looked to the ceiling and the floor, the couch and the TV. Finally, he looked at her, long and hard. With a nod, he consented. “Stay back, away from the gate. We’re taking my Truck- the doors are bulletproofed and if they take those rifles off their backs- you get behind the doors.”

“You too.”

“I need you alive. I need you.” Clint said.

“I need you, too.”  

~~~~~<3

The sun glittered off the snow. If it wasn’t for the slight gray to the snow cover, it would have looked like any other winter day. There was a heavy tension to the air in the truck. Quivers full of arrows were sitting between the seats, next to bows. Resting on top of the weapons were two hands, clasped together. It had occurred to her as they loaded into the truck that it was the 24th of December. Christmas Eve.  

In the past she’d be building gingerbread houses and taking the children to parties. She’d see them off to bed and tell them at least four more times to go back to bed. And finally, when they were settled and well asleep, she would wrap the last minute gifts.  

Looking over at Clint, she wondered what he would have been doing today if their world hadn’t ended. Would he be busy being a father and husband? Did he cut down a fresh tree every year? Did they decorate a fake one? These questions and so many more danced on the tip of her tongue and she dared not ask them. Part of her wondered if just as Deanna had passed away, leaving Dee behind- did that man pass too from this world? Is that what he had meant by wanting to leave Hawkeye behind?

They pulled up close to the gate, nose of the truck within a few short feet of the metal. He had once told her that the lower part of the gate was not electrified, only the upper third. It served to protect animals that may wander into it or small creatures passing through it but kept anyone from climbing over. There were no signs warning of this and she wondered if that was legal.  

They left the truck running as they opened the doors. Ice and snow crunched under their boots. Her ankle was almost healed and for that, Dee was thankful. The last thing she needed was to fall. Still, there was a lingering stiffness to it.  

They stood, partially hidden behind the open doors of the truck and waited. They could see the group approaching. There was a moment of silence as they came to a stop right outside the gate. They sized each other up.  

She watched as eyes flicked from Clint to her and lingered. He cleared his throat and they looked again to him.  

“What do you want?” he asked, authority powering his voice in a way that she found so painfully attractive.  

“Let us in.” The man who seemed to be the leader, demanded. “It’s time you paid tax to King Jacob.”

Their eyes locked eyes at the name. They’d hoped that they wouldn’t hear of him again. In hindsight, that was far too much to ask for. Having a second run in with a group tied to King Jacob made Dee wonder about the state of things on the west coast. Was King Mason expanding his territory this winter as well?

“We owe no tax and have sworn no loyalty to any new King.”  

“This land is claimed by King Jacob.”

Clint began to speak over the man. “This land is ours and ours alone.”

Ours. Not his. Ours. The word sent butterflies into a fluttering fit in Dee’s stomach. She squashed them and for now, the remained squashed. Now wasn’t the time.  

“As the ruler of this land, King Jacob takes possession of three quarters of your supplies.” Clint snorted indigently. “We’re also gathering… vulnerable citizens to keep safe in the city.”

“And to do so you need them in cages?” Clint nodded his head to the side, toward where large wire kennels were placed on trailers. They were pulled behind ATVs. They had heavy tarps covering most of them.

Deanna hadn’t noticed before Clint drew attention to them but when she realized that there were people, women in the cages. Once she noticed them, it was hard to ignore what was right in front of her eyes.  

The women looked like there were naked and too thin. There wasn’t a scrap of cloth inside the crates, so far as she could see. Most of them huddled in the shadows, no doubt using the tarps covering their enclosures to protect themselves from the elements. The only thing they could use to keep warm was the body heat of one another.  

“It’s to keep them safe.” The man said. “You never know what could-”

“She doesn’t need you to protect her.” Clint glanced at Dee as he spoke. “I assure you, she is more than capable of taking care of herself and she’s got me to watch her back. That’s all she needs.”

“Ah but she is a woman.” The man pointed out as if that much wasn’t obvious. “Women need protection. It is King Jacob’s orders that the women and children of his lands be gathered in the city.”

“These are not his lands.” Clint challenged.  

“They are. And you’ll give your woman and your tax.”

“We’ll do no such thing.” Dee called out.  

“Help me.” A woman’s voice called timidly through the cold air. Her arm reached out from between the openings in the woven wire of the cage. “My baby- They left my baby. Help me.”  

“Shut up!” A man guarding the cages roared, breaking any sense of decorum the caravan had been aiming for. The man jabbed a long stick into the cage, striking the woman. She fell hard against the grate bottom.  

“Please.” She cried, words carried to them on the soft winter’s breeze. “Please, they- they left her. They left her!” The man jabbed her with a stick, again and again until all that they could hear was the woman’s broken sobs.  

“Where?” Clint demanded and when he didn’t receive an answer, he demanded a second time, louder. “Where is she?! Where did you leave her?!”  

“It doesn’t concern you.” The leader coolly spoke, as if a woman wasn’t being beaten through the crate behind him. “Bring your tax- her included- to Kansas City and present it to King Jacob within a week’s time. Prepare your camp for inspection after. Do not make us come for it.”  

They watched as the caravan turned and made their way down the dirt road. Dee’s eyes darted to Clint, taking in his tense form and locked jaw.  

“What now?” It was the sound of her voice that brought Clint’s eyes to her.  

“We find that baby.”

“How?”

“Try to cover as much ground as we can. Do you- Do you want to come or stay?”

“I want to go.”  

“Then let’s go.”

