#also the hair line bisecting his ear just ended up looking enough like the little squiggle i put on it usually so i just kept it

[brodorokihousuke]

just(ice) another day in the life

[thetacticalspider]

aight so i listened to a podfic (read by giveemhellkidd) of "the science of sleep" (written by chimneythunder) while cleaning my closet a few months ago and basically it rewired my brain chemistry enough that i drew TWO seperate posters for it...and will probably draw another as my art abilities continue to grow and develop. the first one posted here was finished literally this morning and the second one a few weeks ago (idk when exactly). i couldn't find tumblr blogs for either the author or narrator but i hope fate intervenes and they see this anyway. their creation has impacted me so.

image descriptions in alt and under the cut

[image number one shows a colorful drawing of a poster, done mostly in marker. "the science of" is written in large yellow letters at the top of the paper, and "sleep is written in even bigger letters at the bottom. Behind the letters, there's a zig-zigging silvery line bisecting the page. on the left side, the background is blue, showing mikey way in the back wearing a grey shirt and a red bandana. he's got light skin, small rectangular glasses, straight brown hair falling into his face, and is smiling. to the right and a little bit further down the page is gerard, with light skin and dark hair falling into his face, which is partially hidden behind a sketchbook with blue colored sketches on one page. he's also smiling. even further down the page and to the left is ray, who has slightly darker skin and a curly golden brown afro. he's smiling and is wearing a black misfits shirt. the other side of the jagged line has an orange background and the aforementioned people are mirrored on this side, only as the danger days versions of themselves. mikey has his red kobra kid bomber jacket on and is pointing his red ray gun down and to the left. his hair is bleached and he has black sunglasses on. gerard has the yellow party poison mask, dyed red hair and blue bomber jacket. his bright yellow ray gun is being pointed above his head. ray is in side profile, facing towards the center of the page with his blue ray gun being held parallel to his face, both hands on the hilt, pointing it up. he's wearing his black jet star jacket, but it's partially obscured by two grey rectangles made to look like strips of tape, with red words on them reading "a novel by chimney thunder." this is right above the final E and P of "sleep." finally, at the very front of the page, his comparitively giant face bisected by the big jagged line, is frank! he has light skin and black hair and his eyes are closed. on the left side of the line, his whole closed eye can be seen and his eyebrow, which has a piercing in it, since his hair is cut very short. his ear is right in front of ray. on the right side of the jagged line, his hair is long and falling into his face, covering his eye. we can just see the side of his nose and bits of his cheek. finally a tagline is written on the poster. on the left side is written "good morning frank..." and on the right side "have you taken your medication today." finally, the signature "tactical spider" is written across gerard's head on the left side]

[image number two is pretty much exactly the same as the first one, only this one is mostly done in colored pencil and therefore the colors are bit lighter and less blended. the orange background on the right side is an ombre that gets lighter as it goes down. instead of being grey, mikey's shirt on the left side is black and is meant to have duct tape on it, on which it reads "arts and crafts." the bottom of frank's nose can be seen on the left side and we can see a small nose ring. also, there are two small slashes through his left eyebrow. the red words above the word sleep have no background and are much harder to read, though if you can read them you'll see they say "based on the novel by chimney thunder." finally, the "tactical spider" signature is written along gerards arm on the right side. end id]

[ri-ahhh]

could I request something where E is like editing but y/n gets bored and sits on his lap and starts to grind which ends up with maybe some punishments from E after he's had enough?

(my first E anything, this was a trip haha -- shout out to Pao @persistence-ofmemories, here’s your ethan smut lol)

You’ve been watching him all day. Strolling around the house shirtless with his AirPods in and sipping a smoothie while he conversed easily on continuous business calls. Hunched over his laptop answering emails. Sitting at the table with Grayson while they brainstormed new video ideas and Wakeheart promotional pitches. 

Something about businessman Ethan hit so much different for you. He’s not an overly serious person on the daily, but CEO Ethan doesn’t fuck around. When he’s on these calls, his voice takes on this timbre that’s deep and confident and self-assured. Leaves no room for argument when he knows what’s best for his brands. It makes you clench your thighs and bite your lip as you watch and listen from your perch at the bar where you’re doing your own work for the day on your laptop.

But he can also get extremely caught up in it, in the perfection and responsibilities that are required when you’re a self-made businessman. Sometimes it’s hot and endearing, and sometimes it’s frustrating. Tonight, it’s frustrating. 

You emerge from the ensuite bathroom in his room, dressed for bed in one of his t-shirts and squeezing some of the excess water out of your hair from your shower, to find him at his desk chair and on the phone again. You frown, checking the time on your phone. It’s after 10:30 PM, much too late considering he’s been doing this since around 8 this morning. 

You walk up behind him, leaning over the back of the chair and wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders. You press a lingering kiss to his temple and nuzzle his cheek as you inspect what he’s working on. A still frame from their new video they’re about to post is on the screen of his laptop.

“I can’t decide if we should leave this part at 11 minutes in, bro. What do you think?”

You don’t know who he’s talking to, probably Ryan or maybe even Grayson; they have a habit of calling each other even if they're both in the house, rather than just get up and go wherever the other one is. You’re a little confused as to why he’s editing of all things right now, though.

“Babe, what are you doing? Isn’t this what you pay Ricky for now?” you ask, reaching a hand up to play with his hair. It’s getting so long, and you're not mad about it one bit.

Ethan glances up at you and puckers his lips. You oblige him with a quick peck, but you still expect an answer. He has a habit of trying to temporarily appease you when he’s busy and focused on something.

He sighs when he realizes you’re not giving up that easily. He puts the phone on mute, and you do indeed see Grayson’s name on the screen. “Ricky’s swamped, so I told him I had this one. It’s not too crazy.”

“You’ve been working literally all day, E. Can’t you come to bed so we can spend some time together before we go to sleep? I can’t stay up too late, I have a meeting in the morning.” 

Ethan hesitates, turning the phone speaker back on to talk to his brother through his headphones. “Hey, Gray one sec.” He mutes it again. “Sweetheart, this won’t take me very long, I promise. The video is gonna be pretty short.”

You roll your eyes and pick up the towel you had dropped to the floor, turning your back on him to hang it up in the bathroom. You refuse to be the nagging girlfriend. If he wants to prioritize work he doesn't even need to be finishing right now, you’re happy to guilt trip him. 

“Whatever, E. It doesn’t feel like a long time to you, but a ‘short video’ still means like three hours.”

When you come back into the bedroom, you expect him to be lounging on the bed with his phone, laptop shut for the night and LED lights on. So when you find him in the exact same position, talking to Grayson once again, a wave of rage and hurt washes over you. Ethan is usually an amazing and attentive boyfriend, and you’re not particularly clingy with him; you just want to spend some intimate time together after a nonstop work schedule on both your ends had left that time lacking in your relationship lately, and which doesn’t show any signs of changing in the coming week. 

You consider giving in and slipping under the covers to pout and go to sleep after all. Even if you were tired enough to go to sleep now, though, you know you’d be way too mad to achieve that. Your course of action is easy, then.

“Baby...” Ethan huffs, irritation and amusement both detectable in his tone when you march over to him and swing a leg across his lap. He grunts when you plop yourself in his lap, adjusting until you’ve got your arms wrapped around his middle and your face nuzzled in his neck. “Seriously?”

“Seriously?” you mock his deep voice. You know he hates that, and your lips curve up where you press them to his neck when you feel him tense up a little. “We both know you don’t need to be doing this right now, I heard you and Gray decide to post in three days. No sponsor with a deadline to get approval from. You’re just being a workaholic instead of a considerate boyfriend.”

He shakes his head, his arms curved around you so he can still reach the keyboard of his laptop. You hear the clicks of the keys resume as he has the nerve to keep working. “I just want to get this done, so it’s over with and so I don’t have to worry about it in a couple of days. You’re being a brat.”

You scoff indignantly. You’re being a brat just because you want to spend some of the limited free time you both have with your boyfriend?

If that’s what he thinks you are, then you’ll let him have it.

You can hear Grayson’s muffled voice coming through the one AirPod Ethan’s wearing in the ear opposite from the one you’re next to. Perfect. You smirk and start planting sweet, innocent kisses up the side of his neck until you reach his ear, taking the lobe in-between your teeth teasingly.

Ethan inhales sharply when you tug on it with a little nibble before releasing it and putting your mouth right to his ear. You start rocking against him, sitting up some to put your hands on his shoulders.

“I’m gonna get off on you, with or without your help,” you whisper straight into his ear, smirking when your hot breath raises goosebumps on his bare skin. Now, it’s just a competition between his stubbornness and his desire for your pussy. The latter will win, you know it — it’s only a matter of time. “If you want to make this a mutual effort, I’m more than happy for you to do that.”

He releases a heavy breath, and you smile against his skin when you feel him hardening predictably beneath you. You grind deeper into him, and lick your tongue along the words inked into his skin on his collarbone. 

He stays stubbornly focused in the chair, and you can hear Grayson still talking in his ear, but Ethan isn’t responding to him. His chest and neck are flushing pink, and you sit back to see if that pretty color is gracing his cheeks, too.

You grin when you see that it is. His arms are still draped loosely around your waist, no longer typing, so you lean back with your hands on his knees, still grinding on the large bulge growing in his sweatpants. His eyes trail over you, how the t-shirt of his that you’re wearing pools at your hips, exposing your soft cotton panties that you sleep in so he can see your pussy rocking on his dick. 

“Feels so good,” you murmur, tossing your hair over one shoulder and biting your lip. You reach one hand down and lift your shirt so you can both see the wet patch growing in your panties. He lets out this tiny little masculine moan that has you going harder, faster. You grin and lift your eyes to watch him watch your hips, and the heat in his gaze makes you shiver. “Would feel better if you were inside me, E. Want that big dick inside me, stretching me out. Don’t you want that, baby?”

Ethan shakes his head incredulously again, clearing his throat. “Hey, I’m tired Gray. I’ll finish tomorrow, okay?”

He doesn’t wait for his brother to answer before ripping his headphone out of his ear, tossing it onto his desk, and tapping the red button on his phone to hang up. You squeal and giggle when he stands up suddenly, cupping his big hands under your thighs so you come with him. You wrap your legs around his waist instinctively, and don’t waste any time threading your fingers into his hair and dragging his lips to yours. 

He moans into your mouth and stumbles to the bed, but your kiss is short-lived as he tosses you onto the mattress. You bounce and laugh again, scooting back to settle against the pillows as he crawls predatorily on top of you. He looks fucking amazing -- his hair a mess, skin tan from all the shirtless skateboarding he’s been doing lately, dick print evident in his grey sweats. Your mouth and pussy water simultaneously, and you reach out for him as he gets closer.

“You think that was cute?” he asks with a tiny smirk, allowing you to wrap your arms around him as he settles between your legs. “Turning me on while I’m working? While I’m on the phone with my brother?”

“Kind of. I did ask you nicely to stop working,” you remind him, trailing a finger down the line bisecting his torso until you reach his pants. You palm his erection through the soft fabric, grinning when he thrusts into your touch. “Not my fault you can’t listen.”

Ethan hums and hooks his fingers into the sides of your panties, making your hand fall away from him as he slinks them down your freshly shaved legs and leans back to toss them over his shoulder. His eyes are glued to your pussy and the shimmer of your arousal clinging to your smooth lower lips. Your head falls to your shoulder as you spread your legs more for him, whining thankfully when his fingers brush up your slit.

“So wet for me already,” Ethan says, collecting the slick moisture on his fingertips as he strokes you lazily. 

You nod, lifting your hips to encourage him to deepen his touch. It feels good, but it’s barely there, and he definitely hasn't come near your clit. “Please, E.”

He tsks his tongue at you, smirking as he watches your face watch his. “Patience, baby. You couldn’t wait for me to finish working. You’ll have to wait a bit to get to cum, now.”

His words turn you on as much as they anger you. He laughs, actually laughs, when he feels more wetness seep onto his fingers from where he’s toying with your hole. “Oh, baby, did you like that? You like me making you wait?”

You have too much pride even through all the maddeningly unsatisfying pleasure he’s bringing about to answer him outright. You let out a loud moan when he sinks his two middle fingers into you. “You...you’re an ass.”

He chuckles again, wiggling his fingers a little bit inside you before taking them out, making sure he has your eyes locked on his when he sucks them into his mouth.

“Fuck,” he whispers, licking the stray bits that cling to his lips as he leans back over you and slips the same fingers back inside. He still doesn’t touch your clit, but his fingers start pumping and moving just how you like, filling you up but putting all the pressure in just the right spots.

Your legs spread even wider, head tossed back to the pillow as you grab the forearm supporting him over you with one hand and clutch the sheets by your head with the other. 

“E...holy shit!” you whimper, digging your nails into that eagle on his arm. His fingers feel so good, hitting you just right, but it’s not enough to make you cum, and he knows it. He smirks down at you, watching you fall apart as the sloppy slick sounds of your pussy mingle in the room with his heavy breaths and your high-pitches gasps and moans. You don’t know how much more you can take of it. 

“Ethan, please make me cum, please make me cum!”

Ethan groans, your begging music to his ears, and he relents by finally adding his thumb to the mix, lighting upon your clit and rubbing gentle, slow circles into it. Your back lurches off the bed, your eyes meeting his as you plead with him not to stop, that you’re almost there.

Of course he doesn't listen, though. You want to sob when he pulls out of you with a harsh growl, licking his digits clean again before sitting back and shoving his sweats down his legs. He stands off the side of the bed to kick them off his feet. 

“Don’t you dare touch yourself,” he reprimands, shaking his head when he sees your hand instantly gravitate to your pussy. You whine but obey, waiting for him to climb back on the bed. He gathers your shirt in his hands, pulling up. “Lemme see your tits, baby. Wanna see them when I fuck you.”

