#and I would’ve kept going but my brain was sludge

[general-gt]

Thanks to everyone who wrote such wonderful comments on this latest chapter of Bone and Metal. Because of you, I stayed up to the point my eyes were bleary and I hammered out 1.6k words of the next chapter all at once. And I can confidently say that this chapter will absolutely not be the last.

[tealquacks]

They Share a Kitchen 4: Breakfast in Bed

Originally posted here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24317644/chapters/69731439

It’s been many months, I know, but I hope you all like this chapter! 

Remus knew he should get out of bed. 

Out of bed, down the stairs. 

Down the stairs and into the kitchen.

He owed Janus rabbit, and he wanted to talk to Logan.

Logan…

It had been a few days since they’d gathered ingredients, and they’d talked almost every single day since. They met in the kitchen. Talked at night. Sought one another out. But it would never last. Logan would say something about the light sides and then scurry away, or get all quiet if he thought he heard footsteps. It never felt like it did when they were alone, truly alone. 

He rolled over in bed, curled in on himself. 

Come on. Up, out of bed, down the stairs, into the kitchen, make something with rabbit, then find another reason to talk to Logan. Maybe they could find a good paella recipe. And that would get Logan to come into the kitchen and talk to him. He could talk to Janus, too, and cook as he did so.

Up, out of bed, down the stairs, into the kitchen.

Remus stared at the wall. 

Up, out of bed, down the stairs, into the kitchen. It was 7:30 am. Janus would be in the kitchen soon. And if he wasn’t in the kitchen before he left, he’d get that look from Janus, one of those looks that said ‘are you okay?’ And made him feel all queasy and miserable.

The long and short of his situation was that the bed was nice and soft, and he didn’t see a point in getting out of bed. Even though there was food to be made and conversations to be had. Remus sat up, but didn’t get out from under the covers.

He got like this sometimes. When was the last time? Remus looked down at his hands. Maybe he could paint his nails. In bed. Then he’d get up, out of bed, down the stairs, into the kitchen. What had he been—

—yes, when was that last time he couldn’t— right after Thomas decided to skip the fucking callback. He’d spent most of the wedding laying in bed, marinating in a horrid, heavy feeling that he couldn’t quite identify. It was like trying to pin a still flapping butterfly to a board. Remus flopped back onto bed.

Now it was 9:00 am. Where did that time go? He must’ve fallen back asleep, or zoned out. He sighed. At least he had a reason to feel heavy then. Now he was just being stupid.

“No, you feel heavy because he abandoned you,” a deep voice echoed, “like all the others.”

“Shut the fuck up, Orange,” Remus grumbled, “I’m tryna fucking sleep.”

“No you’re not.”

“Shut the fuck up!”

Orange laid his hand on Remus’ head. It was freezing cold against his skin. He gently ran his fingers through the brown strands. They stayed like that for a few minutes, in a cold, uncomfortable silence.

“Green, you know they’ll never apologize to you,” Orange whispered, “they’ll never accept you. They’ll never stay by you. It’s a fact of life, it’s alright-”

The words drifted away as Remus shut his eyes, mind wandering far, far away. It left the room entirely- bed, stairs, kitchen, Logan- and found itself back at that night on the dock, Logan’s pale skin under bright moonlight. He’d offered him a castle, a cottage. He gave him a pearl. Had he kept that pearl? Or did he throw it away? 

Orange chuckled darkly, hand still in his hair. He pet him slowly, as if consoling a dying animal.

“You poor little creature.”

“I’ll kill you,” Remus growled.

“You can’t even get out of bed.”

“I’ll still kill you.”

It had been several days— four, maybe— since Logan and him dove into the cool black of the ocean. He returned to the dock just yesterday. Slow waves lapped against the shore, illuminating the night in a bright blue bioluminescence. If Logan had asked, he would’ve made him a cottage on the beach. He would’ve turned the black sand to glass. He would’ve destroyed it all. 

“You’ve let yourself change too much. Remember, Green,” Orange mumbled, playing with Remus’ hair, “you are nothing but one part to a whole, a scrap, a husk. You’re empty and hated, hated by Red, by Purple, by Indigo—“

Remus moved without thinking, hands wrapping fast around Orange’s throat, squeezing with whatever might he had. Orange toppled off of the bed, and Remus went with him, slamming his knees into Orange’s chest as his back hit the floor, hands clasped around his throat like a prayer.

“Don’t you fucking dare say anything about him you goddamn piece of shit,” Remus snarled,  "He is nothing like them— nothing like me! And that’s… that’s none of your business! That’s what it is! Do you hear me?”

