#also my knowledge of ticks is nonexistent

[greeneyedvamp]

[fyrets]

Is cherryleap based on an existing character or a character you designed with valentine in mind?

theres actually a couple of layers to this but the short of it is ehh kinda both but also not really.

so the name cherryleap was an "assigned" warrior cat name from a friend i got yeaaaars ago. back before i was even that knowledgeable of the series. the name stuck around but i didnt design a character based off the name until around 2021.

she pretty much just stayed in the back of my mind as a nonexistent character until I found out about paw borough, where I was like, "hey! i have a cat character i can try recreating!" though with the limited colors and genes, this was the closest i could get.

honestly I was planning on just getting her a pelt to better match her original look and/or hope we get some sort of ticked coat gene (you can see some rough ideas on old art) but then.. the nefarious kickstarter happened. and i had plenty of spare funds from working mandatory overtime in a warehouse. oh baby. oh baby.

but when i went to come up with rough ideas on the gene i sort of got lost in the sauce and decided to make a design that was less specific to the original cherryleap and went for something that probably would have more broad appeal (see this post and the other linked post for development on that). and while this was all happening i came up with some lore for cherryleap and her partner that was more specific to PB lore than just.. floating around in nothingness.

so looking back at the original question, the first is probably more correct, but i'd say she and the valentine gene evolved together!

[dastardlydandelion]

Billy having the bust appendix episode?

so i combined these into one thingy??

also the latter, uh, it's. like?? i played w ur prompt, dude, chose to focus more on the concept of "not lasting" w susan and max tho bc if i write neil for too long it'll inevitably turn into another murder fic.

ao3 link

content warnings: referenced/discussed abuse, brief suicidal ideation

“Day four of fever, fella. That’s no fun.” Susan sets the thermometer aside with a frown and brushes the back of her hand over his cheek.

Billy blinks slowly at the touch. It wasn’t that long ago that he would’ve pushed her away. He hasn’t exactly enjoyed having the Stomach Flu From Hell for the better half of the week, but he supposes if there was ever a time to get sick, it’s now. Because these past few days have been the last few days he’s ever going to get with Susan and Max. He can use being sick as an excuse to let them get close like this. He can let himself let them close without feeling defensive or embarrassed because after tonight, he’ll never see them again.

“I feel better,” he mumbles as she brushes his fringe back, pad of her thumb gingerly lingering over the nick in his brow. “Really, Sue, s’not as bad today.”

And it’s not. Today’s Wednesday and he’s been feeling shitty since Sunday night, sluggish and nauseous with a nagging stomachache. He managed not to puke up Sunday dinner until Monday morning, although he didn’t actually make it to the bathroom. Susan scrubbed it out of his bedroom carpet even though Billy told her to leave it. Max stayed home from school to keep him company, which really…genuinely meant a lot to Billy, considering skipping school meant sacrificing some of the little time remaining with her friends. And she did it to just to hang out with his sweaty, grouchy, probably contagious and definitely less sociable self.

His stomachache got worse throughout the day but he hadn’t said anything about it to anyone. Didn’t say anything on Tuesday either, even though by evening it hurt so fucking bad it was like there was an invisible knife carving into his guts, blade twisting so terribly the only thing that helped at all was curling into a fetal position. Billy was almost frightened, actually. He doesn’t believe he’s ever felt worse than the torture he went through Tuesday, not even at his father’s hands.

But he couldn’t say anything. Not with everything going on. He wouldn’t do anything to possibly compromise the plan. Couldn’t let himself do anything that could delay their escape. So he sucked it up and kept his mouth screwed shut, endured in silence.

The relentless agony of nonexistent knives twisting through his guts kept him up all night. Then very early this morning, just as the sunrise’s first rays began to lighten the sky, the pain subsided. Billy still feels uncomfortable and he’d probably hurl again if he got a whiff of goat cheese or canned sardines, but it doesn’t compare to the misery of last night.

“How about I put the kettle on? Ginger tea is good for stomach bugs.”

“Nah.”

“What about chamomile?”

“No.”

“Peppermint?”

“Stop, Sue. I don’t want tea.”

“Please. You’ve barely kept anything down all week and you’re sweating like a turkey at Christmas. You’ll feel even worse if you get dehydrated, Billy.”

Susan retracts her hand with a fretful noise in her throat and turns to the door. With a sudden spike of panic that she’s— she’s leaving —he frees an arm from the blanket and grabs her wrist. Susan jumps as though she’s touched a hot stove. Billy immediately lets go. He wasn’t thinking.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Susan, I just…”

Chewing her lip, she nods down at him. She carefully sits on the edge of his bed, one leg folding on the mattress, opposite foot still on the floor. She takes his face in her chilly hands and Billy heaves out a sigh.

“I wish things were different,” she murmurs. “If the, uh…if the p-place Max and I are going accepted boys your age, you’d be coming with us. I promise I’d take you with us if I could.”

The shelter doesn’t allow male children over age twelve, Susan had informed Billy the night she told him they were leaving. She’d said it apologetically, eyes sorrowful like the look she’s giving him right now. She’s said it like it scraped her throat on the way out, tragic and grave as though she were reading him his own obituary.

It was the oddest thing Billy couldn’t begin to comprehend. He wouldn’t go with them even if going with them was an option. And never had he ever expected it to be an option. He doesn’t understand why Susan is looking at him like that.

“I just grabbed you. I shouldn’t have grabbed you.”

Susan’s face twitches like he’s the one being weird, like it isn’t she who’s looking at him with all these things he never wanted from her.

“You didn’t hurt me, Billy, just startled me a bit. I’m as skittish as a doe and of course today is…it’s a big day.”

“…what time?”

Susan spares a glance to his door. Still shut. Neil’s getting ready for work and he wouldn’t dare enter Billy’s room right now anyway. Wouldn’t risk catching whatever Billy has. He’d sent Susan in the bathroom Monday after Billy had barely stumbled out, wan from the latest round of purging, in drill sergeant mode and demanding that Susan bleach every contaminated tile.

“Noon. I want to drive in the daylight. Max is staying home from school. I told your father she caught your bug.”

Billy raises a brow.

“She didn’t,” Susan clarifies. “But he didn’t question the excuse. She’s sleeping in, I think it’s best to let her sleep in. It’s a big day.”

“Big day,” Billy repeats quietly.

Susan’s hands are still on his face, gentle and cool. Billy feels hot. The past few days he’s felt too cold or too hot, no in between. He’s either burrowing under the blankets to ward off the icy chills or laying on the bathroom tile to ease the sensation of roasting in his skin.

“I’m going to make you some tea, okay? You don’t have to drink it, but I’d appreciate it if you did. Fluids are important, Billy.”

Susan slides her hands off and Billy wonders if perhaps that’s the last time she’ll ever touch him. She leaves his room. Quietly closes the door behind her. Billy rolls onto his side and wraps his arm around his stomach, wondering if he should’ve let her closer before. If he should’ve let Max closer too.

Maybe it’s better he didn’t. Maybe losing them would hurt more if he did. And it does hurt. Even when the minutes tick down to the time they will exchange their final goodbyes, he’ll never say it out loud, but it hurts. It’s going to gut him when they go.

But it’s good that they’re going. And it’s good that he’s not. Billy ensured early on that Susan knew never to act like his mother. And Susan never seemed particularly passionate about trying, maybe there was even some relief for her that Billy had shut down every feeble attempt, that she never had to claim him. Billy never asked for Max either. The responsibility of a little sister. The pressure of having to set a good example for her, more reasons for Neil to be pissed at him whenever he inexorably failed. Max thought he was cool when they were younger, then there was that really rough patch after the move, and now things are better.

Things are probably the best they’ve ever been between him and Susan, between him and Max, and he’s going to miss them. Billy wants them to leave. Billy wants to be left. But the separation, the severing, the knowledge that he will never see them again pounds his heart like brass knuckles. He’s never going to watch Susan take another spider outside in a tissue, humming her weird little singsong. He’s never going to have to groan and roll his eyes over being Max’s designated chauffeur to the arcade, the park, the monster movie matinee.

He’s going to be alone with Neil.

Susan brings Billy a ceramic mug of steaming tea. She feels his forehead and probes at the sides of his neck, humming in concern. He would never let her fawn over him without a fight on a normal day. He’s only receptive now because he knows they aren’t going to be in each other’s lives anymore. He doesn’t know what to do with the fact that he kind of likes the fawning, but maybe he wouldn’t— maybe he wouldn’t like it at all if she wasn’t leaving, maybe the leaving makes it special. Or maybe it’s easier to think of it that way than to wonder if it would’ve been better to have this kind of relationship all along.

Billy watches the steam rise from the mug. He doesn’t touch the tea. He’s exhausted and he finds himself drifting, dozing off…

When Billy blinks his eyes back open, he’s dismayed to find his stomach hurting again. It might actually be the stomachache that wakes him up. Either the stomachache or Max in the doorway, hand on the knob.

“Are you awake?”

“I am now.” Billy begins to push himself up on his elbows, pauses when his gut lurches.

So much for that plan.

He settles back, and rolls onto his side, tucking his knees up to his chest under the blanket. Some of the pain abates. This position is still the winner.

“Are you okay?” Max rests her hand on the mattress, cocking her head to the side. “Do you need the trash can again?”

“Nah.”

“Okay…My mom’s loading up the car.”

“Yeah?” Billy really hopes she isn’t here to ask him to help. If she does, he will, but just the idea of rolling out of bed sounds like a grandiose effort.

“Yeah. Can I hang out for a little bit?”

Something thick rises in his throat. “Sure thing, shitbird.”

Max climbs onto the bed and over Billy, jostling him enough to make him queasy. She sits at his back. He can’t see her but he feels her hand settle on his shoulder.

“Your room smells like gym socks and barf,” she remarks, scowl audible in her voice.

“When you catch this from me, your room’s gonna smell the same way,” he mutters. Only after the words have left his lips, does Billy really realize what he’s said.

Max’s bedroom here on Cherry Lane isn’t really her bedroom anymore. Susan’s putting her belongings in the car. The next time Max gets sick, maybe it won’t be in a bedroom of her own at all. Or it will be her bedroom in a house far away from here. It’ll be a room Billy will never go in and he’ll never have the opportunity to tease her.

“I’m kinda nervous about the shelter, Billy,” she admits, voice quiet and unsure. “I was nervous when we first moved to Hawkins too. But this is a different kind of nervous.”

“Don’t be nervous,” Billy mutters. “You’re gonna be safer there than you are here.”

“Supposedly,” Max huffs. “You know Neil’s going to be pissed when he finds out. What if he comes after us?”

“I won’t let him,” Billy declares, meaning every word.

“Could you really stop him?”

Billy curls a little tighter in an effort to ease the pain spreading through his stomach. It’s beginning to be more than a nuisance but he’s doing his best not to be distracted. Max needs him right now. This is the last time he’ll ever be an older brother. That’s more important, that’s the thing he needs to devote his attention to. He never asked for the job and he hasn’t been exceptional at it, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t at least try to soothe his soon to be ex-sister’s worries with her small hand shaking ever so slightly on his shoulder.

He cranes his neck back to meet her eye and flashes a winning grin he hopes looks less forced than it feels.

”Let’s put it this way, he’d have to kill me to get to you.”

Instead of being reassured, Max looks spooked.

“I really thought he was going to, you know. That night.”

Ah, that night. Billy knows which. He was feeling pretty ballsy, feeling strong and bold after a good workout and a couple of beers. When Neil got in his shit that night, for the very first time, Billy threw a punch.

He remembers thinking that things would go in his favor if he could just get Neil to the ground. That’s the last thing he remembers, actually. Thinking that. And maybe it really would’ve gone in his favor if he’d gotten Neil down. But he didn’t.

Billy doesn’t actually remember what happened. But it definitely wasn’t that.

“He wouldn’t really go that far, Max. Neil talks a big game, but I’m all he’s got and he knows it.”

Max doesn’t seem convinced in the least.

“I think that’s what made Mom decide we had to go,” she says quietly. “That night.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Billy says, tone sharp.

Max glowers, clearly disagreeing. Billy matches her stare.