You lift your arms at once, letting him pull it over your head so that you're both left completely naked. Ethan cups them both in his hands as he settles between your spread legs once again, and he ducks down to swipe his tongue over your nipples with sweet little suckles. He leaves each of them with a nip of his teeth and a soothing swipe of his tongue before he’s moving up to your mouth. You didn't realize it until that moment, but you needed the intimacy of his kiss, and it both calms you and makes you voracious for more of him.

As if he can read your mind, Ethan reaches between the two of you and takes his dick in hand, running the tip up and down your slit to coat himself in your copious arousal before tapping it against your clit. You jerk against him and moan into his mouth, which you feel curve against yours. He pulls back, watching your face intently as he pops the head into your entrance and sinks into you with one slow, gradual thrust. 

You don’t think you've ever been this close this early, but you're still wound tight from how high he brought you just a few moments ago with his fingers. “God, E, fuck me. Fuck me with that big fucking dick.”

For the first time tonight, he obeys your command, moaning wantonly at your words. His hands cup the backs of your thighs and keep your legs close to your body as he pushes your knees to your chest. He’s deep deep in this angle, and you cry out so loud you wouldn't be surprised if Grayson could hear you down the hall. 

That’s the least of your concerns, though, when he’s pumping into you so good, his thrusts hard and powerful as he grunts along with you, desperation clear in his own deep voice. You can tell he’s close too, He’s hitting just the right spot, and you lock eyes with him as you clutch his biceps in a death grip as he gets you right to the edge. 

“Oh my...fuuuck E, I’m gonna cum!” you sob, and your body is letting go so hard you think your head has gone to another dimension. 

“Baby, shit,” he hisses with how fucking tight your pussy starts spasming around his cock, how extra wet and warm everything gets all of the sudden. His head swims, and he slows his dick inside you, his heart and his ego ready to explode with how much he loves seeing you fall apart so good, because of him. 

He lets go of your legs to lean over you again and mouth at your neck, bringing you back to earth with whispers of sweet nothings and gentle kisses to your face. 

It takes what feels like all night, but eventually you can open your eyes again and be cognizant of your surroundings. You smile tiredly and let out a whispered curse as you cup his cheeks to kiss him lazily for a few moments, before releasing him and telling him to cum, too. He sits back again, and you shove your arms under your pillow, thrusting your chest out so your tits bounce for him as he starts pumping into your sensitive pussy again, chasing his nut.

His eyes flit back and forth from your chest to your face, where you're smiling up at him, all fucked out and sexy. “Fucking give it to me, E,” you whisper, clenching around him purposefully. He groans, looking at you desperately, questioningly. “Inside, baby.”

Ethan gives you all of three more sloppy, hard thrusts before you’re moaning with him as he shoots his load exactly where you told him. You love the unique warmth of his cum deep in your pussy. 

He slowly collapses down on top of you, and you welcome his weight literally with open arms, holding him close to your chest, playing with his hair and giving him the same loving whispers he did to you. 

When his breathing has slowed nearly back to normal, you direct his head up to kiss you. Your lips smack together quietly, and the feel of his mouth on yours just makes you feel complete in a way nothing else can.

“I should interrupt your work more often.”

[meetmeinthematinee]

Present Frustrations (John Wick X Helen)

A/N: Exactly today is my 1 year writingiversary -- June 22, 2019 I wrote and posted my first ever John Wick Fic over on A03. So it’s perfect timing that I have this fic ready to go today. It started out as a very different story but I kinda love the direction this went in. So--as always--thank you so so so much for reading and commenting and liking. Sometimes I read your comments and I cry a lil bit because I get so emotional about it. But in a nice way. 

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Warnings: Kinbaku (a.k.a. Shibari, a.k.a Rope Bondage) If you don’t like people being tied up and their feelings explored this fic is not for you and that’s a-ok. Angst (kinda?) Lots of feels. 18+ please, probably NSFW.

It was the swearing and clattering of objects that drew her to the basement stairs. Helen had been reading--or trying to--but enough was enough. John had been moody and irritable since he’d woken up. Usually she’d just leave him be until he’d worked out whatever he needed to but sometimes, like today she’d have to intervene. She listened for a moment as the swearing got louder, his voice deeper and sharper in tone before she sighed and went to fetch his car keys.

“WHAT?!?” 

He snapped as she padded softly down the basement stairs.

He threw the awl in his hand onto the counter in irritation and spun to face her.

“You have two choices here John. Take the car for a real workout OR kneel at my feet as you silently turn the pages of my book for me. Simple as that. Take your pick.”

He didn’t answer but held out his hand for the car keys and she held them aloft, above his open palm for a moment.

“Come home in one piece, alright?” 

She said with a small smile before dropping them into his waiting hand. She didn’t wait for an answer, she turned and climbed the stairs and made her way back to the livingroom and her novel.  A few minutes later the door slammed and she knew exactly where he was at. 

They went through this from time to time. John would become restless and quick to anger. Transitioning to this new and much more normal life was hard for him and Helen tried her best to provide the structure he so clearly needed to keep himself together. He needed tasks. To be told what to do. Especially when he was like this--any shred of self awareness he possessed went right out the window.  

She heard the mustang squeal into the driveway an hour later. She finished the last bite of her sandwich and brushed the crumbs off her lap just as John made his way into the kitchen.

“Hungry?”

“No.”

She raised an eyebrow as John pulled the fridge open hard enough to rattle the condiments in the door. He seemed to stare blankly into the fridge for a while before slamming the door shut again without taking anything. 

She wrapped her fingers tightly around his arm as he brushed past her. 

“Is today one of those days, John?”

He stiffened in her grasp and let out the breath he didn’t even realise he’d been holding, he relaxed his clenched hands and nodded, silently answering her.

“Would you like my help?” 

He nodded again.

“You know the rules, darling.” She reminded him, gently. Her voice, calm and soothing but also firm.

“Yes.” He made eye contact with her for the first time since he’d gotten home. It made her heart ache to see the wildness in his eyes--the misery and frustration.

She moved her hand from his arm to the side of his face and he flinched a little at her touch. 

“You’re going to get everything we need and lay it out for me on the bed. I have a few things to take care of -- and I want you waiting for me on your knees. Understood?”

“Yes.”

John leaned in for a kiss and Helen gently pressed her finger to his lips. 

“None of that right now. Just do as I’ve asked, darling.”

She knew he hadn’t eaten since breakfast so she took a few minutes to put together a plate of cheese and fruit for him and stowed it in the fridge for later. With the mood he was in she wanted to be sure he felt extra safe and extra cared for after their scene. When he was unmoored and tense like this she never really knew how he’d react afterward. It’d taken a while for them to figure that out together. Helen rolled her shoulders and took a few deep breaths as she left the kitchen and went to find him in their bedroom.

John was kneeling on the floor facing away from her, resting back on his heels with the neatly tied hanks of jute rope, the safety shears and a blanket and pillow laid out on the end of their bed. Helen took note of the tension in his shoulders and the fact that he wasn’t fully kneeling like she’d asked as she moved closer to him. 

“Are you sure you’re up to this?” She asked as she slid her hand into his hair, her thumb lightly caressing his cheekbone.

He pressed his face into her touch and closed his eyes for a moment.

“Yes, please.” 

She picked up one of the hanks and undid the knot, shaking it lose and forming a bint.

“Chest harness?” 

“Please.” 

She stroked the rope slowly along the broad line of John’s shoulders. 

“I need clear answers, John. Try that again.”

“Yes, chest harness, please.”

“Arms free or box tied?’ She asked as she began the process of wrapping the rope around his bare chest to start building the diamond patterned harness. The soft sound of the tails of the rope swishing as she pulled them through her capable hands. 

“Bunny ears.” He said lowly.

“You’re sure?” She pressed him. It was such a vulnerable and open position -- he was pushing himself and that was cause for some hesitation. 

“Yes.” 

“John, you don’t--”

“I want it.” 

Helen finished off the chest harness and stepped away to admire her work. The jute was tied in beautiful diamond shapes that pressed into his skin just enough to leave marks later on. She circled around him and slipped her fingers under the ropes checking her work to make sure it wasn’t too tight. 

“How’re you feeling, John?” She asked as she threaded her fingers into his fair, gently brushing it back and tilting his head up to look at her. With semi-glassy eyes and gently parted lips he blinked slowly at her. Almost like a contented cat sitting beside a fireplace--letting her know he was well on his way already. The deep frustration she saw in him earlier had vanished.

“Good. I’m good.” 

Without prompting he raised his arms and positioned them behind his head groaning a little as the rope on his torso bit into his skin as he moved. His elbows pointed up to the ceiling with his toned forearms pressed against his biceps. 

“Fuck. You look like a little present. Maybe I’ll open you later if you’re good.” 

John sucked in a breath at her words and marvelled at how she always knew exactly what to say and even more importantly, when to say it.

Helen tugged his hair a little and wrapped her hand around his clenched jaw, regaining his focus and attention.

“Promise me you’ll use your safe word if you need to.”

“I will.” He answered, without hesitation and she felt his jaw relax under her fingers. A subtle but reassuring sign. As much as she trusted John she also knew he would push himself beyond his limits if she didn’t keep checking in and reminding him that this wasn’t meant to be a punishment, but rather something that could bring them closer together. She had no interest in breaking him. She wanted to bring him to the edge and safely back again.   

As she undid another hank of rope she nudged his thigh gently with her foot. 

“Crossed legs. Kneeling will be too much.”

John briefly lowered his arms and repositioned himself, moving off of his knees to sit as Helen instructed. He settled himself and trailed his hands up and over his chest. The rope restricted his motion somewhat and the jute dug roughly into his skin as his muscles shifted with each movement. By the time he had his arms back in position he was covered in goosebumps. Desperate to be touched and handled by her again.

Helen moved quickly, standing over John as she worked up the series of loops and hitches to secure his arms in the desired position, always checking to make sure his joints were in alignment and not over-extended. As she secured the final knot she paused and checked his hands again to make sure his circulation was fine. 

She circled around to the front of him and crouched down, gently placing her hand on the centre of his chest. 

“Feeling ok?”

“Uh huh.” He uttered quietly. 

“You look so beautiful like this.” John blushed crimson at those words and his already altered breathing picked up speed.

She brushed her hands up his side, feeling the contrast of the rough jute rope and his soft, warm skin as he shivered under her touch. She crowded him and leaned over checking his hands again. He leaned his head against her and pressed his face into her thigh. Losing himself in her softness, her warmth and her scent until he felt her pull away. Or at least he thought she had. He really wasn’t sure. 

“I wish you could see how gorgeous you are right now. Would you like to see what I see?”

“Mmm.” He murmured as he nodded slowly.

Helen reached for the polaroid camera he’d set out for her earlier.

She smiled to herself as she felt him start shivering in earnest, more of his bodyweight leaning against her than before. She carefully guided him just under the arms so that he was sitting more on his own again as she sat down beside him. 

His chest was a deep pink colour now. Helen cradled his face with her hands and spoke quietly but firmly. 

“Do you remember your safe word?” 

It took him a moment to register her words, his eyes were glassy and heavily lidded.

She waited, patiently, searching his face and body for signs of distress but she found none -- he was afloat and drifting.

“Yeah.” He said softly in a tone she hadn't heard from him before--as if he was dreaming.

Their bedroom always had such beautiful light so Helen had no trouble snapping a few beautiful shots of John as he sat there, tied, exposed and utterly vulnerable to her--and for her. The rope bisecting his scars and tattoos. Transforming them into something new and unreadable. Disrupting their place and meaning on his body. The marks she’d leave on him were temporary and the longer lasting ones--the ones that mattered most of all were and would always be invisible.

John’s chin quivered as she snapped the last shot and she could see the goosebumps were all over his body now. She let him have a few more moments before she began untying him. 

As she carefully guided his arms back down to his sides his teeth started to chatter.

“I’ve got you.” She said as she pulled out her safety sheers and cut the rope off his chest quickly and efficiently.

She pulled a blanket and a pillow off the end of the bed and wrapped it around him before she moved the pillow into position.

“You did so well.” She said as she guided him to lay down. It was much easier to keep him on the floor where he was than to risk moving him and having him fall. Helen was strong but not quite strong enough to handle his dead weight. 

“Are you ok now?”

She laid next to him and smoothed her hand soothingly through his hair as he shivered.

John made small contented sounds as he focused on her touch with his eyes closed.

He was slowly coming back to himself--he’d never floated that far and become that unaware before. It was blissful and terrifying all at once.

“Yeah. I am.” He said as a languid smile stretched across his lips. 

Helen kissed his forehead. “I’m going to get you something--do you feel ok to be alone for a moment?”

“Uh huh.”

“Don’t you dare get up, though.”

He laughed softly. “I won’t, promise.”

Helen padded to the kitchen and got the snacks for John as well as some water and an advil. 

He was sitting propped up against the end of the bed when she walked back in. He was so overwhelmed by her love and care he could barely breathe.  

“I thought you promised not to move.” She said with a rueful smile, interrupting his reverie as she set down the snacks beside him.

He grinned sheepishly at her and shrugged as she slid her arm around his waist and settled herself next to him. She picked up a piece of strawberry and held it aloft before she offered it to him. He leaned forward and bit into it--his lips brushing against her fingers, the bright flavour and sweetness washing over his taste buds. 

Helen’s eyes crinkled softly as she smiled and picked up some cheese.

“I’m so sorry, Helen.” John said suddenly.

She watched as the tension crept back into his body. 

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for. Let’s just enjoy each other for a while, hmm?”

For a moment John looked like he was about to say something but instead he leaned closer to her, looped his arm around her waist and allowed himself to sink back into the relaxed calm he’d felt only moments before. 

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

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[shockdowndefiance]

You've been visited by the random OC question fairy! :D ~☆

Pick five of your character's most influential milestones (moving away from home, a first kiss, a death, etc.). Why and how did these milestones affect your character?