Orange just grinned, his unreadable face flickering. Remus throttled him back and forth, slamming his head into the dirty floor of his room. Orange’s face never shifted. Still cold, unreadable. Remus dug his nails into his throat. His breath came in shallow puffs.

“Do you fucking hear me?”

Someone knocked on the door quietly. Janus, probably. Remus held fast to Orange’s neck.

“Do you hear me, motherfucker? He doesn’t hate me! HE DOESN’T HATE ME!” Remus screeched. All Orange did, the absolute bastard, was raise an eyebrow at him. 

“Look at that, I got you out of bed. You should thank me, Green.”

Remus punched him in the nose as hard as he could, a loud crack echoing through the room. Orange’s blood dyed his knuckles a shifting cascade of color. 

The door quietly creaked open.

“I heard something fall, and then yelling,” Logan began carefully. "I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Remus looked up from where he knelt on the floor, hands clasping at nothing but air. Cowardly bastard had up and vanished without a trace. Even the blood had vanished from his knuckles. Logan was still looking at him, tray in his hands, angelically haloed in the light of the hallway. Remus coughed, attempting (and probably failing) to not look like he had just tried to brutally murder someone.

“Hi, Logan, what’cha got there?”

“Janus said he didn’t see you at breakfast, so I, um. Grabbed some pancakes Virgil made, and made you a little plate. Are you alright?”

Remus stood, brushing dust off of his dirty pajama pants. He hadn’t washed them in… had he ever washed them? He sat back on the edge of the bed. 

“I’m perfectly peachy, Logan.”

Logan frowned. “It’s 9… 9 something. I didn’t check the time before I came up. But I thought you’d be hungry.”

Remus tilted his head, sloshed the sludge of his brain around trying to find coherent thought. The urge to scream at Logan welled up within him, a thick feeling in his throat as if he was about to puke up a torrent of slugs. He wanted to ask him for so many things- stay with him, hold him, tell him he doesn’t hate him. He gingerly pat his bed. 

Logan stepped inside of his room, closing the door behind him. Remus turned on the lights with a clap of his hands. Logan sat (on the bed,) facing him, and set the tray between them. There was a plate of pancakes— probably banana nut, knowing Virgil— as well as two glasses of water with lemon on the rim, and an orange. Two glasses of water.

“Were you planning on eating with me?” Remus asked quietly. Logan picked up one of the glasses.

“If you wouldn’t be averse to that,” he muttered. Remus snorted.

“You know I love spending time with you.”

Logan sipped his water, the slice of lemon bumping his glasses a little. Remus couldn’t help but stare. He wanted. He wanted. He didn’t know what it was, but whatever it was, he wanted. 

“How have you been?” Remus asked. Logan swallowed a mouthful of cold water. 

“Well. And you?”

Remus picked up the fork and knife on the tray, gingerly cutting into the stack of pancakes. He poked one with a fork, and lifted it to his mouth. Banana nut, just as he’d expected. He hated the taste of banana nut, but Logan didn’t know that. 

“Good, I’ve been doing good. I couldn’t get out of bed this morning, but besides that, I’m all good. I haven’t washed my sheets in close to twenty years and I’m so glad I’m not a human or else they’d smell absolutely horrible and be covered in dead skin.”

Logan looked down at the blanket. Remus chewed slowly.

“That’s okay,” Logan mumbled.

Remus chewed, then swallowed.

“Do you still have that pearl I gave you?” He asked.

Logan sipped his water. Remus’ heart started to pound.

“Do you still have that pearl I gave you?” Remus repeated. Logan lowered the glass from his lips, then nodded.

“Of course I do. It’s beautiful, Remus.”

“Just beautiful? No little scientific quip about pearls?”

Logan opened his mouth, then closed it. He cleared his throat.

“Cleopatra, according to legend, dissolved crushed pearls in vinegar to drink them. The pearls would dissolve in the vinegar, since pearls are 85-90% calcium carbonate, which is also the main component of snail shells, and eggs. Calcium carbonate is also suspected to be found on Mars.”

“Space oysters!” Remus said between bites of pancake, “speaking of Cleopatra, how has Roman been doing? Get it, since Cleopatra fucked Caesar and Caesar was Roman, though I doubt Roman is getting any. Did you know Cleopatra made a vibrator by sticking a bunch of bees in a dildo?”

The corner of Logan’s mouth twitched up.

“That is quite an interesting fact.” “So how is he? Roman, I mean.

Logan raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t know, he’s been hanging out with Virgil a good deal. They were working together. I… don’t know if Roman is feeling any better, though. The two of them, surprisingly enough, seem to bring out the best and worst in one another. Roman makes Virgil brave, in an odd way.”

Remus nodded.

“I regret teaching him to cook.” 

“Who, Virgil?”