~~~~~<3

Tag List: @usedtobegoodfriend96, @theoneanna, @alexakeyloveloki, @acoholic-muffin, @missaphrodite23, @toozmanykids, @j-u-s-t-4. @bambamwolf87, @nonsensicalobsessions. @tinchentitri, @xoxabs88xox​, @queenoftheunderdark​, @coyotesongwriting​, @myoxisbroken​, @carissime72​, @faemapfae​, @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123​, @wegingerangelica​

[tally-kiza]

Horrorswap and Horrorswapfell Headcanons

So I decided to make Horrorswap and Horrorswapfell headcanons. There’s not a lot of stuff out there for it, so I wanted to throw my hat into the ring, and see what I could come up with.

This isn’t typical scary Horrortale, btw. These are soft-Horrortale inspired by popatochisssp’s HT skeletons.

(this is slightly edited and revised as of 02/25/2020 so if things seem different than before, thats why)

Horrorswap Sans (Boston)

- The famine was particularly hard on him. Alphys’s abuse really injured his head, and combined with the effects of starvation, Sans was eventually diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder. His brother was always so worried when Boston started spending days in bed or sprinting throughout the underground setting up violently painful puzzles and traps, shouting about humans, but having an explanation assuaged his worries a bit. At least then he knew how to help. 

- Speaking of Alphys, when Sans became captain of the Royal Guard and bore the brunt of her anger, it left permanent damage to his bones and teeth, leaving them cracked and crooked, with strange blood stains on them (his own marrow/blood, not a human’s).

- Despite everything, he's still Sans. He’s sunny, but less so than he use to be, and even when he’s feeling miserable, he tries his best to be friendly and cheerful. ...It’s difficult though. It’s so tempting sometimes to just curl up and forget about the world, but... even though he does do that occasionally, he never stays like that for long. He keeps going through the day, trying his best to live and forget about the past.

- On better days though, he can be pretty cheerful and friendly! He likes talking to other people and hearing what they have to say.

- Boston goes to therapy regularly to cope with his trauma. He tries to convince his brother to go too but Citrine’s been stubborn so far.

- During the famine, one of his favorite things to take his mind off the stress was creating things. Like drawing maps of what the stars in the sky look like, and designing diagrams of spaceships that he likes. Very space-oriented things usually, since he’s always loved it so much. It’s... very difficult to make these though most of the time. His concentration and focus is basically nonexistent when he’s starving, so he can mostly only create when he’s recently eaten. Making them is his favorite hobby on the surface.

- Adores farmers markets. There's so many possibilities! Buying cool new foods, selling the things he’s made, meeting and talking to cool new people! He loves them, they’re so fun.

- Uses the fruits from his brother’s gardens to make preserves! Saves jars of jams, jellies, and other preserves in the cabinets for whenever he needs to use them when he cooks. They’re delicious and he always has a lot of fun making them with his brother.

- Has a collection of lava lamps! They’re so satisfying and relaxing to watch. He loves them, and they always help him feel less stressed.

- Along that same vein, he likes stim videos! Pretty much all kinds of them. they’re very relaxing to him.

- He hates the silence... It reminds him so much of Snowdin during the famine. Cold, empty, devoid of life and joy... He cringes whenever there’s too long of a silence. Boston will almost always have some kind of noise on in the background, whether it be music or tv show or an audiobook. It really eases his fears.

- Stars, he loves food. So much. He loves watching stress-free cooking shows and learning new recipes to cook. Trying something new and making food for him and his brother is one of his favorite things. 

- Awkwardly genuine. He tries really hard to fit in on the surface and be a good person to make up for what he's done. Every so often he’ll say or do something really dark and completely forget he can’t do that anymore on the surface. Sans will berate himself really hard afterwards, so he really appreciates the reassurances he gets that it’s okay.

- Admittedly, he had lost hope of ever seeing the stars... He thought they’d be stuck underground, starving to death forever... But when he and the others emerged out of the Barrier in the middle of the night, he finally saw the infinite blanket of stars twinkling above them. He’s never been quite so happy in his whole life, as he collapsed on the ground and sobbed with the pure relief of finally being free and finally seeing the stars.