Thank you for the question! Once again I am answering for Allison Shepard as she’s the only MC I really have fleshed out. I sat down to write out her most influential milestones and narrowed it down to the five I felt would be most interesting. In chronological order:

1. Finding out she was a latent biotic and suddenly developing biotic abilities at the age of sixteen 2. Meeting her first boyfriend, Finn

After she was expelled for punching and injuring another student, and moving to a different human colony, she enrolls in a new school and meets Finn on her first day there:

A teen boy slouched casually against the wall opposite the office, moving to stand up when Allison shut the door behind her. His dark hair flopped down into his bright blue eyes as he moved, his hand almost continually going up to move it out of the way.

"Finnegan Osmani. Call me Finn," he said once he was close enough, holding a hand out. Allison took it and gave a brief shake before she pulled back. "You're that new kid, right?"

"I am," Allison said, turning and looking around. "I hear you’re my chaperone."

Finn laughed. "That's one way of putting it. Hey, rumours going around; you are a biotic, right?"

"Sure am," Allison said, turning back to look at Finn with a cool glare. "You gonna make something of it?"

"Nope." Finn grinned. "My lil sis is a biotic, she'll love to meet you."

Allison smiled herself.

Maybe introductions weren't going to be so bad.

Outside of family everyone treated Aliison and her twin brother Elliot like a ticking time bomb. Finn was the first one to fully embrace who she was, biotics and all. This was in part because of his younger sister also being a biotic, so he had some knowledge of what being a biotic meant.

Walking in to that new school, she had put her hair up and left her amp fully visible - she didn’t care what anyone thought of her, whispered about her. Hating her for being a biotic was the same as hating her for having green eyes, and if it meant she rounded out high school as the ostracised creepy biotic whom no one talked to...well, she didn’t care.

And then Finnegan showed her that, no, not everyone was going to act like that. Some people would be accepting of who she was, biotics and all.

Again, this has gotten really long so the rest is under a cut!

3. Enlisting in the Alliance 4. Getting dumped by Finn 5. Defending Elysium from pirates and slavers 6. Being awarded the Star of Terra for her actions on Elysium

Allison didn’t do anything special on Elysium.She didn’t do anything more than any other marine would have done (and in fact some of them willingly laid down their lives so that others could be saved). Being hailed as the Hero of Elysium is an aggravating and unnecessary epithet, and doubly so when her status as a biotic soldier is emphasised.

(This does create positive associations with biotics so it’s at least something but, again, she’s an average biotic. Nothing special. Stop advertising it on recruitment posters so much.)

She receives the Star of Terra (among others: namely her officer commission, invitation to ICT school, and a special commendation) for her actions, but despite all the pomp and circumstance, unless she needs to wear it it stays hidden away in its box in storage.

It doesn’t help that she’s the daughter of Hannah Shepard, well-regarded veteran of the First Contact War. People expected a lot from Allison, and barely four years since enrolling in the Alliance, they had humanity’s newest hero on their hands. She brushes off most applauds about her status; they take it as her being modest, she intends it as a stop bothering me about it but she can’t not keep it.

(This does later cause a bit of friction between Allison and Ashley later, but that is 8-9 years later in the timeline.)

7. Being invited to participate in the Interplanetary Combatives Training course 8. The untimely death of her paternal grandfather In the late 22nd century, the average life expectancy for humans is around 120, with some individuals reaching 150 years old.

As such, Allison’s paternal grandfather dying in his early nineties was a shock to all. It occurs in the middle of Allison’s ICT learning, and as a result it delays her graduation by a year. Completing ICT can be done in a year, but Allison spread it out a little because she wanted to pace herself - being one of the first biotics invited into the program, she didn’t want to crash and burn (despite there being no shame in being able to complete the first rank, she personally would have hated having done so).

Her grandfather’s death causes her to step back and reevaluate things a little. She idolised her grandfather so much (I have an idea for an art piece when Allison was about eight years old, on the back porch of her grandfather’s house; Allison is pulling a face because she and her grandfather are eating liquorice; she despises it but her grandfather adores it, and because he adores it she reckons that she must also adore it) and losing him punches a hole in her career plans.

She stays in the Alliance (not much else for a biotic to do, and her family going back many generations has been military, so she doesn’t quite know what else to do) but she misses him for a long time. 9. Completing her Interplanetary Combatives Training course and being awarded N7 rank 10. Accidentally interfacing with the prothean beacon on Eden Prime and getting the first glimpse of the impending Reaper invasion 11. Becoming a Spectre, part of the Citadel's specops group 12. Rescuing both Kaidan and Ashley from the near-doom mission on Virmire 13. Allowing herself to fall in love with Kaidan This harkens back to Finn and him seeing her as a whole. For Allison, being in the Alliance and having a relationship doesn’t mesh - initially she’s working on her career, aiming to get her officer’s commission, then Elysium happens and people are more interested in her as Commander Shepard, Hero of Elysium than they are of Allison.

Kaidan’s different. Heck, all of the Normandy crew are different (barring those who knew her prior like Anderson and Adams) - while they respect her as their XO/CO, they don’t idolise her like other people she’s met. She can pull off heroic feats and achieve the near-impossible, but a large part of that is down to her crew and how they are all able to work together.

But Kaidan sees beyond rank, sees beyond medals, sees beyond her service history, and does indeed see Allison, the person. Admittedly at the point in time this occurs, Allison hasn’t seen how bad things can get, and she doesn’t know how much of a rock Kaidan will be to her, but to realise that he loves her, the entirety of her, and not the hero plastered across the recruitment vids, or the thin line between reverence and rejection biotics often get.

But they’re military, she’s his CO and he’s her HOMD. She’s gotten a lot of leniency running as a Spectre ship but she still answers to the Alliance. Fraternization is not allowed, and so they push their feelings to the back once the Citadel is saved and Saren and Sovereign are killed. Kaidan requests to be given a new posting, a space halfway across the galaxy, given a few months and then start an official, public relationship, and allow Allison a shot at a normal romantic relationship. 14. Dying and being ressurected 15. Finding out that the Collectors are protheans, enslaved and mutated by the Reapers 16. Leading a team through the Omega 4 relay, a place where no one had returned from, to destroy the collector base and returning victorious 17. Blowing up a mass relay in batarian space, killing over 300k batarians and being put under house arrest 18. Almost losing Kaidan after an ambush on Mars 19. Uniting the galaxy against the Reapers and delivering the killing blow, ending their message for ever 20. Waking up to a post-Reaper galaxy with both physical and mental injuries, and learning how to manage with those

Allison wakes up in a hospital bed for the second time in her life after a major battle and she almost cries. Let me rest, she thinks, fearing that Cerberus has gotten to her again and they’ve rebuilt her again to go rogue and save the galaxy again. Hasn’t she earned her rest?

Well, yes. She has.

She’s in a hospital in London, her mother at her bedside as medics struggle to sedate her, worried that Allison will injure herself more without it. Miranda, the one who rebuilt her after the Collector attack, is leading the team. Allison is officially awoken from the induced coma/sedation about a month later and told what happened.

She lost her lower left leg, replaced with a prosthesis in the short term and a tissue cloned leg in the long term. One arm was dislocated, the other broken; a scar now bisects her face from forehead to nose, before curving around her cheekbone to her ear.

The Normandy has disappeared, no one knows where her or her crew are, including Kaidan - whom she had married just hours before the final assault against the Reapers.

Allison gets a multitude of diagnoses - acute stress disorder, anxiety, depression, panic attacks. Physically she recovers without issue, though she considers the clone tissue leg a waste (I can manage just fine on a prosthesis thank you) when there are others around who could benefit from the resources used on her.

But she’s got one more epithet to add to her collection - saviour of the galaxy, and a one-of-a-kind medal to accompany that. Her immediate family survived - her parents, her twin brother, her younger sister. And somehow Kaidan and nearly everyone on the Normandy survives too, reunited about three months after Allison officially wakes up.

But she struggles with her mental health, lashing out at Kaidan for his idea to take her to inner British Columbia, to his family’s orchard. Logically she knows it’s the best idea - remote and peaceful - but her brain rebels, another choice made for her, another change to her life that she has no control over.

But she apologises, rests, and recovers. Takes up Anderson’s apartment on the Citadel when it’s habitable once again and considers, maybe, retiring from the Alliance and pursuing a normal life.

Maybe.

(It doesn’t stay that way for long.) 21. Choosing to get pregnant and raising children with Kaidan

[talesofsonicasura]

Stone and Dove

Hello folks and happy pride month! I was scanning through my Google Docs and had forgotten I written this story...or that it was perfectly suited for this particular monthly event.

My first story doing Male X Male pairing! This tale involves my first PlayStation 4 Game Knack and Jojo's Bizarre Adventure. Particularly, a Jojo OC on my @sonicasura account, Jodari Jonah so check that out when you can! No information about Knack is required! The story will explain some of it.

They say the dove is a symbol of rebirth. For when one life passes, it is reborn anew in a different form. A clean slate just like a pure white dove. Yet, sometimes, rebirth can be a chance to fix something before it could be broken. And to connect two hearts of two different worlds.

Doctor's Laboratory

"I walk a lonely road, the only one that I have ever known. Don't know where it goes. But it's home to me and I walk alone. I walk this empty street on the boulevard of broken dreams. Where the city sleeps, and I'm the only one and I walk alone." A voice sang through the halls, rough, slightly rugged but rich with smoothness, balance of husk and baritone.

Walking the halls of the facility belonging to one Doctor Vargas, world renowned inventor for his research on relic fueled devices, was a strange man. He was bulky which was balanced by his frightening height of 7'4. Curly, messy black hair tied at the back with a large white bow of sorts resembling broken wings, one side with an aqua green stripe and the other a bubbly blue.

Heterochromatic eyes with the right blue and the left a verdant green but a line going down the optic starting from the eyelid to the bottom. A bisected line birthmark at the center of his face even going down his nose and lips. He wore a mismatched long coat, the right half a pure white with no sleeve revealing his ripen with muscle arm, black pocket, and featherlike ends, the left being pure black with a long sleeve, white pocket and flat end.

A gray shirt with a large V neck revealing large abs, hot rod leather pants and black boots. The biggest oddity was the nails of his right arm, they were of a stone. The ones on his left were normal as he was carrying what looked like a liquor bottle, which he was currently downing the contents merrily.

He was baffling as he walked through the humble abode like halls unaware of being on camera. The unknown man was wandering in a battle site, while the people on the other side of the glass walls were just baffled. "Um… Doctor, is he another one of your assistants?" "Who is he?" That guy wasn't in the meeting! I'm sure as hell would remember someone dressed like that! Is he literally singing Green Day while drinking vodka?!"

One of the onlookers, a large slightly portly man with a gray frohawk paired with a goatee, chocolate brown eyes and wore a white lab coat was more attentive on the stranger's hand. This man was Doctor Vargas himself, owner of this very facility. "His nails… they are pure red relics! Astounding." The man said while examining the stranger.

Mechanical clanking had the stranger look up from his bottle. Standing at the end of the hall were white and black humanoid robots with red visors for eyes but also wielding swords made out of pure plasma. Doctor Vargas quickly ran to his control console for the robots. "Oh no! I got to shut down before that young man ends up getting hurt!" Vargas exclaimed, ready to pull down the lever.

The lever controlled the battle site which would shut off both robots and obstacles meant for his greatest creation to power through, not an innocent human. Three words was the only thing that stopped him. "Don't underestimate me." Followed by the loud screech of shredding metal. His eyes widened upon the sight before him.

The robot that was ready to slice the stranger in half was laying on the ground. A large hole in its chest dripping out what looked to be alcohol from the damaged circuits. The man had the bottle of alcohol pointing at where the machine once stood, fizz foaming from the entrance of the vodka. "Wow! He...just busted a hole through the robot with a shot of alcohol!!!?"

It wasn't a lie either. Vargas had rewinded the footage on the small monitor of the control panel to the moment before his robot was shot. The stranger pointed the bottle of liquor before yellow electricity began to crackle around his hand. Next thing that happened was a small bullet of the liquor shot sparking with this same energy but it was also spinning!

The spinning orb tearing a hole through the metal circuitry by compressing it with pure rotation into the liquid itself. Sure enough, there was a little ball of metal at the center of the whole, circuits, wiring and liquor compressed into the tiny marble sized orb. "Black Hole Overdrive." Were the words that left the odd man's lips.

Black Hole Overdrive… Vargas didn't know how the young man manipulated the liquid to perform such a feat but it proved the stranger was very skilled if this was an actual technique. "A golem made out of relics?" The stranger said looking at the oddity that greeted him from down the hallway.

This oddity was a humanoid made out of pure relics. Ones acting as the main body were light tan to mimic skin color but also position to form the main body: tipless cone and flat cylinder for the head, cube relics stacked together to form arms, legs, hands and rounder ones to mimic muscles, the gold forming the gumdrop nose, large tusks, small teeth, tips of the ears, and joints from the sphere and triangular pieces located in the shoulder, knee, thigh and ankle areas. Red stone relics forming small wild hair, claws, front and back toes, even fuzz around the chin and on the arms and legs.

The main piece was the large dark gold orb at the center with an aqua blue core. From the two oval obsidian eyes and the red rectangular pieces forming the squinting eyebrows, it was clear the 5'11 golem was surprised by the stranger's appearance. "For something so strange, you are really adorable." The odd man said while giving the subject of his attention a subtle wink.

Vargas, who noticed the wink, almost burst out laughing from seeing Knack, the golem he created jaw nearly dropping to the floor. "This must be a battle site designed for you? Oh dear, looks like I ended up getting lost. Can you please escort me to the exit? I'll follow behind you without any interference." The odd raven asked politely.

Knack merely nodded to the man's request. The relic bound golem could easily protect the stranger from the Doctor's test drones. "Thank you. You're such a gentleman. My name is Jodari, Jodari Jonah. Time to move out, Red~" Knack's core immediately heated up by the raven Jodari's subtle greeting.

Jodari Jonah wasn't exactly normal was a simple thing for everyone to understand. The odd man sidestepped and easily avoided every obstacle that was designated for his golem escort. Leaping across electrified panels in a single step, walking past fast blowing vents undeterred and even dodging the attacks of various machines while drinking from his vodka bottle.