“Yes,” Remus said, “cooking’s my thing and I hate him so much and I hate Roman too, they left me, they hate me, and I hate them.”

Logan went silent.

“...Virgil made those pancakes. Do you want to move downstairs? We could make pancakes, and they wouldn’t be his.”

Remus nodded. 

“That sounds great! Are you sure the others won’t be there?”

“The kitchen has been mostly empty since Roman and Virgil’s little… escapade. It would be just the two of us.”

Remus stood, leaving the tray of food on the bed.

“Alright then! Race you to the kitchen!”

He lept off of his bed and burst through the door of his room, almost slamming into the wall before turning and running down the stairs on all fours. He toppled over his arms, and slid down the rest of the stairs on his back. His feet touched the floor, and he sprinted into the kitchen, only to find Logan already standing there.

“How the fuck?”

“I teleported,” Logan said, a small smirk lighting up his features. He still held the glass of water with a lemon slice on it, “we’re not real, remember?”

“You little shit,” Remus said with a smile. Logan raised his glass in a mock toast. Remus walked over to the cupboards, keeping his eyes on Logan the whole time. He wanted.

“The griddle is still out at least,” Remus observed, “Virgil never was one to clean up his own goddamn messes. Now sit down, unless you have an award winning pancake recipe!”

Logan sat, and said “your pancake recipe has won an award?”

Remus snorted.

“No, but Janus once told me it deserved an award.”

He knew the steps. Get the flour. Scoop some into a bowl, then baking powder, eggs, sugar… it felt like too much. He’d made it so many times. Now it felt like too much.

Logan stared at him.

“...do you wish for me to help you make them?”

“Yes, please,” Remus said, absolutely relieved, “get the flour.”

Logan stood from the table, and went over to the cabinet. He reached up, and Remus couldn’t help but stare at his arms as he got the milk and eggs out of the fridge.

“You should wear less clothes,” Remus said, “you have nothing to be ashamed of, really, you’re just as handsome as everyone else here.”

“Nobody else is here except you.”

“Are you saying I’m not handsome?” Remus teased, conjuring a bowl.

“I certainly am not.”

Logan pulled the flour down, as well as the baking powder. 

“Is there anything else we need from the cabinet?” He asked. Remus grabbed the milk, eggs and butter from the fridge.

“Salt and sugar, and the rest is moist ingredients!”

Remus used his fingers to squeeze 3 tablespoons of butter from the stick, watching Logan get all the ingredients lined up on the counter.

“How much of each ingredient do you need?”

“One point five cups flour, like, four teaspoons powder, tablespoon of sugar. You seem much more alive today, is that because the others aren’t around?”

Logan sighed.

“I constantly remind you that I have to keep up appearances in front of the others—“

“And I constantly tell you that you don’t have to listen to them. You can make them listen, too.”

Logan took out the measuring cups, starting to measure the ingredients. Remus melted the butter into the bowl with a snap of his fingers, then cracked the egg into the bowl.

“How would you suggest I go about making them listen?”

Remus giggled quietly.

“Patton’s afraid of death, right? Just threaten him. Say you’ll tear his throat out. Or stomp on his neck until he dies. And then when he comes back up you explain everything to him! Or you just scare him! Make your face all scary and spook him!”

Logan frowned.

“I don’t think that would do much for the situation, especially considering that Patton doesn’t listen to you because you scare him.”

“Have you tried asking Patton and the others to listen to you?” Remus asked, stirring the butter and eggs together. He wasn’t really focused on the recipe, just on Logan. That odd heaviness still lingered, but he tried to push past it.

“No, I don’t think so. If I did, it didn’t work.”

Remus sighed.

“My offer still stands, you know. A cottage, a castle, anything you want.”

Logan looked up at Remus, then back down at the measuring cups.

“I can’t, I’m sorry. With how much Thomas’ emotional state has been spiraling, I can’t leave him or the others unsupervised. Relations between the sides can move from arguing to breakdown inducing levels of tension.”

“When has that ever happened?”

Logan frowned. All of the ingredients sat neay measured in front of him, sat on the counter.

“Besides the memorable incidents concerning the wedding, Janus was the one who encouraged you to become more present in Thomas’ day to day life, was he not?”

Remus shrugged. He walked over to Logan, grabbing all the measuring cups and dumping them into the bowl, one by one, haphazardly mixing them together with a summoned spoon.

“I’ve always been in Thomas’ life, and I always will be. I just decided to become more present in his life, to piss off Patton and Virgil. So I’d wait until he was about to sleep, and scream my ideas into the imagination, which certainly terrified Patton and Virgil.”

Logan raised his eyebrow.

“You did all that because Janus told you too?”

Remus stared at Logan blankly.