Horrorswap Papyrus (Citrine)

- After getting into a big fight with Alphys and interfering when she tried to hurt Sans, he ended up with a big bad hole in his skull. Sans had to use all the healing magic he could find to save him. When Citrine woke up, his skull was throbbing and he could barely remember what happened.

- Very apathetic at times. It’s hard to care about stuff when he’s stuck underground and feels like they’re going to die soon... It'll take a lot of years on the surface for him to be anywhere close to normal again. Also doesn't have the energy to be nice to people sometimes. So he just isolates himself and doesn’t interact with them.

- That being said, it is possible to befriend him. It’ll be a long journey but With the right circumstances and if you’re good to Boston, Citrine ends up being a pretty great friend.

- Pretty touch-repulsed unless he’s close with someone. After many years of being friends with them, he can be pretty cuddly. If you’re lucky, he’ll drape himself over you like a cat.

- Like the other lazybones, the hole in his skull gave him memory problems but not as severe as the others'. Still has all his long-term memory, he just forgets recent things (like where he put his keys) ver easily.

- Since he has no suckers to chew on during the famine, he chews on sticks as a replacement. It's left his teeth chipped and scraggly. He gets them fixed on the surface, and hoards all the suckers, honey, and pocky he can find.

- Loves plants. Has a mini garden on the surface. Grows his own food and everything. Boston is so supportive of him and helps him when he’s struggling with it.

- Probably has a slight case of osteoporosis? And maybe the other horror!skeletons would as well. So his spine is kinda bent, unfortunately. 

- Still really loves puns. Dark ones make him kind of uncomfortable (he doesn't like anything that reminds him of the underground) but his favorites are plant and music puns. They're perhaps the quickest way to get him to warm up to you.

- Still appreciates memes. Doesn’t outwardly show a positive reaction to them, but they make him chuckle inwardly. Will deadpannedly meme at you when you least expect it.

- Has an unfortunate case of MVRSF: Monotone Voice and Resting Stony Face.

- Pretends he’s fine when there’s clearly something wrong. Refuses to accept help and burden anyone. He just... doesn’t want to cause any more problems. He insists he’ll be alright....

- Stars, he just? loves Hozier’s music?? so much??? It’s so ethereal and chill and it always calms him down when he’s stressed. And music! Just music in general is his one true lomfve. He can’t get enough of it. Starts learning to play the kalimba on the surface. It has such a lovely sound. He’s a little rusty at it, but he tries hard. Hozier songs are his favorite songs to play on it.

Horrorswapfell Sans (Knox)

- Like Horrorfell Papyrus, after the famine began, he sobered up. Sans didn't have the time nor energy for all his usual grandiose. Like with all the Fell skeletons, he blames himself that the human killed so many people, and it's really taken a hit to his ego. His self-esteem is a lot lower than it used to be.

- Didn't take of any of Alphys's shit, and refused to let her abuse him. They fought quite a bit however, resulting in chipped misaligned teeth and long scars on his eyesocket and side of his face. The eyesocket with those scars lost its eyelight, so hes unfortunately blind in that socket now. Scraps with Snowdin-folk have left scars and marks all over his and body, but nothing too deep, luckily.

- An incredibly responsible and capable skeleton. Like, he gets shit done. Insanely productive at times with laser-like focus. He was basically the only reason his brother survived during the famine; Knox motivates Clover to get out of bed and live.

- Mildly paranoid on the surface. He's worried that something bad will happen and is lurking around the corner, so he's incredibly suspicious everything. Especially people he doesn’t know.

- In addition to being mildly paranoid, he also is easily stressed, and has anxiety and depression. He has... a lot on his plate, to say the least. The famine gave him a lot of trauma, but frequent therapy helps a lot, once he’s comfortable opening up to strangers. His brother Clover is a great help, he’s the most helpful, supportive brother and friend he could’ve asked for. 

- Oftentimes he wears a dark cloak that makes him look like the Grim Reaper. Enjoys scaring people with it and making them think he actually is the Grim Reaper. It’s one of the great joys he has in life.

- Favorite type of music is opera and classical. He likes how quickly it can go from soft and peaceful to fast and dramatic and dynamic.

- Secretly likes baking, especially baking cupcakes, but sshhhh! No one can know. ...Mostly just because he’s new to baking and not very great at it yet, so he’s self-conscious. But! He hopes knows he’s gonna be great at it someday. And his brother is always there to cheer him on and nom all the sweet treats happily.

- He's very sly. Makes the most subtle, hidden, and deady traps out of all the skeletons, and with his silvertongue can easily turn people's words against them. 