He kept his word of not interfering with Knack's progress while the golem ran the deadly gauntlet. Honestly, Knack was impressed on just how agile this human male was. The raven's presence was bizarrely soothing to him. Sunbathing on the beach or listening to the sound of nature type of soothing.

It didn't take long to go through the last obstacle and escort Jodari back to the human officials alongside the Doctor. One of the women, the chairwoman easily recognized by her well kept silver hair stepped up. "Most impressive Doctor. You call it 'Knack' is that right?" She asked.

A husky, smooth and a touch rough male voice joined in the banter. "Actually, I call myself Knack." Came from the golem, Knack sounding awfully cheeky. "So your name is Knack? Cute, suits a cheeky fellow like ya. 'Knack' for mischief, huh?" Jodari said, voice filled with merry. 'Is he really flirting with a being made of living stone?!' Being the thought of every guest in the facility. "Young man, how did you even get into this meeting?" Heterochromatic eyes bore into the woman as she flinched.

"Goblins didn't just destroy a high tech military base, miss Chairman. They flattened my village first as a mere test run." Any rebound died from Jodari's words. "My dear god. I'm so sorry." Vargas said only for the raven to wave him off. Jodari taking a swig of his liquor before pulling something out of his pocket.

"Don't apologize. You didn't do the deed, Doctor Vargas. For why I'm here is simple. I came to deliver schematics on the few weapons I stole from them bastards but I want to join the expedition." The young man said, handing the man a few pieces of paper. These pages detailed a few weapons from a blaster, mechanized spear and even a small tank.

"And how did you get these schematics?" Questioned a tan skinned man with combed brown hair, trimmed beard, brown eyes and expensive purple suit. "From their corpses, Viktor. Sketched down every single detail of the spoils once I put them in the dirt. Got a problem?" Jodari towering over the man with a heavy glare.

"You wish to join the expedition? Heh. All I see is a drunkard and as for Knack, he seems a little too delicate to me." Viktor said, walking back with nonchalance. "What are you getting at, Viktor?" Vargas questioned eyeing the billionaire industrialist with suspicion. "I brought a few security robots with me. If Knack can get by those, then he'll have a place on the expedition. Jonah can try too."

The golem in question walking up to one of the bots in question. It was cycloptic and humanoid from the built silver armor over the black exoskeleton. "Huh!" Knack barked, the robot flinching in defense from the hostility. Jodari let out a bark of laughter before downing the remaining liquor in his bottle. The raven immediately crushed the bottle with his bare hands before tossing a shard into the eye of Viktor's guard bot.

The shard spinning in velocity before drilling a hole through the green optic and back out hitting the wall behind it. Metal crashed onto the floor as the machine fell dead. Knack inspecting the damage and glass shard in awe. The golem let out a whistle in admiration. "Like that big red~? Call it the Drill Technique. A bit of rotation can turn even a fragile piece of glass into a drill capable of piercing tank armor." Jodari said, grinning at the stone ginger.

"Nice. Hope you can teach me later. Now let's take this to the garden, there's a bit more room. Would you like another escort, Jodari, so you won't get lost?" Knack asked the raven offering his hand. "You are such a gentleman! I would love an escort, Knack!" The odd raven said taking the golem's hand, but after giving him a teasing smack to the ass.

'So bold!!!' Everyone who just witnessed the scene couldn't help but think. Knack's chest orb was scorching hot after the smack. They thought the man was merely poor ass drunk after downing an entire bottle of pure Vodka but to Vargas and to some extent Knack, Jodari was as sober as if he was drinking water. No flush cheeks or slurs, the man was bold and had a thing for gingers. Male gingers because no one knew that Jodari Jonah, was a purely gay male.

The golem and odd man were alone at the moment. Their trial would be held through the maze-like garden, a maze that will soon be littered with machines belonging to Viktor. "Hey Jodari, are those nails of yours pure relics? My chest orb has been picking up on some for a while." Knack asked, the raven looking at said object of attention.

"Yep. I think I was born with them? I honestly don't remember anything past 5 months ago when pops found me, naked and no name." Jodari responded nonchalantly. "You have amnesia? I'm sorry for bringing that up." The relic golem was flustered from being carelessly rude. The raven merely waved it off.

"Oh don't frown, Red~! You didn't know, plus my amnesia never really bothered me. Why focus on the past when you have a future in front of ya? Pops did tell a nice 'wive's tale' once. He said that the nails of your right hand matches the one of your Soulmate. If you don't know, a Soulmate is the person you meant to bond with for eternity. A 'true spiritual marriage' to be appropriate." The golem's jaw dropped immediately.

"M-m-m-arriage?! Soulmate?! NO WAY CAN I BE YOUR SOULMATE! I'M NOT EVEN HUMAN FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!" Knack would continue if Jodari didn't put a finger to the golem's mouth, lips if you count the gold area around the opening of the two stone pieces that make up his head.

"Species doesn't matter to me. I wouldn't even care if my significant other was a goblin. Plus, even if you aren't my soulmate, you are a sweet gentleman and whoever gets ya is very lucky. Handsome face, your ears are cute, the nose makes ya adorable, and the teeth and claws just add the perfect amount of fierce to the incredible mix. Plus, I love strong gingers." Knack felt like his orb was going to explode from this sudden new emotion, felt like deep admiration but way different.

"Thank you. You look nice too. I, uh, like your eyes, they're pretty. And your bow is very nice, Jojo." It was Jodari's turn to slightly blush. "Jojo?" He asked, refusing to stutter like a schoolgirl. The raven wanted to put Knack through the hardcore school of flirting. Nicknames was step one.

"I took the first Jo of your name and put it together with the second one. Hence, Jojo, I figure you didn't want me to continue calling you Jodari since this... Soulmate thing." The redhead explained with sincerity. "How sweet~ You may call me Jojo then, Red. So Knack, before everyone else arrives, why don't we get to know each other's abilities first? Teamwork is a good key to winning battles." That the golem could easily agree on.

It wasn't much longer to reach their destination or everyone to arrive in order to spectate. The two males were starting to see why they seemed likely paired from that wive's tale. Their abilities were very similar. While Knack could channel Sunstone, Jodari had Hamon.

Hamon was a breathing technique that allowed someone to use their lungs to create an energy akin to sunlight, which was what Sunstones were, crystalized sunlight. With Hamon, he can supercharge any water like elements or good conductors like metal to unleash powerful and devastating attacks.

Knack could manipulate his parts to a large extent, shrinking by removing his parts, form a barrier around him, and even expel in a spray fashion or large clusters. Jodari had Spin, a technique that uses the state of perfect or near perfect rotation to produce energy with a lot of applications.

He could bound this energy to any object and fire them with destructive properties. It was how he could make that glass shard drill right through Viktor's robot that easily. Sphere shaped objects can produce more energy than any other one.

Jodari had one more ability but he wouldn't say anything about it. 'If we have cars thrown at us here, then I won't mind showing my ace in the hole in front of everyone.' Was the raven's response while blowing a kiss at the golem. It just made Knack really curious on what this hidden ace was but he wouldn't press on it.

The duo's goal was simple, defeat all the robots while making their way to the end. Apparently the industrialist had two different types of his guard robots which Jodari personally dubbed Goliaths. The thin human size versions which would wield rods, toss boxes or punch at them from what he glimpsed while he was lost in the lab.

He only saw one of the large models which reminded him of a walking fridge. They were very bulky from what the raven could glance, but it wouldn't make Jodari drop his guard carelessly. Apparently it was two bots from the first category that were their first opponents. One had no weapons while the other held a large black bat cops often used.

"Hey Knack, I'll take care of the stick on the machine. Will you be kind to deal with the other one?" Jodari asked before taking something out of his pocket. It was red plastic yoyo with a star on each side, the string was pure metal wire from the golem saw. "You got it." Knack said before reading himself for combat.

The rod wielding robot was the first to attack, leaping at Jodari with the intent of caving his skull in. With a flick of his wrist, Jodari launched the toy part of yoyo at the offender. The string wrapping around the rod tightly and with a gentle tug, sliced the black metal to pieces. "Hup!" And the raven delivered a spin kick to the machine, his right leg glowing a bright yellow aura.

"Shining Sunlight Overdrive!" Jodari's kick sending the robot flying back, his Hamon frying its circuits upon contact. "Raah!" Knack roared lunging forward at his respective opponent. His left arm reared back and claws open for a swipe. The bare handed Goliath went to respond for a punch, but Knack was quicker.

The golem quickly moved the relics of his body to the other side of his opponent's attack, then he brought down his claws on the machine's side. Metal tearing to shreds from red ancient stone piercing its surface, yet he wasn't done. His left arm which was cocked back into a fist upon reforming, Knack delivered a brutal punch to the same place.

The added pressure of his attack to the robot's damaged side was enough to tear it completely in half. Both halves crumpling onto the ground lifeless. "Nice job. Come on, Red~ Let's wreak some true havoc." Jodari said before rolling down his yoyo. He was performing the 'Walk the Dog' trick as they continued onward.

In all his life, Viktor had never felt so humiliated. He had gotten everything he ever wanted without a fuss. The best business dealer in robotics, from advanced airships to robots capable of eliminating any threat. Immense wealth and rich heritage from his noble lineage. But yet…

Here he was, watching his robots getting destroyed. Torn to pieces by the Doctor's pet project and a drunken man fighting with a damn yoyo! A child's plaything was smashing through thousands of dollars of advanced circuitry! However he couldn't deny that, they had his interest.

It was the man that interested him the most between the two. Jodari Jonah, he seemed capable of manipulating pure Sunstone energy without a care in the world. It was an easy feat as Sunstone energy was the same as electricity, conducting would end up in pure electrocution. However the odd man didn't seem affected. He needed more information.

"Black Hole Overdrive!" Jodari tossed a handful of water from his hand at the robot across the stream. Apparently the machines decided to use a blocked off path to chuck empty crates at the checkered pair. Despite it being cheap, it was a good tactic he had to admit. However the crunching sound of metal being compacted into a small marble was enough to explain the results.

Or the large cluster sunstone charged relics that decapitated the other opponent. The head landing in the water separating them with a nice splash. Taking a few steps back after reclaiming his parts, Knack leapt over the guards rail to the other side. "Woohoo!" As Jodari followed the golem with a large jump. The raven easily made it across the opposite rail while Knack grabbed onto the wall.

"Here you go!" Jodari said, helping Knack over the rail. "Thanks." The golem thanked, earning a smile from the young man. Following Knack since he knew the way, the duo encountered three more robots. Only one had a weapon which was another baton rod. Not so hard for the two males to destroy.

"Vibrant Drill Overdrive!" Jodari spun his yoyo into the chest with a bare fisted robot. The toy being charged with Hamon and a mixture transformed it into a spiral drill. This drill tore through the circuitry and metal plating with ease. He wasn't finished though. The yoyo ran a loop around the dead machine through the hole in its chest before effectively wrapping around. "Clutch!"

Jodari then turned at Knack. The relic golem was busy fighting the mechanical staff user but was unaware of the other robot to strike him in the back. "Crimson Revenge Overdrive!" Yelled the raven haired male before tossing the lifeless robotic shell at its former comrade. Mechanical junk began to spiral in vicious red into makeshift top, drilling into Knack's sneak attacker much to the golem's surprise.

"Be careful Red~ You're enemies won't play fair and square. Rather not have my new friend get hurt." Jodari responded softly with a small flirtatious tone. Knack merely gave him a smile and a thumbs up. Cheering could be heard from outside the garden. Apparently the Doctor's guests were enjoying watching the two gladiators wipe out their opponents in style.

Jodari wasn't just enjoying the destruction but he was enjoying the show the golem was putting. Seeing the golem bulk up with relics to increase his size was an incredible sight. He wouldn't lie that he liked guys who were bigger than him. After all, they give the best hugs and cuddles. And Jodari was just ready to give the now 9'7 golem a big ol' hug.

It wasn't long to reach the car lot. The car lot was the halfway point to the end of the garden. Knack had already trashed the robot there with a nice drop kick to the face. However, it seemed a bit too easy for the raven's liking. His suspicion was answered when two of those walking fridge Goliaths he spotted jump down in front of them.

Their hands were way too big to be a normal function, or the fact they were eyeing the cars parked here. "Son of a bitch! Guess I have no choice. Yo Knack, get behind me. I rather not accidentally hit you." Jodari warned. The golem was about to question the raven only to notice how different he seemed.

His eyes were hardened instead of the carefree brightness he saw earlier. A bright reddish violet aura burning around him. Knack didn't question Jodari's words and walked behind the man. "Everyone's got a fighting spirit. Some are weak while some are strong. However, for those whose spirit burns than the sun, it can take a physical form." The raven started.

Raising his right hand to his head and clutched it with his claws. A mad grin tearing across his face as the aura around him exploded in a large burning haze. "The Star! The 17th card of the Tarot Deck's Major Arcana. It symbolizes hope, optitism, and faith for those it blesses and despair to those who oppose it!"

"Take form, the spirit that burns brightly from my starlit soul! Roar to the heavens and show the light that survived absolute disaster! This is my true power! Behold my Stand: Star Platinum Ruin!!!" With a raise of his left hand to the sky, the world around Jodari exploded in a blast of light as a pillar of light shot skyward.

No one expected what would happen next. The violet aura around Jodari separated from bed taking an actual physical form. This aura soon took the shape as what you can describe as an ancient Aztec warrior. Skin a bright violet with a lavender inner tone across his large bulky frame decorated by golden wavy lines spanning down the chest, arms and legs.

Large mane of smoky black hair that waved constantly as if it was pure fire. Bright burning blue eye, a white loincloth but the biggest focal point was what the rest of his body and clothing were made of. They were crafted from pure relics and Sunstones. The left eye was black oval stone amongst the remaining white, ears were just like Knack's but attached to the head, two large gold tusks on the side of his plump lips, red string stone eyebrows paired with a gold circlet and a blue jewel to it but another on his forehead.