“He’s the only person that’s always been there for me.”

An awkward silence fell between them. He mixed the contents of the bowl until all of the chunks of flour and baking powder were mixed in, making a liquid smooth batter. He considered adding blueberries or chocolate, but Logan liked simple things. Water with lemon, saffron crocuses. Remus looked over to Logan. 

“A cottage, would that be nice for you? Or would you want a more modern house with lots of bells and whistles? A smart house like that one Ray Bradbury short story, you know the ones with the lions and the kids and the lions ate the parents? I could make it in the crocus field you helped me make and you’ll have infinite saffron— you’re frowning, is that not nice? It sounds pretty nice to me.”

Logan shook his head.

“I’ve told you many, many times, I can’t.”

“Because of how your little light sides would feel?” Remus snapped, “What about how I would feel?”

“And how do you feel?” Logan asked sharply.

“I want to eat your heart,” Remus blurted. He felt his face burn. Logan blinked, staring right at him. 

“I don’t have a heart, Remus,” Logan whispered.

“What if you had a heart, if you were human? Would you let me eat it then?”

Logan looked away from him, staring down at his hands.

“If you wanted to,” Logan mumbled.

“I do,” Remus exclaimed, “with saffron and sea salt!”

Logan’s face burned bright red. His hands pressed flat against the counter, and he turned to Remus.

“It’s a damn shame I’m not human then,” Logan spoke, “because I would love every second of that.”

Without thinking, Remus dropped the bowl and the spoon, letting batter splatter all over himself and the stove. He turned, pressing himself close to Logan, placing one hand on his chest where his heart would be. It covered his shirt in batter, but Logan didn’t seem to mind.

“Then let’s pretend we are human.”

Logan turned to face him, eyes wide, and face flushed.

“Are you going to kiss me?”

Remus smirked. He leaned in, just enough to smell the coffee on Logan’s nervous breaths.

“Do you want me to?” He asked. Logan swallowed. He looked over Remus’ shoulder, then grabbed his wrist. 

“What about the others?” Logan whispered. Remus’ face fell. He set his hand on Logan’s cheek.

“If this makes you happy, the others won’t care who kisses you,” he promised. Logan smiled softly. 

“Then I want you to, Remus. Kiss me,” Logan said breathily. Remus leaned just a little closer, foot happily tapping against the ground.

Remus leaned in closer, closing the distance between them, and gently pressed his lips against Logan’s. He tasted like coffee, warm and inviting, and something very familiar. Probably spit. But it was good, because it was him, it was Logan, Logan kissing him and moving his hand from his wrist to the small of his back. Wonderful, so wonderful. Remus pulled back, just for a breath he didn’t even need, and pressed his lips to Logan’s cheeks, then his nose, his brow bone.

“Is that necessary?” Logan mumbled. Remus laughed quietly, pressing a small kiss to Logan’s eyelid. They fluttered open. Remus stared into his eyes, and cupped Logan’s cheek in his hand.

“A cabin,” Remus muttered, “a cabin where we can be alone and I can kiss you all the time, and you never have to be scared again.”

Logan sighed, leaning closer to Remus. They bumped their foreheads together, Remus wrapping his arms around Logan possessively. 

“I can’t leave. But we can still kiss,” Logan whispered.

“I’m so glad I got out of bed.”

“What the fuck is going on?!?”

Remus turned his head quicker than he ever thought he had before. There, standing in the middle of the kitchen, Virgil glared at them.

“Oh, hi Virgil, don’t you look cheerful as ever,” Remus crowed. He looked back, Logan’s face as pale as a pearl. 

“Get the fuck away from him,” Virgil ordered. Remus tilted his head.

“And why would I do that?”

“Because if you don’t, then I’ll fucking kill you.”

Remsus’ brows shot up. 

“Over what, you perpetually pissed purple pussy? Just because Logan wanted me to--” “I doubt he wanted anything from you,” Virgil growled, “what could he possibly fucking want? Get away from him. Now.”

“Why don’t you just ask--” “Get. Away.”

Remus glanced back at Logan. Any trace of emotion had vanished, replaced with that cold, stony stoicism. Remus wanted to grab him. Grab him and scream at him to say something, scream until something got through to him, scream until Logan realized that even if he did piss the light sides off, he wouldn’t be alone, they’d always have the ocean and the kitchen and one another--

“You are a really, really shitty person, Virgil. And the worst part is that I don’t even think you see it. I mean, what gives you the goddamn right to come wandering in here and tell me what to do, and assume what Logan wants?”

Virgil took a step forward. “I know that he wants nothing to do with a shitbag skunk-cunt like you.”