“…I wonder if there will be other kids my age,” Max murmurs eventually, changing the subject.

Evidently neither of them want to argue their remaining time together away.

If there are kids her age, they’ll be girls, like Neil always wanted. No boys over twelve permitted stay. Billy shifts his head back, eyes sliding from Max and off to the wall. He’s starting to feel Tuesday night’s painful sort of nausea. Like his guts are going through a meat grinder.

“It’ll suck if I’m just surrounded by adults the whole time. However long that’s gonna be…Mom wouldn’t say.”

“Maybe she doesn’t know yet, Max.”

“Maybe not. She’s trying to keep her cool but I can tell she’s nervous. Even more than me and I can’t let on that I’m nervous at all, not to Mom, because then she’ll really flip her lid. She tried so hard to convince me everything will be okay at the shelter. She’ll feel like a failure if she knows I’m scared and Neil’s already made her feel a failure over and over. I won’t do it too.”

This is the last conversation they’re ever going to have. This is the last time they’re ever going to talk to each other. Max is on the precipice of another massive move to somewhere new. All the secrecy and uncertainties surrounding it make it all the more of a transition and Billy’s last job as her older brother is this conversation. He’s trying to focus on it, on her, but the pain in his stomach is growing more insistent.

“Billy?”

“Hm?”

“Do you think we’ll ever see each other again?”

Billy curls his fingers in the bedsheets and silently begs for it not to get any worse. Not now. Max is leaving, Susan is leaving, fuck it— his fucking family is leaving and he can’t do this right now.

“…uh…yeah. I’m gonna get out of this Hawkins dump as soon as I can. And I bet you and your mom will find somewhere for yourselves better than this dump too, without Neil steering the wheel…how about, five years from now, we meet up in Cali? At least you and me, Sue can come too if she wants.”

Billy doesn’t think she would. Things have been better between him and his stepmother, yeah, but. He knows what he is. And Max— Max too, really. She thinks she’ll want to see him again now. Things have been better and maybe there’s even a part of her that still thinks of him as her cool big brother, but when she gets some distance, she’ll get some perspective and neither of them will want anything to do with him anymore. By then he’ll just be one more ugly part of an ugly life, the wayward offspring of the enemy.

By then he’ll be nothing but a reminder and no one wants reminders.

Max hums thoughtfully. “Yeah. We could do that, right? I always wanted to go back to San Diego…”

She squeezes his shoulder and Billy shuts his eyes. It’s getting harder to ignore how awful he feels. His whole body sagging with the overall illness laying him low. The torrent of nausea washing over him even though he’s pretty sure he doesn’t have anything left to puke up. The vengeful reprisal of the invisible knife, carving into his guts with a silent wrath.

“…does that sound good? …Billy?”

“What?” He blinks rapidly.

“The zoo, sick brain.” She huffs a little and gives his shoulder another squeeze. “In five years, let’s meet up at the zoo. In the gift shop where you stole the lion keychain.”

“Hey, you remember that.”

“You stole a gag giraffe toy for me too, the squishy one. When you squeeze it, the eyes pop out.”

“Pfft, yeah…I said, ‘look, it’s your mom’ and slipped it in your backpack.”

“I still have that giraffe, Billy,” she continues, voice determined. “I’m bringing it with me. I’ll look at it every day so I don’t forget our meeting place.”

Billy doesn’t really feel like talking anymore. He just wants to shove his head under the pillow and sleep it off, sleep it out. Wake up when his stomach isn’t being stabbed and his heart isn’t being strangled.

It’s a shining fantasy, that’s all. A fuzzy, glowing thing that will never happen. He’s just playing along for Max’s sake.

“What day, Max?”

“I was thinking the Fourth of July. You dad always made sure the fourth was the biggest Hargrove household holiday.” Billy can hear her roll her eyes. “Neither of us will ever forget that date, not even in five years.”

“Okay,” he agrees. “Sounds good. We’ll meet again at the San Diego Zoo gift shop in five years, on the fourth.”

“Pinky swear?”

Moving makes the pain worse. Any movements, even small ones.

“Nah. My hands are all sweaty and contagious, you don’t wanna touch ‘em.”

“It’s fine.”

“I’m not getting you sick, Max,” Billy states firmly. “You’ve got enough going on.”

There is a pregnant pause.

“I really do,” she says eventually, her tone wary. “I hate Neil. But leaving him means leaving you and my friends, and going somewhere with a bunch of total strangers who have their own Neils who might come after us.”

“That’s not gonna happen.”

“It could! Stranger things have happened! Stranger things happen all the time!”

Max smacks her hands together and does something with her arms that shifts her weight and in turn, shifts the mattress. The minute movement multiplies the knives and the stabs, and Billy agonizes, grinding his molars against a hiss as those knives in his gut twist so hard he’s already seeing fireworks.

“What’s wrong?”

It hurts so bad. This isn’t the flu. Billy doesn’t know what it is, but it’s definitely not the flu.

“Billy?”

Christ, is he dying?

“Hey.” The back of Max’s hand rests against his cheek, smaller and warmer than her mother’s was, fabric bandaid under her knuckles now protecting that scab she wouldn’t stop picking at. “Geez, you’re burning up. Are you dying?”

He’d gibe back at her if he wasn’t seriously evaluating this possibility. He momentarily considers telling her that he is, that it’s so fucking bad it’s like knives. Then he blinks and Susan’s here, half-in-half-out, one foot over the threshold of his bedroom, the other still in the hallway.

“Time to go, Max.”

Max inhales sharply above his ear. Billy composes himself. He clears his throat and does his best to keep his voice steady.

“You heard her,” he mutters. “Get your ass outta here, lemme sleep this off.”

Abruptly, Max’s weight flops over his torso, arms squeezing. She’s hugging him. She’s hugging him and the pain is so bad it’s blinding. Billy traps a scream between his teeth, burns with shame as the tears spring to his eyes. He can’t bring himself to uncurl enough to push her off. He can’t bring himself to uncurl enough to hug her back.

“Germs,” he manages to grate out, hoping it’s enough.

Max’s arms unlatch and she climbs down from his bed. Billy’s head spins with reeling pain and nausea as she trots across his floor for the final time. She stands at her mother’s side, no longer his responsibility.

“Bye, Billy.” Max’s lips twitch in a sad smile, her hand raised in a halfhearted wave.

Susan steps aside to let her through and lingers for a heartbeat, frowning at him.

“I hope you feel better, Billy…”

“Your tea was bitter,” he gripes even though he hasn’t taken a single sip.

Susan’s eyes sharpen. She sees something, Billy isn’t sure what. Her lips part but he speaks first.

“Please get out.”

So he can cry. So he can scream. It hurts, he hurts. His stomach, his heart. It’s horrible, he’s horrible.

Susan bobs her head and obliges, making herself scarce. Billy hangs onto the sound of steps getting further away. He doesn’t let the tears fall until he hears the door close and then he’s smashing his face into his pillow to smother his sobs in cotton stuffing. Forces himself to stop because crying’s making it worse, much worse, his shoulders are hitching and moving is anguish.

Something is so very wrong.

Billy can’t even think around its wrongness. Last night the pain was sharpest in his side but right now it feels like his whole stomach is burning. He shifts even slightly and his stomach burns with white-hot pain but he’s so cold everywhere else.

Billy lies still and curled and quiet, impatiently waiting for it to get better. If he doesn’t move, it should get better. Curling like this helped last night and then this morning, the pain went away.

Will it go away again if he just keeps waiting?

He’s already waited so long.

Will it come back even worse?

Could it get worse?

That’s a stupid question, everything can get worse. If there is anything Billy has learned in his life, it’s that there’s no real rock bottom. It can always get worse.

That shove will turn into a slap. That slap will turn into a punch. That punch will multiply into many punches. The opposite arm will lock around your throat so those punches can keep pummeling the breath right out of you and the night you think you’re gonna punch back—

No such thing as bad as bad gets, no limits, maybe if he really is dying, it’s for the best. Maybe dying is the best goddamn thing that can happen to you in a world where invisible knives slicing into you and screams shriveling like dead leaves—

(everyone leaves, doesn’t matter if it’s autumn)

—behind your chattering teeth could very well be the least of your suffering. It hurts so bad he can barely breathe.

Billy forces himself out of bed anyway. He always gets up even when he doesn’t want to, but today he’s outstandingly bad at it. His organs must be pureed from all the silent stabs and his legs buckle under him. His hands fly out when he falters, ceramic mug knocked off his nightstand.

When the tea spills on him, it’s cold and Billy’s confused because it’s supposed to be hot tea. Then he’s confused at his own confusion because no fucking shit it’s cold now, it’s been out for hours.

How many hours?

When did Susan put the kettle on?

How long has Susan been gone, Max in tow?

It feels like an eternity but Neil isn’t home yet, so Billy knows that’s not true. He has no idea what time it is, but he knows he’d know if Neil was home. Neil makes his presence known. Neil doesn’t set foot in this house without immediately staking claim to everyone’s attention.

Everyone?

There is no everyone anymore. Just Billy and Neil now. Billy got out of bed with the intention of finding his keys. Driving himself to the hospital. Because it’s been hours, how many he isn’t sure, but enough of them to mean he needs to go to the hospital. Go to the zoo?

No, he— he can’t go to the hospital.

He could make himself get up. Demons slice their claws through his stomach with every chill that wracks his frame and garble their guttural taunts right into his ears but he could get up. He could but he won’t, he knows better.

If Billy goes to the hospital, they’re going to call Neil. It’s a small town. Someone will know who he is even if he pretends to be too out of it to say. Someone will know he belongs to Neil and then Neil will be called. Then Neil will find out even sooner that he’s been left, and he’ll get mad, and Billy doesn’t know what he’ll do with the anger but it won’t be good.

Max and Sue need as much time as they can get, as much distance between him and his dad as possible before he finds out. He’s going to find out but they got a head-start and Billy won’t sabotage that. It’s better for him too, in case Neil decides to turn the rage his way. Neil takes responsibility for jack shit, he might even decide it’s Billy’s fault they're gone, because he got left behind to blame.

Billy could make himself get up but he won’t. He just pulls the comforter off the bed and over himself on the floor. It’s so bad he could writhe but that too, would make it worse. He’s waiting to watch a demon claw its way out of his stomach, like that scene in that one movie he watched with Max.

It wasn’t the last movie he watched with Max. Billy doesn’t remember the last movie he watched with Max, the last movie he’ll ever watch with Max. He’s never going to see her again. If he dies here on the carpet, he supposes he’ll never see anyone again.

Crying about it won’t help. Crying doesn’t solve anything.

Something is making a horrible yowling sound. There’s a stray cat in the neighborhood, it must be right outside his bedroom window. Or else it got inside somehow, it sounds so close. Its cries sound so wretchedly human.

Billy isn’t a brother anymore, he has demons twisting their pitchforks in his stomach, he’s too cold to catch his breath, and his cheeks are very wet. He doesn’t have any time or energy to chase around a stray cat, to stop it from making a mess.

Billy does not die on the floor. When his father comes home at first his yells are angry and then his yells are fearful. He calls an ambulance and cradles Billy close until it comes.

Billy loses himself in the whirlwind of activity that follows. He gets poked and prodded and jabbed, and someone blessedly takes his pain away but Billy doesn’t know who because everyone’s faces blur until they all look the same. He has too many white blood cells and not enough hydration.

Dehydration, that’s deja vu. But it’s not Susan talking about dehydration this time even though he wishes it was. He wishes it was?

Yes. No. She needed to get out. Max needed to get out. Billy has too many white blood cells and not enough hydration, and his fever’s so high they might as well bake cookies on him and— and if his mother were here, she would like that one, yeah, he definitely got his dry wit from her. Sardonic snark is right up Mom’s alley. But she had to get out too, everyone has to get out.

Except Billy. He’s fine. Well, he’s not fine, apparently he needs surgery, but he doesn’t need to escape. One day he will, but he doesn’t need to. It’s not a necessity. No matter what Max saw That Night he doesn’t remember, Neil would never kill him.