Gold and blue jewel necklace that made up part of the neck, two triangular blue jewels on the upper top of his abs, shoulder pads made of pure flat carved Sunstone with red and violet spikes jagged out of it, the center of the arms made out of block stone and gold relics, the outer sides having small wings made out of 6 purple, gold and red relic pieces before ending with yellow Sunstone knife like shards.

Right hand a full trapezoid tan relic with claws made out of red, violet and small gold pieces, left hand fingernails made out of red relics with a gold studded black fingerless glove. A kilt made out of jagged purple and red relics with pieces on the back floating separately, knees made out of tan and gold relics with an aquamarine jewel in the center, floating red back spikes, gold trapezoid shaped feet with three purple and red front claws and one back claw.

The spirit or Star Platinum was large, almost as big as Knack but a foot shorter but the golem could feel it. Immense power pouring from this entity but also some sort of connection. Almost if he was part of Knack himself. Then the entity spoke or to be precise, roared.

"OOORRRRAAAAAAA!!!!!" Star Platinum Ruin howled voice sounding like a mixture of both Knack and Jodari with a bit of static like distortion to it. Feeling threatened, both robots went to grab a car. Too bad they didn't realize how fast this new being was. One second, the left Goliath was fine, then the next it had a large hole in it with Star's arm through it. Knack pitied the second robot for what happened next.

"ORAORAORAORAORA!!" Came an onslaught of punches from the Stand. The bulky machine was form to pieces with every brutal punch, metal scraps flying everywhere until the machine dropped dead. The Goliath was reduced to nothing but few pieces of scrap metal. "Ora!" Star roared in triumph.

"Holy shit." Was all Knack could say at the sight. Jodari and his Stand looked at Knack, the raven had a smile while the hybrid had a look of curiosity on his face. "Come on, Red~ We still have halfway to go. Star Platinum Ruin will be fighting in my place for the rest. Wouldn't be fair to pull him back just for two robots, right, Star?" Jodari said looking at the spirit in question.

"Ora!" The purple goliath chirped with a nod. He seemed very pleased from the odd man's consideration. Regaining his voice from the huge surprise, the golem finally spoke. "Sure. You got it partner. I'll do my best to help out." Knack answered, earning a smile from Jodari.

Making it to the end of the garden wasn't hard with the inclusion of Star Platinum Ruin. The Stand, Knack believes is what Jodari called him, was insanely powerful. Star was fast, tearing apart Viktor's machines left and right with either his fists or claws. Not even one of Viktor's mechanical menaces could so much as touch much less hurt the violet skinned berserker.

He was kind to leave enemies for Knack to fight on his own while keeping the rest from sneak attacking him. Jodari was being his odd self… taking out a flask of alcohol (where did he even get that Knack would never know) and chugging it down while singing Camptown Races.

Finding the end of the garden didn't really take long. The key mark to it is the stone statue of a beautiful woman. A memorial crafted by the Doctor for someone he cared about the most but lost a long time ago. Knack had grown around 13 ft in size at the moment before looking at his strange human companion.

Jodari had stopped singing and drinking. The man merely looked at the statue with honest empathy before walking up to it, Star Platinum Ruin following. The raven stood in front of it before closing his eyes and placing his hands together, Star following suit. Knack knew what he was doing, Jodari was giving a silent prayer, a respect to the fallen.

It was a sincere and beautiful moment, however it became one that would soon rot. One of Viktor's robots had emerged in the garden and aimed its gun at them. It started shooting medium balls of green plasma with no hesitation. Quick to act, Knack ran over to Jodari and pulled him out of the way. A stray shot hitting the base of the statue.

Looks of horror spread on both the Doctor and Jodari, a loud cry of 'No' echoing from outside the garden. A cry came out of Jodari's throat, a phrase Knack didn't recognize. "Za Warudo Riwaindo(The World Rewind/Rewind The World)!!!" Everything around them suddenly greyed out before everything just stopped in place.

Yet, Knack, Star Platinum and Jodari were unaffected. Jodari was immediately shocked at what was going on but Star didn't seem to be. It's almost if the Stand knew...no he was doing this. Next thing other of them knew, their bodies began moving to previous positions, alongside everything else. 'We're...going back in time!!!' The golem thought in pure astonishment.

They then found themselves in their previous spots, 30 seconds before Viktor's robot appeared and attacked. Knack was stunned beyond belief but immediately shook it off hearing the familiar hum of circuitry. Without a thought, the golem spun around and delivered a Falcon Punch into the robot that would've attacked in the past.

The fist decapitating the attacker while it's head went flying to the opposite side of the garden. Jodari spun onto his feet looking up to see more of the drones, ready to drop down on them from the sky. Aiming the small flask of liquor and giving Star three metal ball droppings. "Blackhole Overdrive!!" A shot of spiralling alcohol came out of the flask like a rocket.

Star Platinum Ruin flicked one of the metal droppings with his finger, the item went airborne at the speed of a bullet despite the little movement used. The liquor shot tearing through the chest plate of one Goliath while the metal ball pulverized the head of the other. Both bodies of lifeless dropping down to the ground with a heavy thud.

Two more Goliaths, both with installed cannons came flying from the garden over to their current spot. This was the last wave of machines. "One more push, Star Platinum Ruin! Time to shine bright as the stars above! Knack!" The golem looked at the raven. "Toss me into the air!" Knack looked at Jodari for a moment before nodding.

Picking up the raven, Knack threw Jodari right at the two airborne machines. "Raise your graceful wings, my precious star!" The relic wings on the Stand's arms immediately spread forth, Sunstone energy began to channel between the pieces. What came from it was a large glowing pair of golden Phoenix Wings.

"Saki Spiral!" Channeling Spin into his flask, the raven sent it forward, Star Platinum following by tossing the two remaining metal bearings. The clear liquid created multiple spirals of Saki in two groups from the bearings that grew in the air and with a spark of Jodari's Hamon, they ignited into twin tunnels of fire. Star Platinum Ruin grabbed onto Jodari's arms as the young man shifted into a kicking position with a quickly growing rotation, the Stand sinking into his body with the wings now spread across his host's body.

"Ultimate Technique: Rising Phoenix Overdrive!!!" Jodari roared, now an angelic drill fire and burning rings, with all his might. The raven drilled through the robot in his range and tore a massive hole into it, however it wasn't what finished the machines off. The spirals of fire he created had grown in a viciously large vortex as they travelled, swallowing the remaining robots within its maw.

Using the wings of his Stand, the amnesiac raven descended down like an angel that flew out of battle in triumph, a large explosion of golden fire exploding in the sky. He stood up as the rest of his Stand dissipated before looking at Knack, with the biggest grin on his face. "That was a blast! Looks like we're in!" Knack couldn't help but laugh.

This adventure was going to be very interesting and very bizarre.

This is Knack if you haven't seen him.

[hexlikesramennoodles]

All Yours (All Mine)

Pairing: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington Rating: T Warnings: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse Word count: ~2.3k

At some point during their off again friends, on again fuckbuddies phase, Billy had rolled over in bed and said to Steve, You know, you’re pretty and all, but you’re also kind of weird-looking.

It was the kind of comment that was intended to be as insulting as it sounded. They had a routine, and they stuck to it. A routine where Billy would end up in Steve’s bed and things would shift for a night, and then they’d come full circle. Billy would try his best to put his foot in his mouth, letting slip to Steve something like, I’ve had better sex with girls or don’t think this means I actually give a damn, Harrington and instead of walking home with a full belly of pancakes (or whatever other stupid romantic venture Steve has in mind for their mornings after, Billy never stays long enough to find out), Billy would walk home with a split lip and bandy legs, and that dangerous shift—cosmic, spiritual, physical, personal—would be corrected.

It’s better that way, Billy reasoned. Saner. Neither of them can afford to get too comfortable.

“What are you drawing?” Steve asks.

His foot is touching Billy’s under the table, in full view of the cafeteria. Billy doesn’t look up. His chocolate pudding sits unopened next to his elbow, the fingers of his other hand curled protectively over his napkin, hiding it from Steve’s line of sight.

“Nothing,” he huffs.

Steve arches an eyebrow, plastic spoon protruding from the corner of his mouth. He looks fucking adorable. Billy presses the tip of his pen into the napkin, rendering the shape of Steve’s lips in violent navy slashes. It’s not his best work. He’s no Van Gogh.

But. It’s something.

“Show me,” Steve says. He’s got that look in his eye. A wet shine, like light winking off a sharp edge. He knows Billy well enough by now to just understand.

They’re more on than off, these days.

“Shut up,” Billy says, wrenching his hand away. “Sit still.”

Steve slumps back in his seat, rolling his eyes at the ceiling as if he’s saying, get a load of this guy. Billy ignores him. Tries to. The spoon of Steve’s pudding cup rolls between his lips. He slips it out and licks it clean, licks the handle, sticks it all the way into his cheek with a loud squelch.

Billy scribbles on his napkin. He draws porcupine quills for Steve’s ridiculous hair; big, flat gingerbread buttons to match Steve’s doe eyes. His stomach rumbles. They’d left Steve’s house together that morning, Steve wheedling Billy the whole way. C’mon, Billy, at least have a bit of bacon. He may as well have been asking Billy to stay. Asking him to let himself be coddled, spoiled, babied. Like Billy’s some empty-headed broad who needs to be reassured by that sort of thing. Come on, Billy, lemme make you breakfast, huh? Come on, Billy, sell your soul to me, be mine, all mine. What’s the worst that could happen?

Wouldn’t Steve like to know.

He does know, but only the carefully curated snippets that Billy feeds him. He knows that Neil counts his calories and weighs him twice a week. He doesn’t know that if Billy’s not up to par, Neil gives him a smack on the chops. One smack per pound gained. He doesn’t know that Neil’s all lean, mean muscle, with a thumping lefty. Billy’s thicker around the middle, stockier. Steve doesn’t know that Neil says Billy gets it from her. It’s never ‘your mother’, it’s always Her.

“Am I still allowed to read my comic?” says Steve.

“Do whatever the fuck you want,” Billy says, still scribbling. “I don’t give a shit.”

“Uh-huh. Sure,” Steve says, insolent, but low enough that Billy can pretend not to hear him.

Just for a second, he dares to look up. Steve’s distracted, pudding wobbling from the end of his spoon as he turns a page. He’s holding one of Billy’s comic books open, flattening the spine against the table with his palm. It’s one of those Chose Your Own Adventure rags, its pages bisected into maze-like algorithms of different scenarios that you trace with your finger. Steve loves them. Billy used to love them, too—when he was about twelve years old. He collected them and stored them in a wooden chest in his room, not just the ones where the reader gets to decide the outcome of the story but issues of The Amazing Spider-Man, MAD, Weird Tales Magazine. Turns out, Steve didn’t grow up with any comics; his parents only read National Geographic, and hold anything lesser in high contempt. When Billy gave Steve a whole binder’s worth of his old comics, he informed Steve it’s only because he felt sorry for him. That it’s pretty pathetic, Steve never having read The Amazing Spider-Man until he turned eighteen.

“My nose isn’t that big,” Steve says.

He leans all the way over, hand moving from his comic book to push Billy’s aside. His mouth contorts into a bemused frown as he takes in the picture Billy’s drawn on his napkin, the little stick figure Steve staring back up at him from behind a pair of smudged Ray Bans.

“Yes, it is,” Billy says. Patiently, like Steve has the cognitive capacity of a second grader.

Steve tugs the napkin out of his grip. “It’s huge!” he exclaims. “You literally drew a triangle for it. I look like a witch or something.”

Billy balances his pen on his upper lip and waggles his eyebrows. “You know what they say about guys with big noses.”

“They’ve got big dicks?”

The pen drops from Billy’s lip. He glares at Steve with mock reproach. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Harrington.”

Picking the pen back up, he draws a tiny speech bubble next to stick-figure Steve’s mouth: Hey, asshole! Stick-figure Steve is shaking his fist at some unknown aggressor. It’s how Steve looks when he’s mad enough to give Billy a smack on the chops of his own: eyebrows scrunched in a furious line, teeth bared, face blotchy. About as intimidating as an angry kitten.

“You like my nose,” Steve says softly.

His foot brushes against Billy’s under the table. Comfortable, warm. Billy wants to ignore the shiver that runs up his thighs, but it’s difficult. Less than four hours ago, Steve was kissing him there. Starting with Billy’s ankles, mouthing over the balls of his feet and his calves before moving gradually to his knees, then his thighs. He’d stopped maddeningly short of his groin, laughing when Billy had bucked his hips and called him a cocktease.

As if Steve knows what he’s thinking—as if Steve’s thinking of the same thing, of kissing Billy’s thighs, the two of them sprawled in a cozy tangle on Steve’s sheets—he draws his foot up, somehow worming the tip of his sneaker underneath Billy’s jeans. Billy imagines kicking him in the shin, just for the hell of it. Steve should know better. Especially when they’re in fucking public, in front of a hundred of their own classmates, for fuck’s sake.

“It’s weird,” he insists.

“That’s why you like it,” Steve says. He licks his spoon again, slower. The hair on Billy’s thighs is standing up, tingling as if charged by static electricity; he presses them together, almost groaning at the sensation of denim dragging against his skin. He’s vaguely aware that he’s watching Steve’s mouth avidly, his own mouth tasting arid, parched for something that can’t be quenched with water.

He wonders if Steve ever sees himself. If he ever looks in the mirror before leaving the house and asks his reflection, hey, is this even appropriate?

Because if Steve had any decency, any sense of shame, he would. And he’d also stop staring at Billy like that—eyes heavy at the corners, bottom lip jutting out around the edge of the spoon. When Billy had called him weird-looking, what he’d really meant was confusing. Steve’s nose is slender but somehow bold, angular; his cheekbones are high, and his mouth is pointy and pouty but also, not. It’s a man’s face but there’s a softness to it, too; a femininity that strikes Billy as not only personally offensive, but downright fucking nonsensical. He doesn’t understand how someone can be so oddly proportioned yet so in proportion at the same time.