“Oh, what an original insult!” Remus exclaimed. He laughed, then the smile suddenly dropped from his face. ”Actually, it isn’t. That was the same thing I called you when you left me, left me behind to rot, you and fucking Roman, and you know, I know what you want with him. You want everything about him, you want to leech off the love he gets from the others since none of them fucking love you, and you know that deep down, don’t you? That nobody likes you!”

Remus reached behind him. He grabbed Logan’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. Logan’s hand was limp in his grasp. Virgil glared at him. “Wow, I’d sure be hurt if you weren’t such a fucking hippocrite. At least I’m wanted. I may have my moments, sure, I can be paranoid and snappy, but that’s not my constant state of being. You’re just a rabid dog. Sure, Janus may tolerate you, but once he really figures out how useless you are, he’ll leave. I’m sure that’s why he suddenly decided to play nice with the light sides, he realized that you couldn’t do anything for him anymore-- you certainly can’t scare me or Patton-- and you’re useless to him, time to throw you away like the shitsack you are. You’re useless to everyone, you know? If you just locked yourself in your room for the rest of Thomas’ life, nothing would change. You’re Roman’s lesser half, his fucking shadow-- are you crying?”

Remus touched his face. It was wet. His feet felt like they were glued to the floor. 

“What,” Virgil mocked, a shaky smile on his face, “Can’t handle the heat? Then get the FUCK out of the kitchen!”

Remus raised his arm to throw a punch. Logan’s grip tightened on his hand.

“That is enough, both of you,” Logan said calmly. He stepped in front of Remus, letting go of his hand.

“Virgil, thank you for being vigilant, but I assure you it’s fine.” Virgil stared at Logan’s chest. His usually neat dress shirt had a messy stain in the shape of a hand, right over his heart. “Did he hurt you?” Virgil asked.

“He didn’t hurt me, I’m okay. We were having a simple conversation, nothing more.”

Remus stared at him sadly. He wiped his face with the back of his hand. They weren’t just talking, they had something. They kissed, for gods sake, they kissed--

Remus grabbed Logan’s shoulders and spun him around. He slammed Logan against the table, and kissed him deep and hard, desperate. Logan’s hand pushed against his chest. Remus could feel Virgil’s hands grab his shirt and yank, the collar choking him, but he didn’t need air or water or food, he didn’t need anything but Logan, his Logan--

Logan shoved him away with both hands, staring at him sadly. As if he was nothing but a hurt animal. 

“I--” 

“Virgil, let go,” Logan said. Virgil let go of his shirt with a quiet grumble.

Remus stared at Logan. He backed away, until he could feel the stove against his back, the heat of the griddle.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Virgil shouted. Remus stared at the floor. If Virgil said anything else, it was lost in the dark tidal wave of emotion that hit Remus. He didn’t even know what it was. He was drowning, and the water was devoid of any life. Dark, too dark, too cold. He shook. A sudden heat jolted up his arm-- when had he set his hand on the griddle? He could smell his skin cooking. Bubbling. He watched Logan. He said he wanted to kiss him, he said he wanted him to, and they kissed and it was so wonderful. Virgil left. Logan walked out behind him. His palm burned on the griddle.

“What’s cooking?” 

Remus looked up. Orange sat in front of him at the kitchen table, straddling a chair. Remus stared at him, trying to see past whatever Orange did to make himself imperceptible, but his form kept on shifting in dizzying spirals of color, like oil on water. Remus slowly raised his hand from the griddle. If he was human, the skin would be white and blistered, maybe even peeling in a few places. But just like Logan, he wasn’t human. His hand was fine.

“A heart,” Remus mumbled, “and I’m eating it with saffron and sea salt.”

Orange tilted his head.

“There’s no need to repeat yourself, Remus. I heard everything. And I’m here to say that I told you Indigo would leave.”

Remus moved without thinking. He rushed at Orange. Instead, he collided with a chair, sending it clattering to the ground.

“I’ll fucking kill you!” Remus screamed. 

“No you won’t, because you know I’m right. I’ve always been right.” This time, Orange sat atop the counter. Remus summoned his morningstar with a flick of his wrist.

“No you’re not, you’re not right,” Remus growled. He swung at Orange. Orange vanished into thin air before it could even come close to hitting, the heavy iron ball instead slamming into the counter. It cracked the counter, and sent flour flying.

“I’ve always been right, Remus!” Orange said from in front of the fridge. He leaned against it oh so casually, “I’ve been right that you’re only playing house because you think they’ll all leave. Well, look at you now. Making pancakes, right? How sweet.” Remus swung again. The morning star collided with the fridge. It dented the door, and made a horrible screech of metal on metal. He pulled back, ready to strike again.

“You believe that Indigo deserves to be listened to no matter what, correct?” Orange asked. He laid on the table. Remus swung. The morning star collided with wood, splintering the wood.