Neil would never, ever kill him. Billy is his only legacy. Piss poor legacy from Neil’s standpoint, sure, he’ll never let him forget it. But nonetheless, it’s the only one he’s got. Billy may blow his brains out when he gets bored of his twenties (if he even makes it that far) just to spite the bastard because he doesn’t want to be his good-for-nothing piece of shit legacy, he never asked for that.

But now is not the time to begrudge all he didn’t ask for, now is the time to count backwards.

“Dad?” Billy calls into the quiet nighttime of the room, blinking fuzzily at the figure slumped in the chair beside his bed. His throat feels like sandpaper, he swallows with an effort and tries again. “Dad?”

Neil stirs this time, eyes brightening, alert on Billy. “I’m here. Do you need something?”

Billy pauses. “M’sick, right?”

“Sure as shit you’re sick,” Neil huffs, eyes narrowing. “Almost lost all three of you in the same day.”

The words bounce around Billy’s skull.

“Susan left me,” Neil continues slowly, anger shimmering like hot coals underneath the veil of weariness. “All her stuff is gone, she took Max too. I don’t expect you knew anything about that?”

“No, sir,” Billy denies. “I thought they went shopping.”

“No. They certainly didn’t go shopping. They cleared out and left us behind. No explanation, no letter, not even a note.”

So it’s ‘us’ now, huh?

Billy widens his eyes, does his best to seem surprised as he attempts to sit up. Then he really is surprised, first at how awful of an idea that is, and then at realizing the blanket covering his hospital bed is one from home. One of Neil’s, fleecy and worn.

“Grabbed a few things from home. Needed something to do to keep my mind busy. You were on the operating table twice as long as they told me you were gonna be, Bill. Scared the hell out of me.”

“…why?”

“I’m told your appendix ruptured before they opened you up and that complicated things…you’re gonna be here for a little while, bud.” Neil gently rubs his shoulder. “Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

He answered the wrong question. Billy wasn’t asking why it took longer, he was asking why Neil was scared. But he doesn’t correct him. He swallows and hopes Max and Susan are safe. He wonders just what time they got to wherever they were going. Susan never shared the location or ever alluded to the distance from Hawkins. He hopes there were no mishaps along the way, no flat tires or fender-benders, or murderous traffic in backed up lanes.

“Not a baby,” he mutters. “Not gonna bitch about a stupid stomachache.”

At that, his father raises a brow. He gives a shake of the head and his hand leaves Billy’s shoulder. He makes a low noise in his throat that almost sounds like approval and covers Billy’s forehead with his hand. The heel of his palm is calloused and Billy knows he’s been hitting the bottle when the unmistakable scent of warm beer wafts over his nostrils.

“Well, it’s just us now, tough guy. You need to speak up if something’s really wrong, capeesh?”

He said it again. Us. They’re an us once more. Billy tiredly lifts his hand, bracing his elbow on the mattress to give his father’s forearm a squeeze.

“Yes, sir.”

[cannebady]

An obligatory Good Omens New Year’s Eve ficlet. Enjoy!

Here on AO3!

I realized that I need you, and I wondered if I could come home 

It ended up bring a surprise visit. With the lockdowns continuing through most of the year, Aziraphale had been stubbornly dedicated to leading by example and had refused Crowley on several occasions when he’d offered to keep him company. It was the right decision, Crowley supposed. While neither angel nor demon could get sick or transmit it to others, humans were always looking for a loophole to skirt the rules and, although Crowley would usually go out of his way to encourage them, this was starting to remind him all too much of his least favorite centuries so he didn’t push too hard.

The other benefit, was that the distance pushed Aziraphale to actually use the mobile Crowley had bought him months before all hell (side eye heavily implied) broke loose, which allowed them to communicate almost constantly. As it turns out, alcohol and texting really can be revealing and they’d continued to move, albeit at a glacial pace, towards something more.

This is all, however, a moot point because Crowley woke up on the 31st of December and immediately thought, “Ah, fuck it.” He donned his mask (not that he needs it, but it sets a good example and is a solid Look™) and drove on over to Soho to surprise an angel.

When he knocked at the bookshop door, he could already feel the air of displeasure coming from inside. He smirked, only visible by the crinkling at the corner of one eye. Lockdowns had allowed Aziraphale’s already shoddy business hours to become almost nonexistent, something the angel had nearly unbridled joy for.

When the door opened, he had to rein in actual tears of relief. He knew he missed Aziraphale something fierce, but actually seeing him made the wreck of Crowley’s heart swell and squeeze in a way he wasn’t used to.

Donning a pearlescent white mask that was very likely not of this world in origin, storm blue eyes connected with his and Crowley was warmed through to see the same, lovely, overwhelmed feeling mirrored back to him.

“My dear,” Aziraphale had whispered, looking Crowley over, “what are you doing here? It isn’t safe!”

Crowley, tired of waiting on the step while they goggled at each other, pushed inside while Aziraphale closed the door, locking it for good measure. “Well hello to you too, angel. Long time, no see.”

He snapped his fingers to place his mask in a pocket universe (he’s a bit embarrassed to admit that his earthly pockets wouldn’t exactly hold much more than his fingertips) and took care of Aziraphale’s as well.

“Crowley, we discussed this! I miss you terribly, of course I do, but we can’t just go breaking the rules willy-nilly!”

A year ago Crowley would’ve rolled his eyes at “willy-nilly”, but right now? Well, right now he’s so entranced he can’t breathe, never mind scoff.

“Angel-” He breaks off because there’s so much he wants to say, but Aziraphale is beautiful. He’s known it since Eden, but this is the longest they’ve gone without seeing each other in quite some time and he’s obsessing over the few extra inches of white blonde curls, not to mention the couple of extra inches on well-fed hips (courtesy of quarantine baking and fewer walks in parks, and for that Crowley would just like to say thank you), that are both likely to send Crowley into hysterics if he thinks about them too long.

“M’sorry angel, I just-” he sighs, “I know it’s wrong I just couldn’t wait longer. I can go, if you’d like.” He looks down, he’s not as sure that Aziraphale will kick him out as he once had been, but that doesn’t mean that he wants to watch it happen.

What he misses, is the very obvious once-over Aziraphale gives to his messy, much longer, curls and the longing look that speaks to ages of desire to cross those last few feet between them.

“Nonsense, my dear. You’re right, we cannot make this worse and you took precautions.” Crowley lifts his eyes to meet Aziraphale’s and is met with a brilliant smile. “And, of course, I am so happy to see you dearest.”

Dearest. Aziraphale called him that sometimes via text but this is the first time he’d heard it out loud. He was more attached to it than he’d like to examine.

“Well, in that case, I believe the humans have a tradition on this day that involves both day drinking and regular drinking.” He miracles a few choice vintages and a lovely bottle of Whispering Angel, because he’s still an arsehole sometimes, onto the table in the back room.

“If it’s tradition I suppose we must.” Aziraphale says with a smirk that’s not angelic at all.

Perhaps, Crowley thinks as Aziraphale leads him back to the squashy, infernally comfortable couch in the back room, this year may just end better than it started.

It’s been hours. They made it through Crowley’s initial bottles and have moved on decidedly to Aziraphale’s own, not inconsiderable, reserves. They’re encroaching on drunken territory they haven’t traversed since Armageddon first fell on their radar but this time, it’s so much better.

They’re laughing wildly while Aziraphale recounts, with requisite demonstrations, how he learned the gavotte and Crowley’s laughing so hard that his stomach hurts. He’s warm, and they’re safe together, and Aziraphale has a lovely blush high on his cheeks and Crowley’s sure he has the same, and he can’t remember being this happy for a long, long time.

“And, and-,” the angel trails off for a moment, “I couldn’t quite remember which way to turn,” he pantomimes turning in a graceless circle, “so I just, well, I rather tumbled directly into a bookshelf and realized I’d imbibed a bit too much.”

He looks at Crowley pointedly while he tries to smother a cackle. “You know, it’s not entirely dissimilar to now. I fear I’m quite completely rat-arsed.”

Crowley’s control breaks and he laughs loud and long while Aziraphale blushes more and then joins him, because they’re both completely arseholed and they have been during every century since the Beginning.

A glance at the clock shows it’s only a short time until the clock ticks over into the next year and a pit forms in Crowley’s stomach. He doesn’t want to lose this easy camaraderie and the soft love he’s feeling (it is love, he’s known it for a long time, and has accepted it for long enough) and he isn’t sure if he’ll be permitted to stay. There’s also a part of him that, for several decades now, has dreamed about employing another human tradition surrounding New Year’s Eve, but he’s even less sure of its welcome.

Aziraphale catches his eyeline and looks towards the old grandfather clock, obviously seeing the change is Crowley’s bright disposition.

“Not long now, it would seem.” He says quietly.

“Not long at all and we’ll be singing Auld Lang Syne and bidd-”, Crowley stops, his throat choking up.

“And what, dear?” Aziraphale thinks he knows where this was headed. Thinks he knows that the complicated string of emotions is on Crowley’s beloved face. He thinks he might just see everything he wants in arms reach of taking.

Crowley’s eyes are fully yellow, goldenrod and gorgeous, dark with drink or something more when he looks up to meet Aziraphale’s own. “I-, angel. Would I, ngk, what would you say if I stayed for a bit? Kept you company?”

He drops his head down again. Aziraphale hates that he looks like he’s bracing for bad news. Perhaps he has not done as well as he thought in letting Crowley know that the door was wide open now. Frankly off its hinges. Perhaps it’s time for extraordinary measures.He closes the distance between them, sitting next to the demon on the couch.

“Dearest, I think I’d like nothing more.” He reaches out and cups Crowley’s sharp jaw, tilting his head so that he can look into those stunning eyes again. He runs his thumb along his cheekbone and hears the sharp inhale.

This is the most skin-to-skin contact they’ve had since the Roman baths (there was an awkward side hug at one point that Crowley thought may actually discorporate him). But now, the simple contact of those soft, plump fingers on his jaw and his cheek are about to send him to his maker.

“Angel,” he reaches up and lays his hand over Aziraphale’s. Little to their knowledge, they’ve begun a countdown all their own. “are you sure?”

“I’m positive darling. Let me show you.” Aziraphale responds, allowing his thump to dip and run along Crowley’s luscious bottom lip. “Can I show you?”

“Please, angel”, Crowley nearly sobs and kind, giving, gracious Aziraphale takes a brief inhale of his own before laying his lips against the demon’s.

Crowley’s never really done this before. Sure there were humans here and there that thought to lay one on him, but he’s never taken the time to think about it. Why are lips so bloody sensitive? He thinks before he stops possessing higher order functioning and has only a mind to get Aziraphale closer, right the fuck now.

He reaches out and drags his hands down Aziraphale’s arms (both angelic hands now buried in his hair), delighting at the honest to God whimper he gets in response, and lets one hand tangle in ice blonde curls longer than he’s ever seen them, and lets the other drift from shoulder to waist, and finally to land on an ample hip that fits so perfectly into his hand that he thinks he might cry.

Their lips refuse to part and before long it’s gone from gently exploratory, to open and hot, tongues running along lips, tangling together, allowing them to taste each other for the first time.

They break apart briefly, speaking so close that each word is a sweet caress on the other’s lips; a placeholder while they work out their thoughts.

Aziraphale takes it upon himself to take the plunge here too, “I love you. I have loved you for so long that I don’t know what it is not to love you. I fear I was quiet for too long, but I will no longer abide. I will tell you I love you each time I think about how much I love you, until you’re sick to death of hearing it.”

While breathing is an option for both, Crowley is nearly hyperventilating. He thought, perhaps, Aziraphale may think of trying something with him. May even want to try out some more, erm, intimate, acts with him as the angel is always in such a rage for pleasure. But he never guessed that the haunting, creation-long devotion he felt would be reciprocated in the same way.

“Oh angel, I love you. I met you on the wall of Eden and thought ‘Oh, what’s that in my chest?’ and realized they didn’t take my heart when I Fell. I’m yours, if you’ll have me, if you’ll be mine as well.”

“Dearest, I’ve been yours for some time now.” And then words really aren’t important any more as Crowley lunges, pushing Aziraphale back into the squashy couch and running his hands over his coveted softness while angelic hands map his neck and his back and, Christ, his arse.