Billy likes his life ordered. He likes things to fit neatly into their little boxes; it means he’s in control. It means that Maxine is scared shitless of him and his dad’s a bastard for all eternity and Susan’s Susan and Steve Harrington is off, not on. Inside this strict, organized reality of Billy’s creation, Steve’s foot certainly wouldn’t be touching his knee right now and he wouldn’t have brought him an extra pudding cup because Billy refused to eat the bacon and eggs Steve cooked for him that morning and Steve wouldn’t even prefer Billy to be a little heavier, he’d want Billy to be more responsible with his weight, have some respect for his body—

“You like my mouth, too,” Steve’s saying. “And my hair. My eyes, of course you like my eyes. Why else would you have gone to all this effort?” Crooking the spoon upwards, he reaches across and taps the stick-figure Steve with his pointer finger. “You like me, Billy.”

God, Billy’s created a fucking monster. 

“You’ve got pudding on your face,” he blurts out. 

The words aren’t Billy’s words. They don’t come out nasty—they’re not even remotely scathing. Things have shifted again, but Billy can’t tell if it’s in Steve’s favor or not. He has as much to lose as Billy does, after all. 

Steve smiles at him, gentle. He doesn’t swipe the stray pudding from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand; doesn’t stammer or withdraw or furrow his brow. It’s as if Billy’s shown his hand already, but that frustrates him, because he doesn’t know when. He can’t even tell if Steve’s bluffing, trying to back him into a corner he’s not aware of. Shit, Steve’s not bluffing. He can’t be. That wouldn’t be playing fair.

Steve lifts the comic book, placing it next to his ear. “It’s all yours, Hargrove,” he says.

He cups his chin with his hand, waiting. Billy’s stared at Steve’s hands for perhaps as much time as he’s stared at his face, trying to figure out how it’s all supposed to work. He suddenly wishes he could draw better, so he could get Steve’s hands on paper properly. Immortalize them, or whatever. 

He thinks he could teach himself to draw Steve’s hands. He knows them off by heart; knows their feel and their weight and their specific warmth, how they look around Billy’s neck. The marks they leave behind, deep, ingrained marks, like flowers pressed into the pages of a book. Billy can touch them and think, look: here Steve was, is. Here you can be loved, if you know what’s good for you.

For as long as Billy can remember, his father has called him a mistake. Said he’s mismatched, crooked, wrong like Her. Steve’s hands are crooked; so is his hair. But he makes Billy laugh, and, when Billy asks for it, he makes him cry. Tenderly. When he does that, Billy doesn’t feel so wrong; he feels stripped naked, made anew. That, by holding him and kissing him and smiling at him like he is now, Steve’s drawing all the bad blood out. Hands wringing him clean.

Steve shakes the spoon at him, his mouth and eyes shining with strange, cryptic light. They’re mismatched, Steve’s eyes. One has slightly more hazel in it than the other. Billy’s chest is heavy and warm, as if Steve’s placed his foot over his ribs instead of his leg. They’re mismatched, him and Steve. Whatever the fuck they have, on or off, is scrapped together haphazardly from different pieces of their lives, like an old quilt sewn from other old quilts, scratchy and smelly and a little ugly, but snug nonetheless. Good shelter for storms and shadows. 

Billy leans forwards, closing in on that secret space between Steve’s mouth and his ear. All around them rises a rabble of voices like vapor from the forest floor, kids laughing and catcalling to one another across the cafeteria. Steve holds the comic book upright, shielding both their faces. When Billy kisses him, he tastes the sweetness on Steve’s lip from where his pudding spoon missed his mouth, but it was never about that. When Billy said, You’re kind of weird-looking what he really, really meant was, I like you, a lot, and when he kisses Steve now what he means is, All mine.

[candace-engl-306-blog]

Pages 1-4 ish

Description of art and panel layout of the first few comic pages:

Page 1-2 ish:

A date at the top of the page indicates that it is December and the drawings and panels of this graphic story are functioning as a diary of sorts. To open the narrative, a series of panels showing a post office box (mail boxes in an apartment building), in progressing levels of morning sunlight. These panels and the ones following will be mostly black and white and drawing with pen, with loose crosshatching to show value and detail. A hand reaches out and opens the box. A hallmark letter sized envelope waits inside. The rand removes it, and there is a pause as the protagonist (Audrey) holds the envelope and examines the return address. It’s from an old coworker of her mother’s and Audrey’s old 2nd grade teacher, which is confusing because Audrey hasn’t really heard from any of her teachers in the past, and although this woman was close with her mom, she hasn’t ever gotten mail from her in the past. This won’t necessarily be obvious on the page just yet. The panel will show Audrey’s face examining the envelope, giving the reader the first real glimpse at the “narrator” so the drawing will be somewhat more precise than the previous panels to make it stand out and indicate her role as the protagonist. This will also be an important portrait of Audrey because it will be the only time the reader views her before she discovers the death of her mother.

A series of panels shows Audrey opening the envelope while still downstairs because of her curiosity. The corner of a card peeking out of the simple drawing of the envelope shows detailed and vibrantly rendered colored flowers on the front of the card. Audrey’s hand pulls it from the envelope. A cliché note about loss and grief is written in three different cursive fonts. By all accounts the design on the card is intricate and ugly. Audrey, confused, her hands shaking a little, (shown by drawing two panels that show the briefest lapse in time of just her hand working up the courage to open the card), opens the card and reads the message from her mother’s coworker. “Very sorry to hear of your loss. Please give a call if you need anything (anything underlines and written in swooping cursive). God bless, Ms. Molly”

A panel shows Audrey looking up. A man sits at the lobby desk but there’s no indication he is meant to work there or is just lounging. His expression is bored, and he stares at Audrey as if she is paint drying and he is trying not to fall asleep. Audrey checks the time on her phone. Every moment is now being rendered in its own panel to slow the pacing of the narrative and distort the flow of time.  These eventually grow darker in value and the reader then suddenly see a message typed hastily on a phone cancelling what the reader can assume was a date.

A rather thick black line cuts the above panels off from a panel that is the width of the page. From the reader’s POV, Audrey has transported to the train station. This transitional panel depicts a lowering (or raising, since the panel that would reveal which way it moves is not present) guard rail and commuter legs crossing in front of the “camera.” This is an above ground train, with only two tracks, indicating Audrey’s location somewhat outside of the denser parts of the city. Audrey stands on the platform with her arms crossed and one hand raised to her ear, holding her phone.

 Page 3-ish

A detailed drawing of Audrey in profile is lit by the phone screen pressed to her ear, indicating that she just checked the screen to ensure the call was going through before returning the phone to her ear. This light does the work of an onomatopoeia for the reader, the Samsung dialing tone is evident. For a few panels Audrey waits for an answer, the wind blowing her hair to indicate the movement of time. Audrey’s sister answers. Audrey closes her eyes, and the page becomes black and a dialogue in white lettering transcribes the conversation.

             Audrey: Hannah? Hello?

             Hannah: Audrey? A baby cries in the background. Yeah hi! What do you need, what’s up?

             Audrey: I got a weird card. Wait, what do you mean what’s up? You know what’s up.

             Hannah: Oh Audrey. Oh…

             Audrey: I got a card from one of Mom’s old friends. Hannah, when did she die? What… I?

             Hannah: I really did mean to call you. It was only a few days ago. Just hold on. She whispers harshly to a child to drop something. Audrey, you there? Try not to worry, I was going to call once the arrangements had all been made; Dad didn’t want to worry you with all this.

             Audrey: You’re talking to Dad? No. Wait. How did she die? Hannah this is a huge shock, I don’t understand what’s going on. A kid shouts on the line. Are you listening to me?

               The black background begins to lighten, and a silhouette of Audrey is visible under the still-white and fading words.

             Hannah: Oh crap, what, yes, I’m here. Look, I have to go. The baby just threw up and Peggy’s screaming at her sister. I’ll call you later OK?

             The black fades completely and the reader sees Audrey in profile again, but from her other side. She hangs up the phone and static starts to overtake the page. She looks down into the train tracks, but the reader doesn’t see what she’s seeing, just her face, blank, which is unsettling or unexpected considering how she’d discovered her mother’s death. The camera pans out and the static surrounds her more. Then Audrey’s figure is replaced by a detailed and colorful drawing of a cup of green tea.

 Page 4 ish

The same cup of green tea is held by a familiar hand. It’s the first panel on the new page. The lighting is colorful and golden, and no black values exist in most of this page. The exception is a drawing of Audrey sitting on the floor of her apartment and looking out a window. She holds a mug in her hand, but it isn’t the same mug as the cup in the top of this page. The tea from the cup bubbles up and then spills over the page, swirling into a waterfall, going from warm yellows and greens to cooler but still calm waters.

At the bottom of the page, kid feet dash past. A rope guardrail merges from one panel into the next. Two young girls appear hooking their arms over the rope and swinging on it. Behind them walk the torsos of a young couple, not a new couple, but not yet in their 40s. Their faces are hidden by the panel gutter. Remarks on time and memory can be made here, on how kids don’t remember their parents’ faces and just their smells, voices, and hugs. The woman kneels between the girls. They look out at the small waterfalls, large in a child’s memory, but really just a creek pouring over a small cliff, just barely eight feet high.

<The thumbnail sketches of these pages are in a separate post>

      And for some context, here is the written scene that became the opening scene of the graphic story (so you can see how this has developed):

I awoke early that morning by some accident, maybe knowing what the day held, if you believe in that sort of thing. I slipped on a sweater and went downstairs to check my mail. The man behind the front desk greeted me with a smile as I unlocked my box.

             The pale blue envelope tucked inside was stamped with the army seal, and as I withdrew it, I thought it felt too small and too light in my hands. I knew what it was, and I suddenly realized I needed to choose a place to open it. My apartment? No, I needed to live there. And I couldn’t do it here, in the lobby.

             I hid the letter away and took the stairs back up to my place. I sat in front of the window and lifted back the curtain just enough to see outside. Nothing had changed. The city glistened with cold, but the sun warmed me through the glass. I could taste sleep in my mouth.

             I knew that breaking the seal wouldn’t be what killed my mother, but I put it off. I sat for a while, maybe an hour. I took note of the room, of the way the sunlight fell behind me onto the floor, of what I was wearing, of the movement of the cars below, the pattern of the trains coming into the station. I counted the seconds between the guardrails dropping and the trains bisecting the road. Trying to commit to memory the last moments I had before my mother was dead.

             Finally, I pushed myself up and forced my boots on, grabbed my jacket and keys and went out into the street. The sun’s rays made it feel deceptively warm at first but then I ducked my face into my scarf against the breeze. The guardrail bells began to ring, and I headed for the station. I bought a platform ticket and the gate ate it and spit it out as the limited rushed through the station. As it passed, I reached the edge and could look down into the tracks. The cold had set in permanently over the rails, untouched by the sun. I slipped my hand into my pocket and touched the envelope there. I didn’t know what compelled me to need to open it at the station. The trains had become a vein connecting me to the city, my commute familiar, so that I couldn’t feel like an outsider while I rode to and from the hospital.

             But whatever the reason, I figured it was time. I opened the notice, and my mother was dead. As express train after express train shot past, the tracks disappeared and reappeared in a blur. I imagined watching myself getting caught underneath the platform, in the hidey-holes carved into the concrete in case you fell in. Or just lying down and waiting. If I fell in, could I make myself flat enough to avoid having my body smeared away? The letter didn’t say how she died. I didn’t know if it mattered to me; people only want to know how others died so that they can get a hint about their own end. Would my death creep up on me like a dream, allowing me enough time to realize what was happening?

             As the bells began to ring again, I stepped closer and peered down into the tracks. I thought maybe I’d start crying.

             “Hey you, stand back behind the line!”

             I jumped and backed away as the local train slowed into the station, whistling. The conductor in the front car turned his head to look at the weirdo (me) as he passed. I hadn’t been leaning over the edge, so decapitation wouldn’t have been possible, but I stopped zoning at the idea of suddenly becoming just a head. I folded up the letter and tucked it back inside the envelope.

[crashdevlin]

To Hell and Back 2- Assignment

To Hell and Back Masterlist

Author’s Note: Originally posted to ao3 (This is an edited and improved version). This is an AU of my story ‘Marion’ and is just as epic as that series. 

Summary: Marion goes on a mission for her boss.

Pairing(s): Crowley x Marion-ish

Word Count: 3148

Chapter Warnings: smoking, Dean’s isn’t the best brother, angst, mentions of child abuse, demon deals

Marion put the key in the door and shuffled into the motel room, dropping the bag at the end of the bed and heading for the bathroom as she always did when she first entered a motel room. She'd insisted on being given her own room when she was 17. It was partly for safety, since the monsters always seemed to find John and the boys' room, and partly for feminine privacy, and partly for him.

"What do you want, Crowley?" She asked, walking out of the bathroom and dropping to the bed.

"Whatever happened to your manners? I know I taught you better than that." A deep, gravelly accent came from the chair next to the television.

"Yeah, but then my daddy came in and fucked it all up." She pulled the knot out of her bootlaces and toed her boots off. "The question hasn't changed, Crowley."

"You know, it's days like this I regret pulling you outta the way of that Chevy." He said, standing and adjusting his suit jacket.

"Yeah." Marion threw her boots at the corner of the room and turned her eyes on the demon. "But then you remember that you came here for a reason and you give me my damn assignment."

Crowley handed her a small piece of paper. "Name's Devon McIntyre. He sold it fer money, so you can do this one without the guilt."

"Fine." She snatched the paper and pocketed it. "You can go, now."

"You know, there was a time when you enjoyed my company. What happened?"

She looked away from him. "I figured out who you really are and what you do to the people I mark."

"They do it to themselves. They know what they're signing up for." He tried to catch her eyes, but she just let her dyed brunette hair hang in a protective curtain in front of her face, so he just rolled his eyes. "I have never lied to anyone about what Hell has in store for them. And I told you what I was back when you were too young and dumb to hate me for it."