- But... once you have his trust and his friendship, he wouldn’t dream of doing that to you. Knox isn’t someone who takes friendship lightly, so he’d never dare manipulate your words or hurt you in any way.

- Also very formal and serious. Not much of a casual skeleton, and doesn’t like letting down his walls. It’s part of his distrustful nature. Makes him pretty difficult to befriend, honestly. But it is possible, in the right circumstances.

- Sans isn’t passionate for many things on the surface, but sewing is definitely one of them. He got into it when he was younger, and starting sewing and creating more during the famine like Boston to keep himself distracted when he wasn’t working or patrolling. He enjoys it so much on the surface, that he starts doing tailoring and sewing commissions. Probably even becomes a tailor or something similar eventually. Altering clothes is the one thing he feels like he hasn't failed at, so he likes it.

Horrorswapfell Papyrus (Clover)

- Animalistic. The famine probably hit him the hardest out of all of them, mentally at least. He started acting more and more dog-like over time. Nothing extreme, he just has bad habits that he’s picked up. Hostile and distant towards strangers, growling at people with too high LV, whining if you won't cuddle him. It's pretty cute tbh.

- Once hen him and Alphys got into a fight over Sans, she threw her axe at him, and left a pretty big cracked hole in his skull. When Sans saved him with the DT, one of his eyelights became enlarged and beaming red. The other eye "overloaded” in a way from the influx of magic so it became basically unusable. Even though there’s no physical damage to it, keeping it uncovered hurts sometimes so he keeps an eyepatch over it.

- Wears beanie hats! Clover’s self-conscious about his crack, so he covers it with adorable beanie hats. He has a whole collection of them of many different types. He also likes how they make him feel cute.

- His slitted pupils make him look so adorable when they dilate when he's excited.

- Basically a cat. Drapes on top of his s/o for cuddles. Naps in the sunbeams. Complains when you don't pay attention to him. Kills pests for you. Just a 7 foot tall teddy bear kitty skeleton ;w;

- Looooves chicken nuggets. They’re his favorite food and nomming them after a bad day always makes him feel better <33. Calls them chimken nuggies.

- Also loves love songs! Especially the soft and sweet and heartfelt ones. They're so nice and calming to listen to. He really likes to hum along to them when he's drawing.

- Pretty quiet. He didn't talk a lot underground so as to not draw attention, so he rarely talks anymore. Doesn’t speak much around people he doesn’t know in public, but in private with people he’s close too he’s more comfortable talking. When Papyrus does talk, it's rather slow and his voice cracks occasionally.

-  Before the famine, Clover ate hard candies. But after he ran out of candies when the famine started, he wanted to have the same sensation so he started chewing on sticks and pebbles. It's left his fangs misaligned and cracked. They're partially repaired on the surface, but there wasn't a lot the dentist could do. So he just replaced them with more gold teeth. He has four now, instead of one.

- Has a panic disorder. He's terrified of going back underground. Only his brother and his s/o can calm him down from his panic attacks. Also has generalized anxiety. If he’s in front of strangers, he’ll try to hide it with aggression out of fear of looking weak.

- Papyrus used to love reading, but after his head wound, it was difficult to concentrate and understand what he was reading. So he stopped. But on the surface, he discovered the magic of audiobooks and uses them all the time! He can often be found wearing headphones listening to audiobooks in the background.

- Him and Knox eventually get two sweet darling therapy cats. They’re the most helpful nicest floofs he’s ever known and he loves them to bits. The cats are incredibly sweet and helpful when the skellies are having a bad day, and always makes them feel so much better.

- Works as a commission artist when he gets to the surface! He tried other jobs before, but they were always so stressful so he never worked there for long. He never lost his passion for making art during the famine, even though remembering how to was difficult sometimes. But once he relearns all his skills again, he loves working from home as an artist. It's the best job he could've ever asked for.

-He’s just Babey. A wonderfully sweet, wholesome, precious babey skellie ;w;

[mademoiselless]

Summer Time

Pairing: Jaehyun x Female Reader

Word count: 4k

Genre: Romance ; Smuff

Warnings: mature content ; age gap

Story: In which Jaehyun drafts a series of notes to her just to secretly meet her in the study. One contains an obscene expression of his impure thoughts for her which includes the word “cunt” and "come". He writes it only as a joke as he laughs to himself. He writes another one, more formal and serious letter and smoothly slip it under the girl’s door that one night. Only after he went back to his room, does he realized that he has given her the explicit one.

“In my dreams, I touched you, your soaking and sweet cunt. In my dreams, I kissed you, take you up against the wall, all drenched for me. I want to see you come before my eyes, come while I’m very deep inside y-….”