While the world nervously looks to a new year for peace and solice, two celestial beings have found it, at long last, right at home.

[someonestole15]

Siblings of Crimson

Bring on the thunder.

Braced for impact, the quake as the shells made their mark tilted the tank violently to its side before landing it back on both tracks. Shaken, sensors felt a bit off but otherwise the damage was nonexistent. Wind rushing above, I opened the hatch and climbed up to inspect the tank.

Slight damage to the suspension and covered in dust and dirt, but nothing major. Saber confirmed their shells had hit, destroying 3 of the 4 guns. With their cannons reloading, I spotted a missile launching from the forest below us. A swift rise, turn via a thruster near the top, and acceleration to almost breaking the sound barrier in seconds, I warned Saber.

“Understood Specter, we’ll keep track of it but with that launcher operational, we are unable to send air support to you.”

“Understood, we’re working on it.”

Risking the tank by driving to the launcher would be unwise, but with the one gun still operation and close to us, I thought of a plan. Use their own weaponry against them, the artillery shells would punch through any armor they might have hiding within the woods.

Mounted back up, I attempted to reach Nine. Faint response, hard to tell exactly was he was saying but the words damage and help shined through. His location attached, broadcast on an open channel, I sent the signal location to Valkyrie as she kicked the tank in gear.

Distance cut down to zero, we stopped the tank and climbed out as Valkyrie kept watch. Running through the forest, I reached the transponder and so, Nine. Heavy damage to the left side mobility, I picked him up and headed back to the tank, as Valkyrie got ready for a quick exfiltration, Nine’s call for aid had to have drawn some attention to the area.

Climbing on board the tank, Valkyrie sighted a drone approaching rapidly from the east, the lightning lighting up the sky behind it. Laser guided ordnance, I lowered Nine back inside the cabin and grabbed my rifle. Hardly enough space to turn it around, I loaded a 40mm grenade to the launcher. Proximity fuse, I braced myself against the turret while the drone descended for a pass, a burst of machinegun fire barely leaving a scratch on the armor. Pull the trigger, the grenade nailed the drones left wing as it spiraled out of control to the road ahead of us. Linking myself in to one of the mounts, Valkyrie got us going back in reverse before turning the tank around on the spot, I dropped myself back inside and connected Nine to the tanks systems.

Pulse coming back down, I focused myself on the repairs. Nine’s chassis mostly intact, the damage looked worse than it was, a few missing cabled and connections later he as getting charged up by the tanks generators.

“Good job.”

“Cheers, let’s get to that gun so we can get the Empire in on this fight.”

“We’re almost there, how do you want to do this?”

“I can be off assistance.” Nine turned to look at me as the light in his eyes was growing stronger from the charge.

“Do tell.”

Nine’s plan involved using him as a proxy to connect the tanks targeting systems with the one mounted on the gun. Getting close with a small frame without getting detected would give us the element of surprise but would also send the just wounded unit out alone. The drone we had first gotten our intel from now showed nothing but static, likely shot down, so with zero knowledge of how many units were guarding the guns, I didn’t feel like risking an ally like this. Parts of his plan could however, be adapted.

Armored vehicle, small scout unit and several shells ready to fire, we formed a plan on taking control of the gun still sitting on the ridge.

An hour ticked by, the rain had started to calm down, but the storm on the horizon wasn’t going away, still echoing in the valley with every crackle of thunder.

“Nine, in position for infiltration.”

“Good, wait for the mark. Valkyrie… All yours.”

25 tons of steel, flying like a mustang through the already downed gate, turret ready to fire. A truck of soldiers parked close to the gun, their weaponry was ineffective against the armor, one shot from the railgun sent the truck flying back with most of its front-end missing, the soldiers running for cover.

“Mark received, heading in.”

Running amongst the soldiers, I kept my aim on the soldiers as Valkyrie kept us mobile to counter any anti-tank weaponry. A few grenades made their mark on the tank, but left only minor damage to the hull.

Scanners showing signatures of dropships flying around, they deployed a pair of mechs to the area as Nine’s connection with the still standing gun got closer to being ready. The first mech was lightly armored but something about the second one made me feel uneasy. Heavy in armor, the chassis was larger than anything I had seen before, almost like it had been designed to fit two operators.

Firing a few shells towards the lighter mech forced it to seek cover, but the larger one took the shells and continued forwards even whilst I lit up its legs, no penetration nor damage. A line of plasma cut through the railgun barrel, disabling the cannon, a second one cut down the tanks tracks, a red glow around the edges of the cut as the mech seemingly stopped to reload.

“Get clear, go.”

Out into the rain once more, we got clear of the tank and split up to divide fire, the mech fired one more time on the tank, splitting it in half like a hot knife through butter.

“Nine, change of plans. Sending you an estimate of the targets location. Fire when ready.”

“Understood, attempting to locate target.”

“Look at them running like ants.”

“Indeed brother. Shall we burn them down?”

“Yes sister.”

Two different voices on the comlink, both broadcasting to anyone listening.

A line of plasma behind me as I ran for cover, not much of it to go around with a plasma cutter lighting me up. Valkyrie managed to hit one of the targeting modules for it, reducing the accuracy but getting hit by it was still not a good plan. As I gathered data, a large shell impacted the mech and knocked it off its feet, Nine confirming his target as he reloaded the gun.

“Good shot. Now find that missile launcher.”

“Understood, seeking traces…”

The mech, now crouching over, opened up its cockpit as the two pilots climbed out, their clothing choice peculiar for a combat situation like this. The girl in a white dress and the man in a white suit jacket.

“It seems we have to get our hands dirty, sister.”

“Indeed brother.”

“I’ll let you pick your target.”

“Hmm, such a hard selection. I’ll take her.”

“As you wish. You there…” He seemed to call for me. “Please come forth, I’d hate to kill you out of sight.”

No visible weaponry, I walked out of cover and stood opposite him, the rain running down my tattered coat and the heat building up inside. Valkyrie walked up next to me, her rifle loaded as she racked the bolt.

“So you are the pair we have heard so much about. A red haired guardian with a hooded rogue.”

“Partners in crime.”

“How clever… The Captain spoke highly of you before you knocked down that building.”

“Such a shame too, we really enjoyed that landscape.”

“Now he just rambles about needing to stop you… and so, here we are.”

A memory of these two, it’s faint but there. That prison block, they were the ones who picked me up from the floor, I hadn’t seen their faces, but the faint images I had were close enough.

“The Siblings of Crimson…”

“You still remember us well.”

“Only faces, no names.”

.50 rounds loaded, I raised my rifle from my side and got ready.

“But enough talking, shall we?”

“We both know…”

…You’re not walking out of this alive.”

Valkyrie cloaked up behind me and vanished into the rain as I racked the bolt on the rifle and took aim.

“Try me.”

[ghostofbambifanfiction]

Seven Deadly Stops

In which James Potter continues to be a snack

Part One is HERE

Part Two is HERE

Third.

"What's the angriest you've ever been for no good reason?"

There's a line fault—a bad one, from the sounds of it—and when the static sound of this overdue announcement has barely faded from her eardrums, James decides to level Lily with this most unexpected question.

He has been inspired, perhaps, by the stiffly contained rage which thrums across the expressions of their surrounding fellow passengers.

James has also shucked his coat, and the arms of his red plaid shirt are pushed up to his elbows.

His forearms are magnificent.

He's edible, truly. Who said he was a snack? He's clearly a three-course meal.

"Are you trying to transition into Wrath?" Lily asks him, accompanying her suspicion with the delicate lift of an eyebrow. "Is this a thing now? Are we covering all seven?"

There's a nonchalant twitch of his shoulders. "The train won't move until we do."

"Oh, won't it?"

"Call it intuition."

"Or nonsense."

"Or intuition."

"Or nonsense."

"Believe what you want," he says calmly, "but you'll be dead embarrassed when I turn out to be right."

"Or I'll chalk it up to coincidence," she counters, then frowns as another realisation occurs to her. "What makes you think that I get angry for no reason? I rarely get angry. I am a paragon of grace and poise. I am zen, you presumptive shit," she finishes, with a fiercely pointing finger. "Practically horizontal!"

"She said, passionately."

"Shut up. You're stereotyping."

His too-smug, too-attractive grin slips from his face. "How?"

"Just because I'm a redhead—"

"I don’t believe any stereotypes about redheads," James insists, cutting over her with vigour, "except the one where you have secret magic powers, which is basic common sense."

"Well, yeah, but that one's true."

"Knew it!" he cries in triumph, but then... "Though I still want proof."

Lily balks, her mouth falling open, a likely terrible picture of complete consternation. "You just said you believed it!"

"And I bet you believed in Santa when you were a child, but given the chance you would've taken proof."

"Well, fine, if you have no faith in me at all. Fine." She takes a quick sweep of the train, her eyes flitting from one passenger to another until she finds her target—a tall, slim, undeniably ginger man about their age, who is nodding along to his earbuds and sporting a My Little Pony hoodie. Each to their own, she supposes. "See that redheaded bloke over there?"

James's eyes follows her line of vision. "Sitting in front of the weird brown stain?"

She nods toward her innocent victim. "He thinks—well…" Screw it, she might as well. James will think she's bold and daring. Happy birthday, Lily Evans, here's a flirty new persona. "He thinks you're really fit."

James's lips give the barest of amused twitches, but she can see the thrill that dances in his eyes. "Does he now?"

Lily offers him a shrug. "Told me telepathically."

"Well, isn't that something?"

"He really likes your hair."

"Who wouldn't?"

"No idea, I myself have no opinion on your hair or your looks or your forearms." She's cooler than a cat, she is. Lighter than silk. Totally unaffected. Pay no mind to the colour rising rapidly in her cheeks. "I'm just reporting on what I've heard."

"You're truly committed to honest communication, aren't you?"

"Committed like no other, my friend."

"So, d'you think could you pass on a message to your mate over there?"

"I most certainly could."

"Cool," he says, and inclines his head toward her, his voice dropping down to a whisper. She can feel the warmth of his breath by her ear. "Could you tell him that I'm flattered, but kind of into a different redhead?"

Seconds tick by, innumerable breathless, loaded seconds, and Lily's heart is fluttering.

Somebody somewhere else coughs loudly into their fist.

"You lied!" she cries delightedly, twisting in her seat to better face James fully, her knees knocking freely into his.

He makes no effort to hide his happy grin. "What d'you mean, I lied?"

"Earlier, when you said that you were an expert in saying the wrong thing—"

"I am!"

"You're not!"

"I think that's a matter of opin—"

"No, it's not, you flat-out lied. You're charming." She levels it at him like a malediction, eyes narrowed, one finger shooting out to stake her claim in the centre of his chest. "You pretend you're not, with your talk about death and your detailed knowledge of trains that you're pinning on a nonexistent friend—"

"He's real!" James cries, smiling broadly. "His name is Peter, he donates to the transport museum—"

"Don't believe you," she says flatly. Her cheeks must be brighter than a glow stick at a rave. "It's all a ruse. You probably stopped the train on purpose. This is all a huge conspiracy. You probably run TFL."

"Why would I be taking the Tube if I ran TFL?"

"I don't know, it could be an Undercover Boss situation."

"The Undercover Boss works with his employees in the kitchen, he—"

"Or she."

"He or she doesn't sit in the restaurant ordering crab." He gestures around the train. "What kind of recon do you think I'm doing here?"

"Customer satisfaction survey."

"Customer satis—" He gapes at her in silence for a moment, but his lively hazel eyes are completely alight with amusement. "Right, I see. So in the last five minutes, we've established that I run Transport for London and you can read the minds of other gingers?"

"I can't read their minds," she drawls, all eye-rolls and put-on condescension. "It's a mutual exchange of information."

"And you want me to believe that Twilight Sparkle over there told you I was fit?"

"You can't prove that he didn't."

"And you can't prove that I'm sitting at the top of a citywide conspiracy," James retorts. "So here we are, deadlocked."

"Fine," she agrees. "Here we are."

She stares him down and he stares right back, winning their contest handily, but only because her lily white cheeks are useless in the war against her blushes.