She tucked her hair behind her ear and glared at him. "I'm a hunter, you ass! A demon killed my mother!"

"And a demon saved you!" Crowley shouted. "So many times that I would be bisected if the boys downstairs knew about it." He stepped forward. "I pulled you out of the path of that truck when you were four. I ripped the head off that vampire when you were twelve. I'm the one who risked my entire reputation to claim a damn hunter's daughter so that no other demons would lay a bloody pinkie on you, and I tried to convince you to back off when you insisted on helping me when you were sixteen."

He gave a huffing breath. "You wanna back out now? Sorry, it doesn't work that way, Lilith has you on contract sealed with a sodding kiss and as long as she's around, you work for us! Not my fault, you moody little-" Crowley took a deep breath and sighed, letting his anger go. "Just go mark the wealthy little arsehole so my dogs can find him."

Marion nodded, looking away again. "We're on a hunt. It may be a few days." She pulled the paper out of her pocket and set it on the side table.

If she'd been looking at him she would've seen him open his mouth like he'd wanted to say something else, but he just nodded and disappeared.

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

Marion was halfway through her fourth cigarette in a chain when her phone went off. She grabbed it off the side table and flipped it open. "It's a ghost." Dean gave no greeting. "A woman named Constance Welch threw herself off the bridge where we stopped earlier. We're gonna head down there, later, see if we can draw her out."

"Okay. Lemme know how it goes. How you lookin' for salt rounds?"

"We're good." There was a moment of silence. "You want in on this?" His tone told her he wanted her to say 'no'.

"No. You get to gank ghosts with me all the time. Spend some time with Sammy. Who knows when you'll have an opportunity for Sam bonding again?"

"Yeah. Sounds good. We'll call."

"Right." Marion said, disbelieving as she flipped her phone closed. She ran her hand down her face and sighed, pulling her bag off the ground and dropping it to the bed. She pulled out her slinky red dress and her strappy black heels from the very bottom of her duffel and slipped them onto her body. After pulling her hair into a messy up-do and pasting her face with bright red lipstick and brown eye shadow, she walked out of her motel room and headed to a luxury car with a demon in the driver's seat. The door opened without being touched and she slipped into the back next to Crowley, whose eyes slid down her profile without hesitation. "If you mention how well I fill out this dress, I will stab you in the eye with my branding iron." She didn't look his way as she spoke, but noticed his acceptance of her terms.

He nodded and signaled for the driver to head toward their destination. The Lincoln was silent through the entire ride, Marion biting the inside of her lip and thinking back to simpler times as they drove. When they pulled up in front of the mansion, she easily slipped out and up to the door and rang the bell. She smiled for the camera near the buzzer. "Who are you?" A voice came through the speaker.

"I'm a gift... from Mr. Crowley." She responded, sweetly, but inside she was grimacing at the sentence.

The door opened, just slightly, to reveal an attractive, well-dressed brunette man, eyeing her warily. "Crowley?"

"Mr. Crowley would like me to remind you that he kept his end of the deal. He made you wealthy and thus appealing to women. May I?" She pushed past him into the mansion, across the lines of the Devil's Trap painted on the floor by the door. "Mr. Crowley would also like me to tell you that he's aware that you are planning to run from him, that you think you can use the resources he awarded you to hide from him. He wants me to tell you that he didn't get to be King of the Crossroads by letting greedy little pissants squirm out of their contracts, and you won't be the first, or last, to try." She said, before grabbing his shirt and jabbing her branding iron into his left bicep. She let him go and stepped back to allow him to examine the burn mark.

"What the fuck was that?!"

“A homing beacon for Crowley’s hounds. No matter where you run, they’ll find you. Thanks for playing.” She said, starting to go. Devon grabbed her hand and tried to pull her back. She twisted, ax-kicked him in the head and grabbed his throat. “You have a week, you miserable prick. You have a week to do something worthwhile. Do not make me cut out all that potential by killing you early.” She threatened, tossing him to the ground and walking out of the Devil’s Trap on the way out.

“You aren’t a demon?”

“No. But I’m sure he’ll turn me into one, eventually.” She said, before shutting the door on him.

“You know that’s not going to happen.” Crowley said, opening the car door for her.

“What?”

“That’s not your deal. You didn’t sign away your soul, you signed away your work. Just like a real job, it only seems like it’s crushing your soul.” Crowley said, as the car pulled away from the mansion.

“I’m helping demons, Crowley. Helping you damn souls to unbelievable torment. That doesn’t sound like something that’s gonna get me into Heaven.”

“Well, there’s always the Void.”

“Yeah. Being a ghost. That sounds peachy.” She said, sarcastically.

“Look, you knew. You asked for this. I begged you not to kiss me, but you thought you knew what you were doing.”

“I was sixteen!” She exclaimed. “I just wanted my father to stop hitting me.”

“And it worked, right? He hasn’t hit you in a decade.” Crowley reasoned, trying to block out the thought that he’d have already taken her to Hell, if she’d signed a normal contract.

“It doesn’t change it, Crowley. It doesn’t change the fact that I traded my well-being for… this. I thought I knew what I was doing and I thought I was grown enough to make that decision, but I wasn’t.”

There was silence in the car for half an hour as she looked out the window. “Well, if you do end up in Hell, Marion, I’ll make sure they go easy on you. That’s the best I got. See you next time.” Crowley said as they pulled into the motel.

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

Crowley stared out the window of his mansion, lost in thought. He knew what was being planned for the Winchesters, what Lilith and Azazel were going to do to bring Lucifer home. He felt almost bad for Marion. He'd known her since she was a wee thing and if there were a Winchester who deserved to be kept out of all the bullshit Hell had planned, it was Marion.

Sometimes he really did think he should have let her die when she was four. That way she never would have had to deal with Mary Winchester's death or the way John dealt with the pain of her demise. She never would have had to deal with demons and monsters, she never would have had to deal with Crowley, himself. Life would've been much sweeter for his Marion if she'd just died at four years old.

Crowley grimaced at the term. His Marion. It seemed like it might be an endearment, but it was the truth. She signed herself over to him, kissed her life away. He could keep her like a slave, but he chose not to. Ungrateful cunt.

He turned to demon lounging on his couch, wearing a short, well-dressed blonde lawyer as a vessel. "You. Go change your meat suit. I've got some tensions I need to relieve."

"Anything in particular, sir?"

Crowley sighed. "Tall, tan, bottle brunette, green eyes, and leather. Go more Roadhouse and less Mistress with it."

She smiled. "Yes sir." It took her half an hour to reappear, in a vessel that almost matched his request. "I could only find a blue-eyed one."

"It'll have to do." Crowley growled, twisting a hand into her hair and crashing his mouth into hers.

Two hours later, he looked down at the surrogate he'd taken his frustrations out on. Covered in bruises, bleeding cuts and cum, he could almost imagine this biker chick in her forties was Marion. The illusion was broken as soon as he thought about it, though, so he rolled away from her and snapped to replace his clothing. "Get your old meat suit back. She's good fer business. But... keep track of this one."

"Yes, sir."

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

Marion was pulling her boots on the next morning when a knock came to her motel room door. She opened it and smiled tightly at Dean. "Dad had a room here, too. Figured out we're dealing with a Woman in White. He hasn't been here in a few days. You hungry?"

"Yeah, actually." She grabbed her black fleece jacket and walking out the door with him. She noticed the police presence right before Dean did. He looked over, saw the police car parked by the clerk's office who was talking to the deputies. When the clerk pointed at Dean and Marion, Dean pulled out his cell, calling Sam as the deputies started to approach them.

"Dude, five-oh. Take off." There was a second of silence. "Uh, they kinda spotted us. Go find Dad." Dean flipped the phone closed and turned to the deputies with a grin. "Problem, officers?"

"Did we do something?" Marion asked, innocently.

"Where's your partner?" The deputy asked, ignoring Marion.

"Partner? What, what partner?” Dean asked. Marion put on her best clueless face.

Deputy Jaffe, according to his name tag, glanced over his shoulder and jerked his thumb towards the motel room. Deputy Hein headed over there. Dean fidgeted. “So, fake US Marshal. Fake credit cards. You got anything that’s real?” Jaffe asked.

“My boobs.” Dean replied, with a smirk.

Marion rolled her eyes and put her hands behind her head as the cop slammed Dean into the hood. “The best thing you can do, stud, is keep your mouth closed. You obviously need a refresher on your ‘right to remain silent’.”

“Like I’m gonna take legal advice from a prostitute.” Dean snapped, thankfully catching on to her train of thought.

The cop turned her around and examined her. He seemed a bit skeptical about her status as a working girl. The jeans, boots and fleece jacket weren’t exactly street-walker clothes. “You don’t know each other?”

“Look, ask the clerk. Paid in cash. I was just looking for a place to bed down. I work from home… even when I don’t have a home, if you get my drift. I’m not saying I’m a sex worker, but… I’ve never met this guy before this morning. He was gonna buy me breakfast and we were gonna head back to my room.”

The deputy looked between the two of them, then pulled her handcuffs off. “It’s your lucky day. This guy is a much bigger fish than you. But if I find you soliciting in my town again, I’ll personally escort you downtown.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” She said. She leaned over next to Dean, who was bent over the back of the cop car. “Better luck next time, handsome.” She whispered before walking off toward her room. Sam was sitting on her bed.

“How’d you manage?” He asked.

“I convinced them I was a whore. They let me go because they didn’t have any proof that I know Dean. This is one time I’m glad I stayed in the car.” She said, grabbing her bag off the floor and rifling through it. “So, where to?”

“Uh, Joseph Welch. He’s the husband of the woman in white. That’s where Dad would’ve gone.”

“Okay.” She sighed. “I don’t even know what I’m looking for in here.” She threw her hands up and headed toward the window. She watched as the police car pulled away with Dean in the back. She pulled Dean’s keys out of her jacket pocket and nodded toward Sam.

“When did he hand over his keys?” Sam asked.

“I picked them off him when I said goodbye.” She said, heading out the door and into the parking lot.

Marion tossed the keys at Sam. “If I move the seat forward, Dean will kill me.” She said, getting in on the passenger side.

“You… you got really good at this stuff.” Sam said, sliding in behind the steering wheel.

“I was never bad at it, Sammy. I just didn’t have a lot of opportunity to show my skill, when you were around.”

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

Sam pulled into the driveway of a house with an overgrown yard. Marion got out and walked up to the door in front of Sam. She knocked with a closed fist. An older man opened and looked out at them. “Hi. Are you Joseph Welch?” Sam spoke up.

“Yeah.” Joseph responded, walking out of his doorway and shutting the door behind him.

“Hi. We just need to ask you a few questions.” Marion said, with a smile.

“Have you seen this man?” Sam asked, handing Joseph a picture of John and the 2 boys. Marion, of course, was not in the picture.

“Yeah. He was a little older, but that’s him.” Joseph said, handing the photo back to Sam. “He came by three or four days ago. Said he was a reporter.”

“That’s right. We’re all working on a story together.” Sam replied, as they walked into the junk that was Joseph Welch’s front yard.

“Well, I don’t know what the hell kinda story you’re working on. The questions he asked me?”

“About your wife Constance?” Marion asked.

“He asked me where she was buried.”

"And where is that again?" Sam leaned over the shorter man as he spoke.

“What, I gotta go through this twice?”

“It’s fact-checking. If you don’t mind.” Marion said.

“In a plot. Behind my old place over on Breckenridge.” Joseph answered.

“And, why did you move?” Sam asked.

“I’m not gonna live in the house where my children died.” Joseph responded.

Sam and Marion stopped walking. Joseph followed suit. “Mr. Welch, did you ever marry again?” Sam asked.

“No way. Constance, she was the love of my life. Prettiest woman I ever known.”

“So, you had a happy marriage?”

Joseph hesitated before responding. Bingo. “Definitely.”

“Well, that should do it. Thanks for your time.” Sam said with a smile. Marion stood her ground while Joseph and Sam started walking in their separate directions. Sam waited a moment, then look back at Joseph. “Mr. Welch, did you ever hear of a woman in white?”

Joseph turned back around. “A what?”

“A woman in white. Or sometimes ’Weeping Woman’?” Marion said. The man just stared.

“It’s a ghost story. Well, it’s more of a phenomenon, really.” Sam started to walk back to the man. “Um, they’re spirits. They’ve been sighted for hundreds of years, dozens of places. In Hawaii, Mexico, lately in Arizona, Indiana. All these are different women.” Sam stopped in front of Joseph Welch. “You understand. But all share the same story.”

“I don’t care much for nonsense.” Joseph said, starting to head toward his house again.

“See, when they were alive, their husbands were unfaithful to them. And these women, basically suffering from temporary insanity, murdered their children.” Sam seemed to hit the right button because Joseph turned around. “Then, once they realized what they had done, they took their own lives. So, now their spirits are cursed, walking back roads, waterways. And if they find an unfaithful man, they kill him. And that man is never seen again.”

“You think...you think that has something to do with...Constance? You smartass!”

“You tell us.”

“I mean, maybe... maybe I made some mistakes. But no matter what I did, Constance, she never would have killed her own children. Now, you get the hell out of here! And you don't come back!” Joseph’s face shook in anger and grief, then he turned away. Marion and Sam walked back to the Impala.

“Guess you got pretty good at this stuff, too.” Marion said.

“Thanks. Now, let’s spring the idiot and we can burn Constance’s bones and get back to Paolo Alto.” Sam said, pulling out his cell phone.

Supernatural Tag- @letsby

[yashasmonkgf]

high priestess and the sun for kestrel, temperence in reverse and the star for ali !

oh my god you picked the most difficult ones for both of my kids thank you here we go please enjoy my uses of inconsistent tense and narrative and absolutely incredibly long run on sentences and utter abuse of italics 💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕   also the star got… a little out of hand…

The High Priestess: When has trusting their instincts paid off for your character?