Jaehyun swivels his chair, chuckling quietly to himself. “So whipped, Jay.” He sighed audibly, deep dimples appearing from his cheeks. Indeed, people’s thoughts in the middle of the night are kind of weird. He’s a man after all, young, handsome and hormonal. It was his special girl anyways, his Jane, he argues to himself. It seem like it was his hundredth attempt of writing a note for her and damn it was supposed to be just a simple letter but his mind can’t focus and find his right words. A simple letter of apology just for her, but his thoughts were flying out of space, or perhaps flew all the way to his dick by the time his hand randomly started to scribble some words again on the white sheet. It was all mixed up frustration and disappointment, reason why he just couldn’t make up on it. Plus it was Jane, his lovely Y/N.

His desk was full of crumpled drafts, papers scattered everywhere, his room can honestly pass as a damp site the time he finally jot his last word on the sheet. He withdraws his pen quickly as he rereads his somewhat masterpiece.

Dearest Y/N,

I was quite disappointing last afternoon, aren’t I? I’m offering you my sincerest apology, I shouldn’t have invited them during my stay here. I promise, I would do better next time, just don’t be mad at me. Okay?

PS: Meet me on our family library tomorrow evening, if you won’t mind.  I would like to tell you something rather, personally.

Sincerely,

J,

He jolts up his chair, barefooted as he exits his room. It was way pass everyone’s bedtime when he silently tiptoed through the hall, all the way to her door. His steps were quiet against the wooden floor, but he almost tripped on huge vase. “Damn it.” He screeched discreetly. The hall was dimmed and quite scary, the kind of what you read in some strange books. When he finally arrived in front of her door, he swiftly slip the small flap containing his letter in the slit of the wooden egress and spun around in instinct just in case someone might saw him lurking around in the darkness, worst is right in front of the girl’s bedroom like a creep. When Jaehyun finally returned to his room, he immediately slumps in the mattress, catching his breath like he ran a mile. And then, he smiles to himself, both hands clutching on his chest, he felt his heart pounding against it. “What a thrill.” He sighed as he stares at the sky blue old ceiling. Indeed it was a thrill, but not the one when he single-handedly made bunch of women cry, or the one when he got to date blonde ladies during his long stay in some country in the west. This was a different kind of thrill, the kind that make his insides flip and giddy at the same time scared. The feeling was actually not familiar to Jaehyun, it was all new, different.

For a good minute, he stares up thinking of what might possibly happen tomorrow, he’s nervous and excited. He could finally make up to her after a very long time. The anticipation is growing inside him that he can’t contain himself, not thinking of any consequences that might occur after.

Oh boy, however, happiness is really short lived.

Unexpectedly, his mind took a quick rerun, his eyes shoot wide open, his body stiffens in bed, as he hears the clock ticking from his bed side. “It can’t be.” He felt his temple pulsate as his heartbeat speeds it rate. When he finally decided to man up and turn to his desk full of crap, he was so sure that all the luck was really on his side that night. Jaehyun quickly stood up from his bed not bothering about the loud screeched coming from the spring of the mattress. “God fucking damn it.” He cursed, cold sweats starting to creep up his forehead damping his fringes, both hands clenched into fists. At that very moment Jaehyun swears he saw a flash back of his childhood right before his eyes, all the anticipation disappeared in just a snap. There atop the shabby table was a paper, neatly folded and untouched.

A thrilling experience indeed.

Jaehyun woke up the next morning to the chirping of the birds outside his wide window. For a moment, he thought everything was just a dream and that last night was just a piece of his imagination playing inside his head, but not when he stirs up from his bed and saw the large pile of garbage lying around his room. Last night was the real horror of his life, he wanted to scream and run but it was 2 freaking am and there’s no way he’ll get out of the big problem that he made himself. He had two plans running in his mind last night, first is to knock on her door, disturb her sleep and ask her some stupid questions only to pick up secretly the damn envelope in her door step and run as fast as he could. “Stupid”, he snorts. Plan B, steal the master key and secretly slip into her room like a thief, God forbid she might wake up and scream in the middle of the night. “Stupid”. And the last straw, go with the flow, whether she may or may not read the letter, just apologize to her and explain that the letter was not meant for her. But damn what might she think about him whenever she read that racy note? It will surely ruin everything.