A three-course meal sounds pretty bloody good.

"I don't like being called strawberry blonde," she admits, after a very brief silence. She might do something stupid if she doesn't talk instead—like ask him out, or stealthily attempt to lick the hollow of his throat—and that would be terribly inappropriate.

James's eyebrows knit into a slight frown. "What?"

"You asked what made me angry for no good reason," she reminds him. "That's what does it."

"But your hair's dark red," says James, and takes a strand between his fingers. He gives it one tug before his hand returns to his own bubble of space, but not before Lily's nerves perform the inner-body equivalent of a hyperactive keyboard smash. "Why would anyone call you strawberry blonde?"

"Out of pity," she says darkly. Distastefully. Her heart is skipping about like a newborn lamb, but she keeps her expression neutral. "It's a conciliatory thing—they don't like red hair and assume that I must hate having it, and therefore need to be pitied, so they tell me, 'oh, you're not really a redhead, you're strawberry blonde,' like it hasn't even occurred to them that I might like my red hair. Which I do," she adds. "I love my red hair."

"You should, it's gorgeous."

"I've never dyed it. Not once."

"Why would you want to?" James agrees. "D'you know how many people spend hundreds of pounds a year to have hair the same colour as yours?"

"A lot, I'd imagine."

"Multitudes," he says firmly. "And I should know, yeah? Because I work—"

"In haircare," she finishes, smiling. Her elbow seems to move of its own accord, nudging gently against his. "Because you're not the head of TFL."

"Not even slightly," says James, returning her nudge, and her smile, and Lily might actually be furious if this stupid train ever moves.

[tessatechaitea]

Scarab #5

Scarab just learned how to use "whomst'd" correctly.

Maybe the sudden need for drugs was due to this character with my name trying to kill himself.

I hadn't actually gotten to the part where the guy notes he's on drugs or that he's surrounded by poppies so I think I just have to give credit to John Smith's writing for setting up a real "I'm fucking overdosing on pain killers" tone. Now I'm also jealous of a fictional nobody. If only I had too many painkillers right now, um, well, I'd probably never hit publish on this blog post and all five of my readers would be wondering, "When the fuck is Grunion Guy (or Tess (or Jeff (or whoever the fuck this asshole is))) ever going to finish reading Scarab?" According to my Non-Certified Sister-in-law, nutritionists have to report people for suicidal ideation. She told this to me because she's a nutritionist and I said to her one night at karaoke that my current retirement plan was to do whatever the fuck I wanted until my bank account was dry and then kill myself. But she never reported me so I guess she doesn't realize that's actually my retirement plan. Speaking of karaoke, I knocked another song off of my karaoke bucket list this week: "Like China" by Phil Collins. I fucked that song so hard on stage, some woman high-fived me and some other guy came up to me and thanked me for reminding him that the song exists. He was super drunk. Super drunk guys love me at karaoke. One time this guy whose name I believe was Creepy Kevin asked me, after I'd just sung "Everybody Knows," if I was doing it in the style of Leonard Cohen or Concrete Blonde. I said Concrete Blonde and he said, "Your voice really suits it." Which is when I stabbed him in the throat and tossed him in the dumpster out back with the leftover spring rolls from the night before because how dare he insult Johnette Napolitano! She has the voice of an angel and I have the voice of the person the angel walks on so that they don't have to get their feet dirty at the angel orgy. I know nobody is reading this and thinking, "What the fuck are you talking about?! What has happened to Scarab this issue?! Has Eleanor found her way home?!" How many people even remember that this comic book ever existed?! I just read four issues of it a week and a half ago and I almost forgot it existed! This issue is called "Paradise Defiled" which I just read although maybe my subconscious read it earlier (due to the comic being opened to that page and just sitting there on the scanner) which is why I was thinking about angel orgies. This guy Jeff is somebody Louis knows. An old woman — maybe his mother? — phones Louis to ask if he's seen him. So that's how Scarab gets involved with Jeff's suicidal problem. Meanwhile, Eleanor is sprouting ecotoplasmic rivulets. It's super gross. But this issue isn't about Scarab and Eleanor! At least I don't think it is. It's about Jeff waking up from his pleasant and relaxing overdose to find himself in an afterlife torture garden sex party. He totally hates it and I understand why. The place is first described as "a literal incarnation of a littoral world" and I have to stop myself from Googling "home lobotomy." The first tortured sex victim he meets is a guy strapped to a wheel with a bunch of knives in him spouting "Vertigo phrases." I explained "Vertigo phrases" in a previous commentary (or all of my previous Vertigo commentaries maybe?) but for those who somehow just stumbled upon this commentary because "every blog post is somebody's first" (although why Scarab #5 would be somebody's first is beyond comprehension), here's a nice example of "Vertigo phrasing."

It doesn't have to mean anything. It just needs to sound weirdly profound while making the reader feel like a real fucking smarty pants.

Jeff is taken to some Herod-like angel named Lord Colouris. He's also a bit like a cross between John Lennon and Jabba the Hutt. Did I just describe David Crosby? Lord Colouris declares he's going to make a new man out of Jeff and I don't think he means it figuratively. In the middle of the Garden stands the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. It bears the fruit of truth and whispers as skulls pile up beneath it from those feeding on its devastating pronouncements. Also, I sort of agree with what it's saying here:

Ninety-eight percent of this blog is me screaming from the anguish of losing the bliss of nonexistence.

Not that I think I'm evil. Nor do I believe in souls. But that whole anguish over the loss of nonexistence? That hits me fucking hard, bro. Look, it even made me call you bro. I'm hurting here, dude. See? I said dude too! The rest of what the tree says is meaningless gobbledygook. Something about sex tearing the flanks of God and a snake jerking it into a pot of clay like my junior high school classmate Chris Huff beating off in a breadbox. Maybe it makes sense to guilt-ridden Catholics but it's all wasted on me. I'm just wondering if I should do a Google search on a snake ejaculating. I've done it before for bats and let me tell you: there's a great video of a bat at a zoo sucking itself off in front of some kids! Truly a work of art. So privileged to live in this modern age and able to experience such wonders of this world! Lord Colouris turns Jeff into a monstrosity because he's trying to reform the lost souls that wind up in the Garden of Pain into his image before he fell from Heaven. But he can't do it because everybody who enters the Garden is tainted by their boring and uncreative lives. To finally make a work of art equal to his previous state of being, Lord Colouris releases all of his Frankenstein monsters into the world to hunt down a truly innocent and beautiful person who can provide the raw material for Lord Colouris's sculpture. Jeff is now one of them. Being uncreative morons, the monsters raid nurseries all over New York. Idiots. How many babies does it take to create an angel? Probably like millions! Some of the monsters seek out Eleanor because her leaking bodily fluids smell succulent and, I guess, virginal? I don't know. Like I said, she's gross. I hope they take her. Instead of Eleanor, the monsters accidentally take Scarab back to the Garden where he's quickly defeated by Colouris with a tree grown up through his guts. Then Scarab, like a true super hero, remembers that he can't be defeated if he just summons one last burst of strength and hope to overcome his enemy! Which he totally does by biting Lord Colouris's tongue off (because Lord Colouris was doing naughty things to Scarab. So naughty that I was embarrassed to discuss them). Then he punches Colouris in the throat and he barfs up the keys to all of his monsters' souls. Plus the key to his own soul which Monster Jeff helps Scarab find. Scarab recognizes him and thinks, "Fuck. Okay, I guess I'll just have to tell Jeff's mother he's dead." Then Scarab sticks the key in Colouris's head and the Garden dissolves into an empty room with a ticking metronome. That probably makes really smart people go, "Holy fuck! That's fucking brilliant! What a great reference or theory or idea or intelligent bit of philosophical scat!" And, um, that's totally what I said too. I'm not one of those morons who don't understand Vertigo comic books. Pshaw! Can you even believe uncool losers like that exist?! Scarab #5 Rating: You know how many things I had to look up on the Internet while reading this comic book? At least two! Maybe more but even two is a lot! Remember, I first read this in 1993 when most people didn't have Internet (and those that did were spending their time in AOL and Prodigy chat rooms with names like "Horoscope Lovers" and "Remember The A-Team?!"). So that's two things I definitely didn't understand when I read it the first time because you can believe that I was too lazy to pick up a dictionary in the middle of reading a comic book. And that's even assuming that I'm the type of person to own a dictionary! Man, stop embarrassing yourself with your lousy assumptions!

[startistdoodles]

No Longer Lost

I’m...not a writer ;w; Or at least I’m an amateur one. But I really wanted to write a short story of an interaction between a character and Ivy like they had encountered her in the game. This is pretty much a one-shot, but I hope you guys like it nonetheless!! ^^;

(A brief backstory on the characters ok so Piper is a journalist who visited the studio to make a report on the whole history of the place and Grey is an 11 year old boy who is really chill and followed Piper inside because he wanted to brag to all his friends. Right now they’re on level P)

Tick-Tock

Tick-Tock

Tick-Tock

The eerie ticking counting the dancing feet of the Bendy clock also counted the heartbeat pulsing within the journalist’s chest. She swallowed hard as her sweaty fingers grasped around the handle of the mysterious gun. Each tick of the clock seemed to count down to the moment of her untimely death.

Tick-Tock

Tick-Tock

“Piper?”

She snapped back to attention as the dusty-blonde 11-year old waved his hand in front of her nose. Grey raised his brow. “Earth to Piper, do you copy?”

“Yes, yes,” she panted, pushing his hand out of her face. “I’m ok just…” Piper didn’t know what she needed. At least—what could actually be given to her right then and there. Boris gently placed his gloved paw on her shoulder sympathetically. She didn’t know why, but the beast seemed quite…human. And not like the other seemingly heartless monsters they had encountered so far. Compared to them, Boris was a gentle giant whom she didn’t mind having around--despite him being very unnatural to look at. The woman looked over her shoulder and patted the wolf on the head, his eyes closing in content. “We won’t be long, buddy,” she said softly. “Just stay out of trouble.”

The hallway was damp and dark, with pillars of ink cascading down the walls, and making the floorboards squeak and groan. And the dripping. The dripping. A chill ran down Piper’s spine, and she turned to Grey for hope of mutuality. To her frustration, the kid seemed unfazed by the studio – his collected demeanor and how he encountered each monster with such a chill attitude made the woman feel almost like she was seeing visions. Either that, or Grey was insane.

“Five hearts,” the boy recalled, scratching his chin. “Where could they be…?”

“Like I’d know,” Piper replied, trying to mask her fear with wit. Grey was unamused—or perhaps he was? His blank expression and the way he clenched his sucker between his jaws said absolutely nothing. She regained her senses a bit before speaking again. “But we should hurry. Who knows what will draw the…the demon in…”

Grey nodded as he already knew what was at stake before turning his head and pulling on Piper’s sleeve anxiously. “Pipes! Pipes, lookit!”

“I told you to stop calling me—” the woman began to snap back in irritation before reluctantly glancing up in the direction the boy was pointing. She made a sound quite reminiscent of a squeak and leapt back, her only means of defense once again squeezed between her grasp and trembling in her anxious palms. Before the two stood, or more accurately sat, a creature. An almost human looking creation with massive horns that pierced through the sides of its small and deformed skull. Its mouth gaped, revealing several jagged teeth and ink dripped down in front of its one cartooned eye and one pit that held a tiny glow – almost like it held some sort of spirit inside. The creature stared unblinking at them, breathing heavily enough to almost throw its small frame off balance.

“What…the actual—” Piper breathed softly as she awkwardly tried to hide behind the boy. Grey stood immobile for a few moments before reaching out his small hand.

“Hey, little guy,” he murmured, slowly inching closer. Piper gripped his hood and yanked him back, a movement so sudden the monster crouched low like a cat about to dash away from a vacuum.

“Grey are you insane??” she snapped at him in a harsh yet whispered tone. “Everything down here has done nothing but try to KILL us! Stop trying to befriend things you don’t understand, it’ll only kill you!”