“I take that as a yes,” Orange said. He was back on the table. Remus swung again. It hit the table in the same place as last time.

“Fucking stay still!” Remus screamed.

“You think he should be listened to no matter what he says or does. No matter who he truly is. And yet, you hold yourself back.” For the third time, the morningstar slammed into the table. This time, it broke through, splitting the table in two. Splintered wood flew in every direction.

“You cook because that makes you palatable,” Orange repeated. He sat on the stove. Swing. The griddle broke under the force of the morning star.

“But you aren’t.”

Swing. Miss. Break.

“You are a monster, that’s how you were made, that is who you are.”

Swing. Miss. Break. 

“You’re really good at swinging that thing around. Did you know that Lucifer was called the Morning Star? And he got punted out of heaven for defying God. His brother was an angel, I believe.”

Remus stilled, panting. Orange stood on the countertop, back pressed against the cabinets, 

“You’re nothing like them. You are the parts of humans that they hate, the beast in the brain, a reminder that humans evolved from animals. They hate you, Remus. They all do. Because they don’t understand you.”

Remus’ hands tightened around the morning star. Orange tilted his head.

“If Indigo loved you, wouldn’t he have said it by now?”

He hefted up the morningstar, and swung recklessly at Orange. The wood of the cabinet splintered and cracked. Glass shattered with a massive crash, like a wave hitting the shore, and millions of glinting shards flew at him, some sticking in his skin and others harmlessly bouncing on the tiles. 

“You are so much more than what they think you are,” Orange said, breath tickling the back of Remus’ neck, “so why try to make them like you? Do you really care that much about them? They’ve done nothing but abandon you, Remus. Over and over again. Nothing has or will change that.”

Remus whipped around, morningstar in hand, but Orange was gone. Remus dropped the morningstar. It clattered to the ground with a thud. He opened his mouth to scream, but no words came out. Nothing came out. He shakily walked to the destroyed table, and sat down on a chair. He looked around. Broken glass littered the floor. The stove had a massive dent in it, and the griddle had been snapped in two. The fridge had a dent, the counters had a dent and harsh scratches from his mace’s spikes, and the realization that he did that just because Orange made him angry made bile rush up his throat.

He didn’t scream or cry or vomit. Just stared at the mess he’d made.

Really, he’d made a mess. Maybe Logan didn’t want to kiss him. Maybe it was an experiment to him, like that stupid fucking schedule that had started this all, made Logan come to the kitchen, see him cooking…

Remus closed his eyes.

When he opened them, he sat on the edge of his dock, watching the glowing waves crash against the shore without end. The place he’d shared with Logan, offered him everything he wanted. Their skin was pale under the moonlight. Remus pulled his knees up to his chest.

He still owed Janus rabbit. He’d make it, then that would be the end, and he’d never set foot in that fucking kitchen again.

He watched the waves.

Tag list: @alexalexisalexej @breezy-skribblz @the-real-comically-insane @gravestone-monarch @heartwitchhouse @appleflavoredkitkats

[bunny-hoodlum]

I'm not dead!

But I did totally blank out (afain) on this side of the interwebs and I am very, very sorry about that. 🥺 Tbh, I was going to ease back into the Tumblrsphere, cuz I had turned on notificiations for like all of a minute a couple months ago... And then I couldn't watch WandaVision in private listening mode without the audio cutting out from the notifications. XD I feel like I'm somehow showing my age because surely that shouldn't be such a hindrance... Well anyways, I turned off notifications right away and forgot about everything since then. Q n Q

My current brain space in order has been: Kipo: Age of the Wonderbeasts, Dr. Stone, Jujutsu Kaisen, Heaven's Design Team, I've dyed my hair 3 times again, I'm wondering when I can get my ears pierced budget-wise (I'm literally hitting my 13yo milestone at 30, I'm such a late-life bloomer)... I've been eating almost nothing but salad for the past week or two, Idk, the days blur together and time means nothing to me anymore... Going back to shows!!! My recent headspace is: My Hero Academia -- YES I'M FINALLY BINGING IT -- Tokyo Revengers, ODD TAXI (I loooove this unique anime, it's like a gritty Parappa Rappa), Shadows House ... I still have to watch To Your Eternity but I'm going to be all over that!! And I recently decided to watch Sleepy Princess in the Demon Castle. I absolutely love it. What I wasn't loving was the Funimation captions being too early since jokes are ALL ABOUT THE TIMING! So I'm still on ep 4.

Will I ever really talk about any of these? Or draw fan art ever again? I have no idea. The urge never crosses. The images never visit my mind anymore.