He was checking his self out in the mirror and noticed that he was still wearing his trousers and dress shirt from yesterday. The bags under his eyes were terrible as he inspects closely and then the pounding headache started. After taking a quick bath, he took all the trash up his desk and threw every single one in the bin and then he finally settles again in his bed, contemplating whether to face the consequences or lock himself forever in the room until he starves to death. He was so sure Y/N already read the letter and is now hating him from head to toe. He was about to sleep again when he hears her soft giggling, for a second, Jaehyun thought he was already dreaming but then he heard her laugh again, this time louder. He shoots up in bed, trying to find where her voice was coming from, until he heard her mumbling. When he makes his beeline to the window and slightly part the thick curtain, there he saw her smiling brightly while watering the bed of flowers in the back yard. His gaze softens to the sight, all worries mildly disappears for a brief moment until he spotted a tall lad, also smiling goofily and by the looks of it they’re having a friendly chat. He thought Y/N will be out early to the hospice and will be back late but then he remembers, it’s Sunday. He glances at the clock and saw it was pass 10 in the morning. And then Jaehyun strikes back his attention to Y/N who was now laughing heartily from whatever joke the familiar neighbour cracked. His heart clenched a bit from the sight and somewhere along Jaehyun’s mind, something snapped.

Through the whole day, Jaehyun stayed in his room. He skipped breakfast and lunch, he didn’t even bother Mr. Kim, their house butler, knocking in his bedroom door to serve him something to eat. Maybe he should just pretend he’s out with friends and will be back tomorrow, but that alibi is foolish, Jaehyun knows he can’t avoid everything forever and that what’s done is done. So, he finally changed and get himself ready for dinner with his father, and of course with Y/N.

When he settled himself in the dinner table, Y/N wasn’t there but he couldn’t help but to fidget every once in a while. Jaehyun was so tensed that he didn’t catch his father asking him his whereabouts for the whole day.

“I’m sorry father, what was it?” He questions, his hand unconsciously gripped on the napkin and dabbed it to the sides of his lips albeit the dinner hasn’t been served yet. Shoot.

“I said, where have you been son?” His father asked with a calm tone that you’ll never know whether he noticed his son’s weird behaviour or not.

“I was at the study, father.” Jaehyun composed. “It’s been a long time since I last visited my old books. I guess it’s time to refresh since I’m back.” He added to make it a credible excuse.

“I see.” The old man nodded. “Why don’t you bring your old friends here for a visit. I also wanted to see my boy Johnny. I haven’t seen him in a long time.” He mused.

“Actually, he-.” He was about to answer when the dinner arrived causing him to pause but his breath hitched when Y/N appeared from the kitchen, she must’ve cooked one of the dishes tonight. To Jaehyun’s dismay, she sat across him and greeted them to have a nice and good meal. It surprised him that she was calm, well, not that he expects her to become hysterical but somehow she’s normal, so casual that she just talked about her day and that she enjoys working in the hospice. His father was so attentive listening to her but Jaehyun however couldn’t almost swallow his food. And he finally got choked on it when Y/N asked him out of nowhere. Damn he was so obvious.

“Here!” She hurries up to his side as she offers him a glass of water. “Jae, are you okay?” It’s been a while since they had that close distance, it was the closest proximity they had since he left, he was so young that time and for a second he misses her, he misses her warmth. And the sound of his name coming from her lips, her voice, very captivating, everything reminds him of summer.

“Are you okay?” Y/N then again asked, worry was written all over her face.

“Yes, I-I’m okay.” He finally answered after gulping the glass of water in one go.

“Son, you seems distracted.” His father spoke, earning a glare from Jaehyun. “No, father I’m just really hungry and I enjoyed the meal to much.” He awkwardly chuckled as he steal glances to Y/N who’s apparently already staring at him. Jaehyun fidgets again from his seat and cleared his throat to avoid the tension that he’s probably bringing up just to himself. It’s been already half an hour when they finished their hearty dinner, Y/N was the first one to excuse herself, telling that she’ll be up in the very morning for work. She kisses the old man in the cheek before saying good night to the both gentlemen. Jaehyun just stares at her retreating back as she made her way up the stair case. Maybe be he’s just being crazy or imagining things, or perhaps she didn’t read the letter. That evening, he prays for the latter.

It’s quarter to eleven, but Jaehyun couldn’t make himself to sleep. He lays in the bed arms spread all over the soft duvet, up until now he was still thinking about her. How could he not? How could he become so careless and damn foolish? It was his last chance and he freaking missed it and worst, he ruined it himself. When he rolled to his side, he saw his desk and spotted the note he was suppose to give her. He rereads it before crumpling it and shoving to the bin. “Am I too late my Jane?”

It’s getting late but Jaehyun finds himself in the kitchen to get some glass of water. It was humid even in the night, he can’t sleep because of it, his room was like suffocating him, but summer is still Jaehyun’s favorite season no matter what. He was already at the end of the staircase when he noticed a light coming from the study in the basement, he double takes, and instantly turned to it’s direction. Maybe his father forgot to turn down the lights, Jaehyun thinks on his way. He was so drawn to the light that he made his way down just to see or check on it, he curiously entered the library, opening the stained glass door, his eyes instantly searching for the light switch when he entered the room. But the moment his gaze met her figure standing in front of the tall shelves, he swears he felt his soul left his body, it was like seeing a ghost. He stood there, stiff, both feet glued to the ground for a couple of seconds. At that time he thinks he was already dreaming yet again, and this was his chance to make up to her even if just in the dream. But his instincts were telling him otherwise, he silently turned, twisting the knob and about to leave the room when she spoke.