The boy stared into the woman’s fear-struck eyes and furrowed his almost nonexistent brows. “Let go,” he said sternly, not giving a chance for Piper to respond before jerking his shoulder away from her, his own fiery eyes still fixed on hers. “And you don’t know that. Look what happened to Boris. And don’t you remember Sammy? Piper, these are all people. People who are trapped here and they have NO memory of their life. No knowledge of good and bad and are just doing what they do because it’s the only thing they know. You tell me all you want to do is tell people the story of this place? This is the story. The blood of it, actually. You don’t give a care about these people. You only care about yourself. And your stupid article.”

As Grey backed away from her, he scowled. Disgusted at the woman he considered to be a bit rough around the edges, but was soon revealed to be a lot more rough than he initially thought. She stood dumbfounded, her own brows quivering as the kid spoke the truth that pierced her very soul. Grey continued to make his way towards the monster, his hand palm-up and carefully outstretched before him slowly bridging the gap between the lost soul and the boy. The creature twitched anxiously and released a croak, its neck stretching out to carefully examine the act of affection this stranger was offering it.

“I’m a friend,” the boy said quietly. “I’m not gonna hurt you. It’s ok…” The inky, drippy mess of a person adjusted itself to be more comfortable. Perching on its hind legs and using one of its forearms to carefully touch the hand. No one had ever been this gentle with it, or Grey assumed as such as its clawed paw quivered with anxiety and hesitated greatly before placing its cold, wet hand into his.

“a sUrPriSe…?” the creature asked in a gargled, yet feminine tone. “whAt iS It, fATheR?”

Piper sighed deeply, her limbs releasing the prior tension and fear of the unknown. Perhaps Grey was right. Perhaps this studio…did still have some good left in it. As the woman began taking steady steps towards the creature, it perked up and hurriedly crawled away, its breathing becoming more intense. The journalist froze before looking where it had gone, her face twisted in confusion. But the beast sat a good thirty feet away from the humans, bouncing up and down as it purred and mumbled random phrases.

“I’m gonna follow it,” Grey announced, not looking back at Piper in spite. “You can just stay here and…try not to die, I suppose.”

The woman said nothing to argue, and instead watched as the boy trotted after the creature. It looked happy and bounced off, Grey right behind it. Piper stood alone for a solid second before following suit as well. She may not trust or even like the creature, but she would hate to see the kid get hurt. Plus if he did get hurt, she could be there to witness it. And perhaps remind him of his foolishness.

The scrawny beast found its way to a mysterious door—one of which the likes of the two humans didn’t even notice when they came this way before. Piper was taken back in shock—did she just not notice it? Or did it just…well it couldn’t have! …Could it?

At the right base of the door was a vent shaft—too small for the two to fit inside but the perfect size for the little monster to squirm in, adding more inky stains to the entrance as if it had gone in before many times already. Grey frowned as he watched the being slink in and create deep, metallic vibrations through the walls and floor as it climbed through the darkness. But a sudden click of the door alerted to the confused humans that the monster didn’t just decide to ditch them. It was allowing entrance.

Grey eagerly turned the handle to reveal a small room behind it with many relics scattered across the remains of the floorboards. A gramophone was placed on a wooden desk bearing many scribbles of a mysterious character—one that looked similar to Bendy, but the way its sheep-like horns curled around the sides of its head instead of pointing upward like the little devil they knew proved to them this was something completely different—yet familiar.

Piper gently brushed off the collection of dust from the small shelf bearing many plush versions of the horned cartoon character with delicate fingers. “This is…it,” she marveled looking down at the boy then turning to see the small beast who was now sitting in the corner. Its eyes…its eyes now held a more gentle and fragile glimmer to them. A human-like glint of sadness that was trapped behind the smiling shell of a disgusting abomination.

“PapA sAid…hE woULd maKE mE a sTAr…” it whimpered silently as the two looked over at its pitiful face. “whY woULD he eVEr LiE to Me…”

Grey slowly removed his lollipop from his mouth and placed it back in his pocket. “Someone lied to you?” he asked gently.

“I trUSt yOU pApa…”

Piper didn’t care that that wasn’t a legitimate answer. This creature was trapped. Forgotten. Lonely. Betrayed.

To the right of her sat a golden tape player, in which the woman lifted up and slowly pressed the ‘play’ button. From all she knew of these strange tapes, perhaps it would be able to provide the answer that this creature couldn’t with its limited speech. Grey’s ears peaked to listen as he sat with the creature to provide comfort with a doll. A gravely voice soon echoed through the speakers, creating a chill to run down the monster’s jagged spine.

“…She’s not really dead. I saw it. Mr. Drew murdered her, but by some godforsaken sorcery or whatnot, she was revived—but as a slimy, distorted…IVY!! I couldn’t believe my very eyes. I had to get the police involved as soon as I could. But when I did, they couldn’t finds her anywhere. I tells them what I saw, and they just LAUGH at me. They couldn’t believe me, and why would they? It was silly, yes, but I saw it! With my own two eyes!

But Joey…oh, he goes and he tells these men that it was all just a big misunderstanding. He straight up LIES to their faces!! Tomorrow…I’mma confront that man again. I ain’t workin for nobody like him no more! That filthy rat has another thing coming! I quit!”

Click.

The room fell under an uncomfortable pin-drop silence. The silence where all you could hear is your heart racing and the ink dripping. Grey looked up to match gazes with the monster, but it wasn’t looking back. It only gently ran its fingers along the outline of the wood grains in the floorboards. It said nothing—didn’t even make the slightest gargling noise. Instead, it just breathed slowly, its raspy breath being caught in its throat. “Is…is that you?” the boy finally asked after a long pause. The creature finally raised its heavy head.

“LovE rEquiRES saCRiFice…”

The beast bent her head back down and raised her paws up to bury her pitiful face into them and releasing a quiet sob. So much grief, so much emotion all swirled up in what remained of her former heart. Piper joined the two, and knelt down to put one hand on the poor monster’s sticky shoulder. Her paws slowly slipped down her inky face as she tried to wipe away tears—only no tears came. Just the dark embodiment of the lifeblood of the studio.

“How can we help her?” Piper finally asked, not even expecting a proper answer. She knew Grey had no idea either—if there was something they could do, they would probably know it already. And it came to no surprise when the boy sighed and shook his head. The beast, however, did. She raised her gloved hand to point at the forgotten weapon the journalist left behind at the door frame—the Tommy Gun.

Piper shook her head violently. “No, no, Ivy, we’re gonna save you! Come with us, we’ll introduce you to Boris, and we’ll take you back up to the surface!! Trust us!”

The creature shook her own head, heavy horns swinging from side to side and flinging specks of ink onto the humans. “saCRiFicE…” she mumbled as she stood to her feet and crawled almost lifelessly to the weapon.

“No, Ivy. Put that down…” Piper almost choked on her words. “We’ll get you out of here! You won’t have to suffer any more!”

“Piper…?” Grey muttered as Ivy clutched the gun to her chest and wept softly. “We can’t help her.”

“Shut UP, Grey!” she snapped again, tears beginning to form on her lower lids. “You said yourself, these are all people! We can’t leave her here to just…suffer!”

“She’s already suffering!” Grey raised his voice for the first time, catching the woman off guard. The boy quickly retracted his harsh tone and sighed. “…and she always will. Pipes, taking her to the surface won’t change her physically. She will always be a monster, always continue from the suffering brought upon her. We have to end it for her.”

Piper once again stood speechless as Grey carefully took the gun from Ivy’s hands. “But…” she mumbled before receiving the weapon from the boy. The woman turned again to the beast, who sat up straight and smiled.

“It hURts, paPa...” Ivy mumbled as she slowly put her hands together, her paw and fingers holding each other gently. “leT me gO…”

Grey turned away, pulling his hood over his head to hide the pain in his eyes. With great reluctance, Piper slowly raised the gun to Ivy’s small and fragile chest—the chest of a tortured and twisted little girl. The chest that held a broken heart of a lost soul wo just wished to be free from this hellish pain.

“I trUST yoU.” The small voice whispered. “Don’T bE scAReD.” The woman smiled, her eyes reddening from tears and guilt. Why did she ever hate this small being? Why did she have to grow so close to her in such a short time? Why did she have to be the one to…save her? Piper gently stroked Ivy’s ink-stained cheek for the first and last time, the monster’s own quivering enhancing hers.

“Be free little one.”

[blood-red-lion]

Not that anyone really needs more of thissss BUUUUT it’s my blog so I’m’a do what I want. Read more for what is basically my “live blogging” season five starting with episode 2.

What the fuck is he using What the fuck is he— That looks like a BAYARD bro—

Ooooh my goooood he’s using his fathers weapon. How the fuck did we see Lotor use it before we saw Shiro use it lmaooooo

Yoooo ya’ll fuckers I love my space Legolas okay he’s a babe and he did his best and look at what he managed to do saving your asses THANKS.

Allura trying to make him feel better oMg

“Look, Prince Lotor, just hanging out on the bridge.” “That’s a thing that happens.”

“Lance this is not your call.” OUCH. Shush up. YOOOO SHIRO BACK THE FUCK UP.

—-YOOOOOO HOW IS HAGGAR WATCHING THIS SHIT——

And omg they’re trying to kill her fuck fuck nah she’s waking up guys let the crazy witch chill.

Ahhhhh my beautiful lovely lady generals. I love all of them. The little traitors... Is Haggar taking them in— yes she is ohhhhh my gosh. Also can we talk about how Acxa was sitting causeeeee.... lol.

Iron will to match his iron fist.... -stares at Haggar- WHAT THE FUCK IS KURON STAGE FOUR MOTHER FUCKERS.

I mean Allura is being generally nice and tolerant of Lotor like... it’s cute she’s grown so much. She’s apprehensive, fair, but she’s trying. I love her.

I’m LAUGHING that line was said by A GENERIC GENERAL?!?? Lmaoooooo. Ya’ll fuckers.

WHERE IS SHIRO

WTF

ALRIGHT GUYS

YOOOOOOOO

OMG SHIT IS— SHIT SHIIIIITTTTT

LANCE BABY ITS GONNA BE UP TO YOU ahhhh my heart guys my heart

YOOOO HE PUNCHED THAT THING INTO NONEXISTENCE ahhh my baby I can’t. Give him his boyfriend /someone/ should cuddle him.

If I don’t see Keith soon I’m gonna flip a table tho ngl.

Also yooooo Earth finally being in on the loop.

And UHM. Yeh no Lance knows. He deeeeefinitely knows. He HAS to know.

I’m FUCK INF LAUGHING HE WAS LITERALLY SHOT INTO SPACE DUDE HOW IS HE STILL AROUND

okay yeah the iron fist thing makes sense now lmao.

Fucken stupid.

-dead- WHERE IS MY SON THO?!???

OH LOOK THERE HE IS. Tiny child with his off color fanny pack.

LOTORS LITTLE SURPRISED FACE “oh-! May I, princess???” Like this babe— ahhh I love him. Soft eyes lotor is my FAVORITE thing.

Pidge: “he definitely color codes.” Omg.

Also... does lotor not realize Haggar is honerva...??? ......babies......

LOOK AT HIM HE’S SO SOFT??! I mean that was WEIRD but ahhhhhhh

Yooo Sen looks like he’s been through some SHIT.

Also that one hacker galra like “we should /not/ let them do the thing.” Clearly speaking sense I mean they’re all shitty but /clearly/ speaking sense.

YOOOO SAM JUST SAID THAT. Sam JUSTTTTT said that. Punk is such a funny thing.

Yo did Shiro like. Take a joy ride with Lotor what is this. This is not the ship I wanted. Get away from me.

Bet. He fucking did.

Keith’s fucken concern.  Jesus.

Ya know by the rules of succession, lotor killed his dad, he was next in line, like— why should he have to fight for this, he literally has both and only legitimate claims.

“I return the black lion to the galra.” Yo what.

BRO HAGGAR FUCK OFF WITH THAT HALF BREED BULLSHIT.

Yo Keith almost sounded concerned for Lo too like ngl I’m gonna cling to that.

Keith trying to turn off all the bombs baby honestly just go tell them to skedaddle or something shit lmao Ya’ll bombed sacred ground. Annnnnnd Lotor is alone. Fack. Please protect my purple space Legolas.