I'm just dropping this here because it's been awhile and I am alive but I've just got the worst attention span and I will check my messages again just like I always do before I disappear again -- I'm not actively working on anything that I would share on tumblr so that is why I forget to come on here -- what was I getting to? Right, anyways...

I haven't forgotten about the stories I need to update and repost (like "Powerless") but my procrastination keeps kicking in because the amount of time it feels like I'll have to put in towards that stuff is overwhelming, and when it all turns into a multi-project sludge in my brain, I just go hide in video games and shiznots. 😔 Ugh.

Even the thought of updating on FFN is intimidating me. I'm pretty sure all my old files are gone by now because I haven't refreshed them. So to re-upload "Powerless" is literally going to be like from scratch. Not writing it, I mean the editing. The italicization and the bolding and the scene separation!!!

I wish I hadn't deleted it the first time after all. Q_Q It could've just sat there accruing hype or yearning or whatever. Ugh.

Okay, so why is my attention span so bad honestly? Well, I have the chance to not work slave wage and instead actually focus on my 'art'. Ofc my fine motor skills are rusty and my digital drawing program skills are severely lacking. When everyone else has kept at it, I fell behind. That's what it is and what it feels like. I'm just at a hobbyist level, like, it's really, really bad. And I'm struggling not to look back on my life and question why I didn't do more to make sure I went to art school. Like actually work buttloads to go to VCUArts. Idk, my mom 10 yrs ago was like 'you need a car', as if I can't exist anywhere outside her reach without one. But I would've tried to live in the dorms and just bike. UGH. WHY DIDN'T I JUST DO THINGS AND SAID FUCK ALL TO OTHER PPLS WORRYING??!

Sorry. Ahem.

On the other hand... There's Skillshare and Schoolism and things, and even some Youtuber art pros have discord critique days or whatever, and all that is supposed to be a better investment than 200k debt, but I still keep feeling like I avoided really important experiences and that I'm still disadvantaged. I'm prolly am being pessimistic but it feels so objectively true. Ugh. I just don't see the self-taught vs formal education gap ever closing in a satisfactory way.

I forget what my point is. I wish I could update my fics, I really wish I could schedule some time in, but I haven't been able to properly think about any of it for the past three weeks I think. Another thing that's currently occupying my headspace is an artist that goes by HeartMush. I don't want to @ them because I don't want them to see my whining, but I'm sooooo enamored with their skills and envious of their formal education. And other things. Which you could find on their website contained within their downloadable CV. T_T This person feels like a prodigy to me. Lesigh.

Anyways, if I ever come back again, hopefully it'll be some art that I'm proud of. Maybe whenever I get there, I'll have clearer feeling how much farther my goal really is, and that should be enough for me.

[essekknits]

Could you write something about Benlives AU, Juno asking for Bens help and Ben meeting the crime crew?

Aaaaaa I love this yes thank you!!!

It’s been months since Benzaiten saw his twin. Juno didn’t tell him where he’s going, just that he’s leaving this miserable city behind. And he was happy for him! He really was. Juno’s been depressed for a long time, killing himself for the city they grew up in, the city that sure didn’t take it easy on the two of them, and most of all on Juno.

So even after almost losing him twice in the span of a single year, Benzaiten let go. They weren’t codependent by any means, never. They were very close, and were each other’s support for many, many years and through many, many nightmare scenarios, but they each had their own life. That didn’t mean, of course, that he didn’t really miss his brother.

He was in his studio, idly dancing a routine he wanted to teach his students in the advanced class of his Oldtown program. His idea, teaching a few classes for free in Oldtown to get kids away from their shitty situation, was working pretty well.

“That’s a nice one, Benten.” A quiet voice came from the door, making Ben lose his balance as he turned to look at the source. Just as he thought, Juno was standing at the door, and... he wasn’t looking good. He was covered with what Ben has long learned to identify as sewer sludge, and his singed coat was seeping blood from an array of cuts. That were still bleeding.

“Juno, what the hell happened to you?” He rushed to his brother’s side, eyeing him with a too familiar gaze, like he always did when they were still kids, and Juno would always get in fights with people bigger and meaner than him.

“Got into a fight. Long story. Do you still keep first aid supplies stocked in the studio?” Juno leaned on the wall, eyes exhausted but ultimately relieved.

“Of course. Stay here, I’ll get it and patch you up.” Ben started leaving, but Juno grabbed his arm. He didn’t mind the sludge, but he did mind his twin’s weakened grip. He was clearly exhausted.

“No time. There’s... I need to get back to the group. People got hurt. Our medic’s unconscious and we’re out of supplies on hand.” Juno swallowed, still heavily leaning on the wall. Benzaiten looked at him briefly, questions whirling through his brain, before nodding. “Alright. I’m coming with you.”