“Jaehyun.”

The scariest part was the tone of her voice, Jaehyun mentally notes, to the mention of his name, he was so sure it wasn’t a coincidence, it was as if she was waiting for him, not questioning why he’s there. The anxiety and worry, they all came back at once in his head that’s when he knew there’s no turning back.

“I- ah… y/n…” And then he finally had the courage to face her, but still avoiding the eye contact. “It’s late, what are you doing down here?” He decided to play it casually, assuming it was just pure coincidence.

“I couldn’t sleep.” She answered as she proceeds to read again the book she was holding. “Novels.” She mused, tapping the book on her palm. Jaehyun finally focused his gaze on her and noticed what she was wearing, it was a white silk night dress with thin robe, barely showing any skin but the fabric hugs her curves perfectly. Her long raven hair was down, shaping her bare face gorgeously.

“Oh.” Was all he could utter, his mouth was gaping the whole moment, when he realized she wasn’t responding and all her attention was still on her book, he proceeds to talk further to lessen the tension. “I was at the kitchen for a glass when I noticed the open library lights.” He continues, Y/N only nods in response.

“I should go.” At last, Jaehyun finally chickens out.

“I was waiting, Jae.” She speaks, her voice sounded different, almost breaking.

Jaehyun halts from his tracks, fist tightly gripped on the knob. He felt the cold sweats again slowly dripping down his side burns, the realization hit him like a ton of brick. She have read the note.

He honestly doesn’t know what to do at that very brief period, suddenly he feels small and embarrassed to himself. He really just wanted to sincerely apologize and tell her what he really feels about her but sometimes thing just won’t turn according to your will.

“Look Y/N, I’m so sorry.” He turns to her swiftly, all guilt and sadness written all over his perfect face. “I didn’t mean it.” He adds as he took a couple of steps closer.

“You didn’t mean it?” She questions him, her book already forgotten atop the shelf. Jaehyun was really out of words, he doesn’t know whether she was sarcastic or just plainly disgusted of him. “How could you Jaehyun?” Her words sounds accusing and it stings him.

“I’m so sorry Y/N, it wasn’t meant for you to read.” Jaehyun defends as a matter of fact. “I really just wanted to apologize to you about what happened last time.” He continues, he finally gets to the point but the fact that he sent her such vulgar letter was still hanging in the air and he knows he can’t just erase it in her mind, and forever it will be there.

“Johnny and my other friends were also sorry about what happened, I know it was so disrespectful on your part. But it will never happened again, Y/N. Sorry.” He really like to reach for her, comfort her in his arms like what she did to him before when they were young. But it’s like there’s a big barrier between them now, everything’s changed. “And of course they know you, because I always mention you to them.” He wasn’t supposed to let that part out of his story but it was the truth, she was his special girl.

Y/N remains stoic, but disappointment was apparent on her face.

“And the letter…” Jaehyun gulps before continuing. “I-I … it was a mistake… it’s wasn’t for you.” He uttered silently, thinking it was the best excuse of the year.

“It wasn’t for me?” Y/N finally speaks, eyes meeting his intently.

“Yes I-…. why are you crying?” Jaehyun panics stepping a little closer to her fragile figure. Y/N didn’t noticed she was already shedding tears until she dabbed the back of her hand to her cheeks. She didn’t like the idea of someone seeing her cry, no one can see her at her vulnerable state.

“Jaehyun, I-, I thought… you feel the same?” She asks, now boldly, her voice shaking that anytime she might really cry like a child.

He was taken a back for second, his brows knitted together as he took another step towards her. “What are you talking about?” He pressed, he wants know more about her statement.

“All these years Jae, I was hiding it. It was really hard for me, I-I really tried my best to move on, forget everything about you. I suppressed everything for years Jae.” She sobbed tears streaming down her face as she continues. “When I read your letter, I thought it was my chance, our chance. But I guess I was wrong.” Y/N tightly grips on her silk robe as she confess everything to him. Somehow, she thought, after this, all the burden inside her chest will disappear, not totally but at least she learned how to set herself free.

“And the fact that you can never ever be mine no matter what hurts the most.” She voices out.

Everything was clouded inside Jaehyun’s mind, he doesn’t understand, he doesn’t know what to do, every words she uttered was all jumbled in his head. Shock was damn evident in his face that he can’t even move a single muscle. In a snap, everything turned upside down. His mind really can’t absorb the words coming from her lips, her voice was like muffled sound against his ears.

“I love you.” She says and that was it, the last strand of his self-control.