WAIT THEY WERE TOGETHER SENDAK FUCK OFF

ACXA REALLY JUST DID THAT.

BRO EITHER SHES HIS MOM OR HIS SISTER THAT’S IT ITS OVER ITS DONE SHE IS DEFINITELY /ACTIVELY/ PROTECTING HIM

Also. Seriously. Like. How are they supposed to pick a new ruler now? The point is for lotor to take the throne and ya know— stabilize the galra guys. Ahhhh...

More Keith plz.

Look at lotor. Still fucken finishing it. Looks so annoyed. My boy.

Ilovehim.

Archivist don’t give a fuck that his emperor is a half breed fuck all y’all.

Is that the end tho is that the end of his time in the castle ship cause I really enjoyed how he and Allura talked like please—

OH messages for their families. Yo that’s important. Lance’s—-FAMILY HAS NAMES. MARCO. LUIS. VERONICA. NAMESSSSSS.

“There is a lot of space dust in here.” “ITS FILTHY.”

KROLIA LOOKS LIKE KEITH. SHE LOOKS LIKE KEITH SHE LOOKS LIKE KEITH. Whaaaaaaaaat the fuckkkkk.

LOTOR oNGHGG “Thank you for coming my friends!” BABY. Changing banners and looking all— Ahhhhhhhh I love him. Soft baby. SOFTTTT baby. Just letting them do what they want. Lil smiles. Ahhhhhhh!!!!!! “Come princess.”

WHAT IS FUN. Omg. Okay this makes sense now.

I want lotor to walk in and for pidge to have to explain they broke one of his sentries for shits and giggles

Blending too much keith. Tooooo much blending. (Also I’m still pissed about the last time you were in one of those WHAT the fuck.)

SHE HAS HIS BANGS. THIS IS NO JOKE WTF. Who the hell is Acxa then...?

LOTOR STILL LOOKS SO SOFT GDI

Yoooo is Allura only figuring that out now?? Also can we talk about how proud Lotor is of his mama? Yeh he definitely doesn’t know Haggar is his mama well shit.

These three literally being chased by galra like its a sitcom guys poor things. Th—EY KIDNAPPED THEM AND ARE JOUSTING THEM WTF GUYS— At least they made them popsicles... Omg.

KROLIA FUCKINg— She’s also got Zethrid style hair and it’s cuteeeee af.

I like Lotor being obvious enough that allura can see him get annoyed— Allura just tried that ahhhh baby no he hates haggar.

“Wait a tick!” HIS FACE. MY SON. Hessocuteomg. And soooo into his Altean heritage that’s fucking adorable.

HE RECOGNI—- “I left you once, I’ll never leave you again.” BABY. FUCKING. BABIES.

MEANWHILE LO BEING SOFT AS FUCK WITH ALLURA OMG SEND HELP I CANT BREATHE LOOK AT HIM TRYING AHGODMYHEARTICANT

The fucking droid. Oh my god. “Later paladudes. Weeeeeeeeeee.” This is bullshit.

“You compromised the mission!” “Keith! Shut up and listen to me!”

“I handed them over to it.” WELL. Alrighty then.

Keith gonna have a conversation with her now??? Yup there we go. Keith did you really not get it? Baby is more dense than we thought guys. Everyone go home.

“Perfect place to hide a magical world.” “Perfect place to crash and die.”

“We’re navigating by cave poetry now?”

“Lotor is sending you to your doom!”

“You need to zip it!”

Lotor stands by just :)))))))

Where is Lotor anyway?

OMG OMG OMG OMG BABY BABY BAYBNSUSLAJCKAKKDLQHFLAJDJSKKANFJSLB I’mSCREAMING

OH GOD if he keeps those the galra are nooooot gonna be happy... also white lion legit just /chose/ Lotor guys. He’s so PROUD of himself tho look at him. Ahhh and she looks so cute too.

I don’t think kuron knows he’s kuron. I mean I never did but I’m just gonna voice that now.

Yoooo Acxa still seems loyal to lotor wtf.

LOTOR TALKING ABOUT HIS CHILDHOOD. BABY. BAAAAAAAABY. Look at his pouty face ahhhh omg they’re bonding FACK guys so ngl this was kinda my original ship when I first saw Lotor like I’m dying lmao they’re fucking adorable.

His hair floof <3

I want his markings back yo like I know they’d screw him but they looked /lovely/ on his faaaaace.

Lotor private spiritual journey.

Ahhhhh....

Lotor’s approach is so funny lmao... “We come seeking knowledge!” “I /will/ know your secrets!”

Ahhhhh baby you fucked up. I hope he isn’t too upset about that. I mean that was his conditioning it’s not fair. He even /said it/. Victory or death. Poor baby.

Yeah he’s looking kinda pissy. But he seems to be trying to handle it okay. Still soft. Good soft.

—OH NO. Oh shit and that’s it.

Well. Fuck. :(

[joeljoelwarr]

Imperium Heights - 4

1, 2, 3, 

Warning: None, (except a first day at a new school, everyone’s terrified of that.)

Genre: Superpower!AU

Note: There are ships in this story. Implications of BOTH ships in this chapter. The following being them: JJP (Jaebum and Jinyoung) and Markgyeom (Mark and Yugyeom). If you don’t like these ships, you can skip those parts of the story, or just don’t read the story. Thank you.

Italics - Thai

Bold - English

Both - Thoughts and Mind Readings

Yugyeom’s hair slowly fell in his eyes, ticking Kyu off. She huffed, reaching out and pushing it out of his eyes softly.

“You seriously need a haircut at some point. It’s in your eyes almost every second of the day!” She pouted, Mark’s lips upturning at this. Their sibling relationship made him smile. They were obviously close. Personally, he didn’t mind Yugyeom’s hair like that, he liked it even. Yugyeom shook his head, his hair falling back into place.

“I will once it’s covering my eyes, or I can barely see through it,” Yugyeom teased, smiling brightly. Kyu groaned. 

“Aish, you’re so annoying! When it pokes you in the eye, don’t come crying to me for a haircut okay?” Despite the annoyed tone to her voice, anyone listening could hear the fondness for the younger kid hidden in disguise.

“Yeah okay,” Yugyeom mused, chuckling. “I can’t be that annoying since you still put up with me.” She pouted, her lips pursing and and eyebrows furrowing cutely.

“I hate it when you’re right,” she groaned. “You’re like…” She paused, looking at him intrigued. “Little sibling annoying.” She reached over and poked his cheek lightly, making him scoff, and put a hand to his cheek, a fake look of offence as he fought to keep the smile off his face. She giggled quietly, pulling her hands back to his side and making him groan in annoyance at her cuteness. 

Mark watched adoringly, finding this whole exchange incredibly endearing. He’d not admit it outloud, but the fact that Yugyeom and Kyu had a sibling relationship when they looked anything but made him smile. His opinion of the two had sky-rocketed in the last 15 minutes of them talking, and he didn’t regret a single word.

Yugyeom shook his head again, letting his flood of hair shake and come to rest. Kyu looked lie she was having an internal struggle, with lasted for about 15 seconds before she pulled her hands onto the table and blurted out.

“But can you just let me cut it?” She exclaimed, turning Yugyeom red. “I swear to gosh, man! It’s so long!” She sat up, reaching over and pulling a piece lightly just to prove her point.

“Fine…” Yugyeom mumbled. Mark chuckled as her face lit up, her smile making it worth Yugyeom’s hair being cut.

“I won’t do it now,” she said, “but I’m coming by your dorm later, and you’re letting me do it!” Her eyes twinkled in excitement. Yugyeom smiled, his ears turning red as he muttered a small happy ‘okay.’

Hair fell to the floor by Kyu’s feet as she cut his hair softly, Yugyeom not minding it actually, unlike how he thought he would.

“You’ve got a full month to plan how to confess to him. What’re you thinking?” She asked, ruffling his hair to remove the pieces that stuck to the others.

“A letter, maybe,” he replied, looking at the wall.

“… Seriously?” She stopped cutting and leaned against the chair. “You want to confess, before Christmas, with a letter.” She shook her head and flicked his head, making him flinch. “Send him a gift or something! An ugly sweater with a heart on it.” She laughed quietly, the sheer insanity of that idea amusing her.

“I don’t know okay! I’ve never confessed to someone before!” BamBam, confused as always, raised an eyebrow at them, rolling his eyes slightly.

Wait, did I hear something about Yugyeom confessing to a crush? Kyu screamed, jumping. She almost cut off a large chunk of Yugyeom’s hair, her hand flying to her chest as she breathed heavily. She closed her eyes.

“Does…. someone have telepathy?” Min-ji asked slowly, Kyu nodding and kicking the wall next to Yugyeom’s bed, where Jinyoung should have been, (he’s actually in the library.)

“Jinyoung~oppa, just because you can project thoughts into others minds doesn’t mean you should!” She yelled. I almost scalped Yugyeom thanks to you!

I’m surprised that he doesn’t have early hair loss yet. Kyu rolled her eyes, looking over to the two Thai kids sitting on one of the beds. Er… Rather, the one. She watched as BamBam grabbed Min-ji’s leg, keeping her from hitting the ceiling of the dorm room. Kyu smiled at her. I’m going to murder you someday, oppa.

“Maybe you should study Korean more!” Min-ji said, flipping upside down to be eye-level with BamBam again.

“But you’re doing so good without me.” He smirked, holding onto her shirt instead.

Nah. Besides, who else is going to let you get as many books as you want from the library? Kyu groaned, knowing he had a point. 

You’re such an arse!

I like to think of it as getting my way. Also, I would love to see Yugyeomie try to confess to his crush. That would be an amazing sight to see.

“Is it Jinyoung~hyung again?” Yugyeom asked, looking back at her. Kyu nodded, turning his head back and continuing to cut it. “Remind me to tease him later then.” Kyu smiled.

“Yeah, okay.

Jinyoung sat at the Library desk, bored out of his mind. It was boring being a teacher’s assistant, him and his friend could tell you that much. He looked over at Bailey, who was reading a book, her feet propped up on the counter in front of her, her lip between her teeth. Boy, if Jackson were to walk in right now, he’d have a heart attack. He walked over, reading over her shoulder, the famed works of J.K. Rowling in her hands. He could hear Kyu talking about being a wingwoman in his mind, amusing him slightly.

A male came in, Im Jaebum, as Jinyoung recognized. His interest peaked, he watched him he moved around looking for a book. Bailey looked up at him, smirking slightly. He could hear Kyu talking about being a wingwoman in his mind, amusing him slightly. Bailey elbowed him slightly, nodding at Jaebum who was standing puzzled. Go help him!

“No, why don’t you do it?” Jinyoung whispered frantically. Bailey put down her book and pushed him over harshly to Jaebum. Because you’re a wimp and need practice talking to people!

“Do you need any help?” Jinyoung asked quietly. Jaebum didn’t hear it, forcing Jinyoung to repeat is louder this time. “Excuse me, do you need help?”

Jaebum looked up at him and Jinyoung was rendered slightly speechless by the look of his eyes. Knowledge was stored there, Jinyoung could tell just by looking.

“Ah… Yeah, actually. Do you have A Guide to Arithmancy: Volume 3 by Arthur Pattin?”

“I think we have one more copy, it should be by Volume 1 and Volume 2.” Jinyoung nodded, thinking. Bailey rolled her eyes, the man was clueless! Jaebum scratched his neck, embarrassed.

“Which are where, might I ask?” Jinyoung gestured to him, to follow as he walked down one of the lines of bookshelves, retrieving the third volume down from the shelf and handing it to him.

“Arithmancy books are normally with other spell books, but at the start of it since it begins with A.”

“And here I was thinking it was ordered by Author.” Jaebum smiled at the book in his hands. “Thank you. I don’t come in here often, so I don’t usually know where things are.”

“I’m here pretty much every day, so I’ve memorized where all the books are. It was no trouble.” Jinyoung smiled back at him. “Do you want me to check that out for you?”

“Oh, please!” Jaebum said, walking back with Jinyoung to the check-out desk, where a smirking Bailey said in her chair. Someone’s fliiiiirrrtttinnnng.