With the pack, it was easy, it was hunt-eat-sleep-play-survive and sometimes the food was there and sometimes it wasn’t but it was easier; easier than waiting in the shadow to pick the crumbs off the floor, easier than forcing herself to stay awake to listen for Mother coming home and to slip out the door if her steps were staggered or just wait and hold her breath if the steps were steady and hope that she would miss the black moods that came and came and came and never left, easier than fixing herself again and again with broken noses and busted lips and bruises. So it was easy. Stay with the pack. Survive. Take care of them and they take care of you. Keep away from the humans and the human moods and the human fists and boots and quick sharp words that burrowed into her like a tick and festered. So she stayed. And the first winter- well, it was winter, but they were relatively lucky, and it was nothing that a good pile of pups on either side of her wouldn’t help with, and second winter was not as good as the first and her boots had finally given up the past summer and so she almost lost some of her toes a couple times, but that was fine that was still better than before, you see, better than what she had. And then the third winter came and even before it had hit in the valleys below Kestrel was waking herself up by shivering so hard and the trouble with direwolves is they’re big, yes, even bigger than you’re picturing, so they can’t exactly pile on top of you when the cold bites and the wind snarls and your teeth chatter so hard you can’t even think so then you stumble out the cave trying to stay moving and then down the mountain you go cause it has to be warmer down there it has to be, the snow hasn’t hit yet. So down she went, and sometimes she wasn’t even sure if she was walking anymore and she didn’t know if her feet were still her feet or if they had snapped off from the cold but there was a cabin and a man in the cabin and she knew that humans came with fists and boots and words that swirled around her head and stayed and never went away but she knew she wanted to survive, she needed to, so she crashed through the door of the cabin and collapsed by the fire and the man had been lying in the bed and he just stared at her. And Kestrel waited and waited and waited for the fist or the boot or the angry words to come at her but the strange man just stood up and slowly, slowly, put another log on the fire and pulled a blanket off his bed and dropped it beside her and closed the door just enough that the wind didn’t come through quite as strong but there was still a way out if she wanted to, he didn’t lock her in and eventually, Kestrel must have stopped shivering because she woke up in the morning, warm and with warm food waiting on the floor beside her. 

The Sun: When does your character sit back and enjoy themselves?

Kestrel does, admittedly, have trouble sitting back and enjoying something. The last time she really relaxed was in the mountains. Tala had thrown her head back and howled and they had heard the pack, and Kestrel had wanted to go right then and there, but of course, they had to wait, the hafling and the teifling and the elf had to sleep and then they had to break camp in the morning and gods, they took so long to wake up and get on with the day, Kestrel was near vibrating out of her skin with excitement by the time they finally got on with everything, and her and Tala kept on darting ahead up the mountain and having to stop and wait for the others. And they finally got up there and three of the wolves had pupped and Kestrel actually felt herself wanting to smile as the clambered over each other to investigate the new thing on two legs, all paws and ears and tails, and Kestrel felt something in her relax the hold it kept and temporarily uncoil and it was like she could breath deep for once.

Temperance in Reverse: When has your character felt overwhelmed?

Ali had only lost him for a second, just a moment, in the crowded street, but her little brother was hungry, they all were, work had been thin this winter, and plagues had swept the country, and always they blamed the Travellers and had driven them away with thrown rocks and guards with spears to prod the slow along. And Ali only looked away for a second, just to look at the goods in the stall, that was all, and it wasn’t his fault, he was just a little kid, and he hadn’t had a sweet in months and months, and he only just wanted to look at the bakers sweets, but looking had become a hand reaching out to touch, but the guards were right there and they grabbed him and kicked him and kicked and kicked and kicked until his breath rattled in his chest and he coughed up blood onto one of the guards boots and she had been screaming and crying as one of them held her by her hair and she couldn’t help and it was her fault, hers, and she carried her little brother back to the caravan she felt little and lost and useless and they cried and cried and they sang the song of mourning that night and she swears she knows the sound of heartbreak now.

The Star: When has your character been most hopeful?

The first time her goddess touched her, Ali was only 14.  She had wandered off from the main camp where they had set themselves just a little ways off from the crossroads, and gods… was she bored. She had crossed to the other side of the road, and technically, if she shuffled sideways and sort of crouched, she could still see the tops of the wagons, so she wasn’t in trouble. Besides, she wasn’t a little kid anymore, she was almost grown up thank-you-very-much. And grown ups could take care of themselves. Of course, grownups also had chores and fires to build and dinners to cook and sometimes the sheer mundanity of life on the road made Ali want to scream. She shuffled another few paces into the undergrowth, worming her way through the tightly grown bushes and only tearing her shirt a teeny little bit. She swore under her breath. Her mother would make her sew that. 

“I can fix that for you if you want.”

Ali nearly levitated back into the bushes at the sound of the female voice.

“Oh, sorry, my fault, I thought you knew I was here.”

The halfling girl was young, she looked about Ali’s age, maybe a little older, with road worn clothes and dusty boots.

“Um. Hi. Are you a Traveller?”

The halfling laughed. “Sure am.”

“Sorry, not many halflings take the road.”

“Don’t worry about it.” The halfling looked her over. “Here. Let me make it up to you.”

The halfling pulled from- somewhere… a pouch? She had to have a pouch or something somewhere- a long chain with something dangling at the end of it.

“Here. But-” and she pulled it back from Ali’s waiting hand, “you have to promise me something, and its very important.”

Ali was surprised. Not many people of Dwyrain would ever consider being as open handed as this strange halfling.

The halfling pressed something round into her palm. “Promise me that you will follow where your feet and your heart take you, and that you’ll chase whatever makes your heart bigger.”

Ali stared down at the simple symbol in her palm: a perfect circle, bisected by a gently curving line across the circle and a flame hovering above the center of the center line.

Shocked, she looked back at the halfling, who grinned broadly, winked, and stood on her tip toes and planted a kiss on Ali’s forehead. As her lips touched, Ali felt something zap through her, and felt herself fill with happiness and laughter and joy and adventure and life and she felt like her heart was about to burst with the size of everything inside her and she felt like if she couldn’t see the whole wide world then what was the point of everything and the hope- the hope that she could see and explore and find every wonderful thing that was out there! It had to be out there!

[brooklynislandgirl]

78. Is there a friend you would willingly have sex with?

Once Bitten || -

Insouciant. Of all the words that she could describe Anakin with right in that moment, that one would make the top of the list, once she crossed off some of the choicer words that leave the echo of soap in the back of her throat. Technically the greenhouse isn’t public, so she wouldn’t actually be saying filthy things where anyone was in danger of overhearing her speak so vulgarly, but she wasn’t also technically in the house and thus would be violating the spirit of the rule she’d learned long ago. So she sticks with insouciant. 

It’s in the way he’s leaning into her. Hands on either side of the work counter, long fingers splayed across the wood, flesh impersonating rays of a shapely sun. It’s in the way he smells like cigarette smoke and Jack Daniels, he smells like rain on the horizon and dew clinging to the underside of leaves. Something else that she can’t put her finger on exactly but its clean, warm, and close, reminds her of salt spray on sea stones; goes right to her head and other places and in the morning she’ll wish that it came in a tiny glass bottle so she could spritz it on her pillows, her sheets. Maybe it's the whiskey barrel sweetness. Maybe it's the way that her hips and the small of her back, and that whole bit of her in between seems to fit just perfectly in the hollow of his own. Not that he’s bouncing against her, fidgeting where he stands, not obtrusively so. She can feel the sides of his converse ~vulcanised rubber, heavy canvas~ against the sides of her bare feet. Denim on chiffon. There’s a fervid kind of energy that envelopes him as it often does but there’s a different hue to it. And that is definitely a result of his voice right against her ear, fanning her cheek with his breath. The way its depth and timbre is something she could soak into, allow to drown out everything else from the sudden racing of her pulse to the way her breath hitches in her throat.

She closes her eyes for a brief moment, allowing her hands to clench the wood in a slightly different way, trying to draw a reserve of strength, of will from the potting soil and the snips of leaves and roots. As if all the resolve in the universe lies there beneath her nails. Answering him honestly is probably the worst thing she can do. Worse than coming up with some kind of specious lie that he would accept if he doesn’t examine it too closely, but one of the things that she likes about him is the way he unravels things, pulling them apart to examine their structure and integrity, before he carefully pieces it back together, often improved in its own way. She’d like to blame the fact that he has a talent for Matter. But even when his anxiety lays siege to his better nature and scrambles up his thoughts so that it takes him long minutes to get around to letting them come out of his mouth, he has a gift of telling personal truths like a well-remembered fairy tale.

She doesn’t mean that in a bad way, but he manages to put some distance between himself and his struggles that is truly remarkable. She doesn’t understand exactly how he does it, or even why, but she can sit there and listen to him for hours, and has done so in some cases. She envies him that particular gift, something she’s never had. Everything that lies inside her head is visceral and in the moment, very few exit lanes that aren’t choked with weeds and debris from growing up under the regime of her father. Moulded and shaped by her brother. And completely shattered by Billy. The black sheep, the long lost prince of a desiccated throne.

Maybe they are broken in different ways. She has more confidence in Anakin than he has in himself, their shyness book ends one another. In turn he has an eye for beauty or whatever it is that attracts him to other people and try as hard as she might, she can see no rhyme or pattern in it. Not that he’s brought strangers to her house that didn’t have little masked faces or fluffy grey wire-fur. She wants to know what drives him, how he finds himself in those places, and what he gets out of them. For once, she’d give her eye-teeth to experience that kind of passion. To feel immolated by the sensuality of it. Biting kisses along slender throat columns. Breathless hands everywhere and nowhere at once. But she knows better. She knows that all the things that are caught up in her head are not safe for public consumption. That they cling to a morality that is alien to everyone else she happens to know, that she can’t shake free of because she isn’t built that way.

He did throw in the qualifying designation of ‘friend’. That’s maybe worse than anything else he could say. The very idea of putting herself out there with someone she loves and trusts enough to be that close to is terrifying. What if they say no. Because they don’t love her life she wants? Worse, what if they do and something goes so catastrophically wrong that it ruins what might have been a perfectly fine, and above all else, platonic relationship?  The idea is so lined with her that she instinctively flinches away from the full exploration of that, she has enough things to lay awake at night in horror over. How does he do it? Make something so intimate and life changing casual? Oh she knows he’s charming, she knows that smile and a wink can get him almost anything he likes, whether it goes in his arm or his nose, or down on him while his fingers are in its hair. Magnetism like that is legendary in her Tradition and a few others. He’s like Kerouac and Morrison in that way, isn’t he? And what does he do when it dissolves at the first touch of the next morning’s dawn? 

Doesn’t he ever feel so lonely that even taking a breath feels like it’s going to crush his chest? Does he ever ache because a friend only lasted as long as it took for the high of their existence to wear off? She knows the answer already from the most abstract sifting through of their conversations.

So really the only thing she can do is be honest. Hope he sees how futile a line of pursuit this is. Because she could imagine letting him into her bed, and not just to curl up with him. She could imagine sharing more than she already has. And invariably, when Anakin slips out one night and doesn’t come back, it’s going to kill her.

By virtue of the ridiculous length of his arms, even if she’s pressed against parts of him, she still manages to turn without elbowing him in the sternum. Her hands leave the wood for only a brief moment before she returns to clutch them in desperate need of moral support. She forces a slight smile as she leans back a little, not realising that she would be so close. That she could see every freckle, that little mole that lives on the corner of his full lower lip. Had she noticed before how deep-set his eyes were, even with the shadows pooled beneath them? Pupils dilated drawing even more attention to that particular shade of blue. Makes it all so hard to find neutral ground to focus on. So she picks that tiny scar that bisects his brow, and reminds her to ask him how he got it, though she’s about a thousand percent sure it’s one of his dozens and dozens of tragic, heart-wrenching stories.

“Lizahd King finally returns. T’ought mebbe ya got lost.” she says, pleased that her voice sounds mostly normal. Her smile becomes something a touch more genuine. 

She presses her lips together and slicks them at the same time, making a tiny sound as her tongue retreats back behind her teeth. “Probably no gonna come as one big surprise t’ ya when I say...yes. An’ no. Look, don’ get me wrong. I love dat we have dis...hundred-clowns-in-a-Volkswagen kine of closeness. An’ I t’ink ya so amazing. So special. But firs’ of all… consider how much older I am. Five years may not seem like a huge deal, but it is. And den dere’s da fact dat in so many ways, I’m becoming ya mentor, is my job t’ teach ya da kine ya gonna need in da long run. An’ I would hate t’ have ya feel like I was some how takin’ advantage of ya.”

She swallows and moves her gaze down, to meet his own. “I’d be lyin’ if I said I nevah t’ought about it since dat one night. Dat I nevah had one dream about you...dat way, an’ felt ashame d’ nex’ morning. I jus’ dunno if...I’m wha’ ya need, wha’ ya want. If ya in a position t’ be wha’ I want an’ need.” It’s so hard to find the words when everything she wants to say seems to go right out of her mind even as she’s trying to get them out. “I knew da minute I saw you dat you were somet’ing special. An’ a part of me has tried t’ protect ya evah since. I worry when ya come home late. When ya don’ come a’ all. I worry dat ya gonna run into someone dat don’ got ya bes’ interest a’ heart, an’ is gonna use you. Make you feel worse about yaself dan ya sometimes do, dat dey gonna hurt you, break your heart, all kinds of bad stuff.”

One hand timorously leaves its perch to come and rest on his cheek. “Guess wha’ I am tryin’ t’ say is… I would. If you asked. If it jus’ happened. But not on purpose, not because I had any ulterior motive oddah dan da fact dat I...care about you so much. And maybe dat’s why I try ignore it. Try ignore you. Sometimes, is real hard t’ do dat. Especially when I can all but taste ya throat between my teeth. Feel ya hands on my skin. Which is why, mebbe, you should ge’ some sleep, yeah?”