Jaehyun lunges forward caging her petite body against his, his lips found hers in a heated kiss. Her breath hitches from his sudden advances but she let herself drown against his embrace. She slides her arms around his neck pulling him closer, chest to chest, his hands where dancing along her back to her waist and slowly glides up to the sides of her breast. She mewls a bit against his lips as Jaehyun tugged on her bottom lip to slip his tongue inside her mouth. Jaehyun gasped when Y/N sucked on his tongue, a little taken a back of her bold tiny act. But he was kind of amazed when she guides his hand down to the back of her thigh signalling him to hoist her up the shelves. He chuckles against the kiss as she buckled her legs on her waist. “Oh God.” He hisses, lips trailing to her neck, jaw, down to her chest.

Y/N  proceeds to unbutton his dress shirt earning a glance from Jaehyun who was busy sucking the alabaster skin of her neck. He watches her intently slowly unbuttoning his dress as he smiles. “I’ve been waiting for this for so long.” He whispers in her ears before licking its shell. He then tugged her robe off and slowly pull down the thin strap of her silk gown exposing half of her breast. She sighed loudly when he trails his warm supple lips yet again on her throat down to her cleavage slowly baring the bud with his tongue before suckling it, one of his hand kneading the other. Y/N moans, as she covers her mouth to suppress her noise. “J-jae...” Her breathless tone pleading. “Yes my love?” He says before halting his ministrations with a pop. His eyes were fluttering, so lust filled, that she was really lost from it. “Feel me, please.” Jaehyun doesn’t need to be told twice, as he abruptly hike her dress up and danced his fingers to her inner thigh. He kisses her then again, torridly, as he hooks her leg around his waist, carefully, he lets his fingers part the satin cloth to the side before sliding his long finger inside her heat. She moans against his lips as she felt him curl his finger and rub the sensitive spot inside her. It was all mixed up pain, pleasure and excitement pooling in the pit of her stomach and she needs to let it out any time soon. Meanwhile Jaehyun, was already having a hard time ignoring the strain in his trousers. She noticed it immediately when her right thigh accidentally brushed against it. He choked on a moan when he felt her palm his hard on, feeling his hard arousal in her hand feels satisfying, never in her whole life she thought he will be this hard for her. “Fuck.” He curses under his breath. “Jae, give it to me please.” He proceeds to unbuckle his belt, the clinking sound of it echoes in the room before zipping down his trouser down to his ankles. Their breath hitched as they felt each other’s heat the moment he finally slip inside her warmth, he moans against her ear, mouth agape from the sensation as he stills for awhile, feeling her warmth in-cage his hard member. “Y/N?” He breathes heavily in her ears. “Jaehyun?” She pants against the crook or his neck feeling his cock inside her pulsate. “I love you.” Jaehyun confessed before slowly withdrawing and ramming back inside her earning a yelp from her. She felt the pain mixed with unfamiliar sensation that she craves for more. Y/N tilts her head capturing his lips for a greedy kiss savoring his taste that she yearned for years, she felt the pressure between her hips building up, getting stronger at each deep thrust. “D-Deeper…” Y/N demands. He complies, lifting her one leg slightly have a better angle. “Are you near love?” Jaehyun asked in between each thrust, he felt himself getting almost there when he felt her insides slowly tightening and it was driving him to the edge. “Jae…” She pants breathlessly. “P-Please come inside.” That was the little push he needs as he releases his warm seeds inside her. He groaned as he felt her insides tensing milking him thoroughly. “Look at me when you come.” He urges her. Just then, her eyeballs rolled back, lips parted from her release and the sight was blinding for Jaehyun, it was driving him insane.

“All this time, this was all I’ve missed.” She heaves, carding his silky hair to admire his perfect face. Jaehyun’s smiles tiredly, feeling his chest leaps from the beautiful sight right before his eyes, both of them groaned when he slips himself out of her.

They sat themselves on the floor, backs leaning against the old shelves of the library. It was silent, only their breaths and heartbeats could be heard. Jaehyun felt her head rest on his shoulder, he leans his cheek on it and he finally grinned shyly to himself. “You are smiling.” Y/N mutters. “How did you know?” He asked curiously. “I felt your dimples deepen through my head.” She says like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He still can’t believe of what had happened, everything passed by in bliss. Who would have thought he fucked up plan would turn out this great?

“Noona.” He starts, his hand slowly intertwining their fingers,

“Please don’t call me that.” She pleads instantly, glaring at him.

“Okay, Y/N.” He counters, smiling lopsidedly.

“What?”

“What if we ran away?”

note: 

i posted this fic somewhere but I decided to might as well bring it here on tumblr. This was not proofread lol sorry. This fic was actually inspired by the movie “Atonement” that film was a hell of ride.