I will find a way to get you back, Bailey.

You didn’t deny it~

Did you hear that? It was me mentally rolling my eyes at you. Jinyoung scanned the book, bringing up the bar-code and stamp on the screen. Bailey smiled.

Nah, all I heard was the emptiness of your nonexistent comebacks. He paused for a moment, angrily blinking before calming down.

And now I understand why you are friends with Kyu~ah. Bailey giggled quietly, pulling her feet off the counter, Jaebum looking at her confused. I think I’m closer friends with you, though.

Jinyoung smiled fondly, handing the book to Jaebum. “There you go.” Yeah… Whatever.

“Thank you… You’re Jinyoung right? Park Jinyoung?” Jinyoung, shocked, nodded. “I’ve heard about you.” Jaebum smiled. “All good things, I promise. But the story of the famed Library Keeper that knows every inch of this large library, isn’t one I’ll forget.

Bijj, am I chopped liver?! Bailey exclaimed in her head, making Jinyoung smile again. 

I was thinking more along the lines of hot rocks, but that could work. “I’ll see you again when you return the book, right?” Jaebum smiled flirtatiously.

You still suck at jokes, even when talking about my powers. You need help.

“Of course.” Jinyoung turned slightly red, Bailey’s laugh echoing in his ears. He glared at her. I don’t need jokes to amaze people.

You don’t even amaze people in the first place! She laughed, and he couldn’t help the smile that was placed on his face. Yeah… They were definitely close friends.

Jinyoung’s smile was bright and wide as he looked back at Jaebum. “I’ll see you then.”

“I suppose you will.” 

[chatlote]

Bruises Left Behind

Ship: Keith/Lance Word Count: 1275

Summary: After the Blade of Marmora 'Knowledge or Death'  trial, Keith skin is filled with bruises.

Lance had no problem with the fact that Keith was Galra, the Blue Lion had been on Earth, the chances of a random galra falling love there and having a child? Lance was a romantic and he believed those chances. Anyway, he had no problem, what he had a problem with though was how Keith took a step back and hissed in pain when he gave him a gentle nudge on the shoulder.

People left the Bridge one by one, Keith saw them leave and Lance stared at Keith, thinking. Eventually he approached him when they were alone. "Can I talk to you in private for a second?"

Keith looked confused, no wonder. "Sure?"

"Follow me." Lance replied, walking out of the Bridge and making way to the dormitories, he made Keith enter his room first and then he followed behind. "Can you take your armor off?" He asked, a bit hesitant but determined to get the answers he was looking for.

"Uhm, why?"

"Just, just do it." Lance didn't want to explain himself, he doubted Keith would agree if he did.

"Alright then." Keith took of the armor parts of their suits, leaving him on a black shirt and black pants that they wore under the armor.

Lance squinted, trying to find what he was looking for with no success, The shirt also covered the neck, "Take off your shirt."

"Lance- What is going on." Keith asked, slightly flushing, getting embarrassed.

Lance gulped, okay maybe his request sounded a bit odd. "I am not going to do anything I just need to confirm something."

When Keith didn't move he added. "I have seen you on your swim suit, this isn't much different."

Keith sighed and complied, as the shirt slowly revealed big dark purple patches of skin. Lance froze, he was right but he hated it. He stared wide eyed at all the irregular shaped that kept appearing as more skin was revealed. Keith eventually got the shirt through his head and looked at Lance. "Is this- uh..." He drifted off to realize how Lance was staring at him, and looked down to himself. "Oh, uh-right."

Lance took a step closer, Keith took a step back. Lance took another step, Keith stayed in his place.

Gently, Lance touched a spot on Keith upper arm, Keith wincing almost immediately. "This- this isn't because you are galra is it."

Keith didn't reply. He stayed weirdly silent and pulled his arm away from the touch.

"What the fuck did they do to you." Lance asked, anger was probably evident in his voice as he stared at Keith, their eye level basically the same since their height difference was basically nonexistent. When Keith broke eye contact, he stared at Keith face closer, he could see that his cheek was darker too, he looked down at his shoulder and realized that there were.... finger marks. "We can't work with them." Lance said, furiously.

"Lance don't-"

"This- this isn't how you treat people, this isn't how you treat team mates, they-" Lance took a step back, taking it all in again.

Keith took a step closer and grabbed Lance's arm. "Lance you don't have to worry about this."

"Don't worry about it? Keith if I even as much touch you, you will draw back in pain! I think that's plenty to worry about!" Lance panicked, what exactly had went on? What had they done to Keith who was one of their best fighters? Lance eyes opened wide as realization hit him like a cold rain. "This- this is why red was attacking their base."

Keith gulped, "This will heal Lance. I am fine, I brought this onto myself."

"Keith, you look everything but fine . You were in enough pain to make Red move on her own!" Lance fury was washed away with worry. "Are you- and reply to me honestly- really okay? Did they do this to Shiro too? Are they forcing you to cooperate?"

"No! No , no Shiro is fine- I, they didn't even want to work with us. This is all because I refused to give them the knife without getting some answers." Keith explained as well as he could manage. "The trial refused fighting their members- I was outnumbered and out skilled- that is all. This is my own fault."

Lance frowned, honestly not convinced, "I don't buy it. Even if what you are saying is true, that just sounds messed up, you don't- you just don't put a person through that."

"It's their own costumes Lance, we have to respect that as Paladins of Voltron right?"

Lance snapped. "To hell with that! What's the point of being a Paladin if this is how they treat us- how they treat you?!"

"I appreciate the worry, but it's fine. They said the trial was knowledge or death and I went through it on my own accord and came out alive. I was too stubborn to give up and this happened."

Lance blinked, then he blinked again. "They could have killed you?" This story kept getting worse and worse, and Lance just didn't enjoy this.

"I- Yes, but I knew that from the beginning, Lance I chose this, it's fine."

Keith was too calm about this and it was ticking Lance off. "You chose to be put through torture is what you are saying."

"No- I- You are using my words against me aren't you."

"Of course I am, look at yourself!"

Keith sighed,  "How can I make you drop this and agree to work with them without bringing this up?"

Lance pondered on the question, at this point he was aware that Keith had already forgiven the Blade for the hell he had been put through, didn't make Lance any safer about working with them but- if Shiro was aware of this and had agreed then he supposed he had no choice but accept it too. However he wasn't going to accept Keith get out of this that easily. "I want you to spend the night on a healing pod, I will make excuses for your disappearance." He said, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"Wha- but these are just bruises!" Keith argued. "They will heal on their own in a few days."

"Which means that in a night they will be completely gone and as you are aware, we don't have 'days' do spare." Lance reasoned. "You are not going to be able to fight properly like that."

"I am pretty capable of fighting like this." Keith said with what looked like a pout.

Lance raised an eyebrow. "Even I could beat you like this, and either way, you asked me what would make me drop the subject and these are my conditions."

"So I have no other choice do I?" He said with a sigh.

Lance smirked, seeing that the win was within his reach. "Nope."

"Fine." Keith agreed, then he paused to look at Lance with a questioning look, and a small smile. "It's unusual of you to be so caring you know?"

Lance shrugged sheepishly. "No idea what you are talking about, I always care for my teammates."

"Sure thing." Keith said with a smile. "Can I get dressed now then?"

Lance turned around, going in the direction of the door. "Knock yourself out, and I better not see you again today by the way." Turning to look back at Keith. "I will check the pods and I will know."

"Fine." Keith said. "See you later Lance."

With a wave, Lance left the room.

thank you for reading!

 hope this was enjoyable, this might have a bit of a sequel though i haven’t written it yet

[halsteadproperty]

Jeff Krantz from Halstead Real Estate Promote Yourself in a Consistent Manner 

Co-founder and leader of the elite residential real estate team Krantz and Krantz of Halstead Property, Jeff Krantz is the latest expert to share his knowledge in our Expert Interviews series. Through boundless creativity and a “listen first” philosophy, he delivers world-class results for thousands of clients. Blending bottomless creativity with a grounded analytical approach, Jeff guides clients through acquisition, pre-development planning, team assembly, pricing, absorption and ultimately directs the sales process.

Beyond his commitment to professional excellence, Jeff and his wife Kristin serve the community in which they live and support numerous charities in Harlem. Read on to find out more about how he got into the real estate business and get a hint about how he builds successful strategies.

Q: Tell us a little bit about your background and why you chose a career in real estate.

I moved to NYC from Los Angeles in 2001 and the job market was terrible, basically nonexistent. It was the dying days of the classified jobs ads in The New York Times, but I circled one that said, “Start at V.P. level in Sales.” For some reason, no alarm bells sounded, so I showed up and found myself among a few other dreamers who thought that starting at a V.P. level was totally realistic.

I got hired and was promised six-figures if I committed; all I knew was that I was to meet a “senior associate” on the campus of some random university in New Jersey. I met her in the quad, and she handed me a stack of tickets and said, “Congrats on the job. Sell these tickets to students, and you get a $2 bonus for each one you sell.” Turns out I was hired to sell discount tickets to a comedy club. After a humiliating day, I was back to being the V.P. of “being unemployed.”

Meanwhile, a friend of mine had just gotten his license in real estate and said, “Dude, it’s easy. You make tons of money! (again no alarm bells)” I got my license immediately and joined a company that stuck me at a desk, showed me Craigslist, and wished me luck. Turned out it was not easy at all and what my friend didn’t tell me was that his dad was a major developer, who was feeding him clients. I was 24 and still didn’t really know anyone and quickly realized that posting NO FEE ads on Craigslist was not for me. A few months in I received an exclusive rental listing and rather than writing the standard description, I wrote a short story that took place in the home. I was spotted within my office as someone with grit and creative marketing ideas and quickly was asked to assist on listings.

Q: What do you love about this industry?

I love that real estate offers an opportunity to create your own path and is one that can take you in many different directions. I started off as a rental agent, then was hired as an on-site agent for 4 years, and then I parlayed my knowledge into building a team capable of handling large-scale development sites while at the same time servicing buyers and sellers.

Q: What are the most important factors you consider when building your strategy?

Our team shares common core values that we developed over many months of planning and structuring. We developed a mission statement and then 10 supporting core values that help define our approach to business (hint: morality is #1). Also, after reading a book called The E-Myth, Kristin (my wife and partner, also known as “the better Krantz”) and I decided that however we built Krantz and Krantz, it had to be able to scale. A single agent’s business will collapse if something ever happens to them, but we’ve built our team in a way so that everyone is invested and trained to keep the business operating even if one, or both, of us has to step away for a while (due to sickness or some unforeseen life circumstance). Our strategy started with bringing in professionals who were committed to excellence and devoted to the culture of Krantz and Krantz.

Q: How do you expect the needs and desires of home buyers to change over the next ten years or so?

Technology will undoubtedly continue to play a role in the real estate process. However, people will always need experts to put data into context and, moreover, to act as consultants in a very important investment in their lives. Home buyers in the future will continue to rely on experts and those brokers who are experts in micro-markets will be positioned to assist with knowledge you can’t find on the web.

Q: What sources do you use just to understand the trends in the real estate environment?

I rely on boots-on-the-ground experience and feedback from my team coupled with following local and global geopolitical trends (CNBC is a good one).

Q: What’s next for you?

I want to work with developers who share my vision for building “attainable luxury in Manhattan,” sellers who appreciate the creativity and professionalism I bring to the sale process, and buyers who pick up my check-in calls and say, “life is really good, but we need more space!”

Q: If you could give advice to those who are just starting out, what would it be?

Discover your voice and promote yourself in a consistent manner. In other words, don’t try to be a numbers person if what really makes you tick is creating marketing concepts. This business rewards talent in many ways. Just because the agent sitting next to you does it one way, that doesn’t mean it’s THE WAY.

About Jeff Krantz

As a licensed associate broker for Halstead Property, Jeff Krantz conceptualizes and implements strategies for sales and rental developments in Manhattan and Brooklyn. Jeff is married to Kristin Krantz, an onsite sales manager and the other half of the Krantz and Krantz real estate team. Developers enjoy working with his team because they continually challenge themselves to find new ways to achieve success. Find out more about him here.