“You can’t, Ben, we-“ Benten didn’t even let him finish.

“If you’re the here, and you’re alone, it means you’re probably the least hurt one in the group, or one of the least hurt, at least. You’re not in any state to patch others up right now, not without being treated first. I’m healthy, I know how to do this pretty well, and I’m going, Super Steel. No questions.” He took his large first aid kit on one shoulder, and stood in front of his brother, who started leading the way.

~~~

“I’ve been concussed many times before, but I don’t believe this is the meaning of seeing doubles.” Jet said as he saw two figures approach, looking relatively similar. Juno Steel was leaning on a leaner, less scarred man who looked a lot like him.

“Yeah, you’re welcome, big guy.” Juno grunted, stepping away from the other man and approaching them. The stranger rolled his eyes, and Jet could understand his feelings perfectly. He appeared very familiar with Juno’s antics.

“Sorry about him. I’m Benzaiten. Call me Ben.” He reached his hand for a handshake. Jet liked him. He shook his hand as best he could while he was holding Vespa’s head in his lap. She was unconscious, her legs as broken, and she was bleeding from multiple blaster and knife wounds, but not too much. She will be fine.

“I am Jet. You seem quite familiar with Juno’s behaviour.” He observed neutrally as Ben dug through the bag. The younger man laughed heartily.

“You can say that. We’re twins. If anyone knows Juno’s bullshit, it’s me. I’ve been dealing with him for forty years.” He took out a bone knitting injection.

“Ha, ha. Don’t get me started on the stuff I had to deal with from you.” Juno mumbled, wiping his mouth from the blood he was spitting out. Ben frowned with concern, before administering the injection into Vespa’s thigh through her jeans. He looked like he knows what he’s doing. Juno kneeled next to them now, swaying side to side. He didn’t look very well, and if he was being honest, neither was Jet.

“I tend to believe him, Juno. You do get into quite a lot of trouble.” Jet kept his voice neutral, knowing it might rile Juno up, but feeling the need to be completely fair. Also, he did enjoy the harmless teasing.

“Let’s just get everyone bandaged and go.” Juno just sounded tired as he pulled disinfectant from the bag and went to Jet’s other side as Ben worked on Vespa’s wounds with a frown on his face. Once Vespa was bandaged, Ben looked at Juno severely.

“Okay, now show it.” He crosses his arms.

“Show what?” Juno asked, finishing the bandaging on Jet’s arm.

“Whatever injury you hid from everyone like the heroic idiot you are. I thought we’ve been over this, you have to look after yourself.” Benzaiten said, rushing to his brother’s side just as his knees started to buckle from under him.

“For the record, it wouldn’t have mattered. I’m still in better shape than those two combined.” He grumbled, letting Ben see the blaster graze to the side of his stomach.

“Yeah, right, Super Steel. Now sit down and let me check this. You’re going to need stitching.” He said, beginning to work through the process of cleaning the wounds.

As soon as everyone was stitched, Jet wanted to go back to the rendezvous point they agreed on before the mission. But he knew that he wouldn’t be able to both carry Vespa and support Juno.

“I’ll help you get them there.” Benzaiten said quietly. “Whatever you all are doing, I bet it’s illegal. I also bet it’s dangerous. I get that it’s dangerous to trust other people, but... there’s no way I’m rating you out. Not when I know how much Juno cares about you, and not in general.” He promised, looking up at Jet’s eyes. He considered for a moment, weighing the pros and cons of it all, then nodded.

“Very well. We must proceed carefully then.” He started leading the way for the ship, using the map on his comms. He called Rita, informing her of their situation. She updated him on the situation of everyone on the ship as well. They were all relatively unharmed. He was relieved. The trip down the sewers was relatively quiet, besides Benzaiten’s humming.

~~~

“Mistah Ben! Whatcha doin here?” Ben was surprised to see Rita near the ship. He smiled, waving at her.

“Hi Rita, long time no see. Gotta say I’m not too surprised you’re here. Juno wouldn’t have survived a day without you, probably.” He laughed, getting elbowed in the ribs by his brother who was leaning on him.

“Jet, darling, do you mind getting Vespa to the infirmary? Thank you dear. Now, welcome. I’m Buddy, and I’m the captain of this ship.” A tall redhead woman walked forward, hair covering a half of her face. She reached out a hand for a handshake.

“Benzaiten Steel. Nice to meet you. Can’t say Juno told me anything about you, but...” Ben smiled, trying to be polite and friendly.

“He better not. But now that you’re here... how about we get your brother into the infirmary and then we talk?” She asked, a weary smile on her face as she took some of Juno’s weight off his shoulder.

“You’re both overreacting, I’m fine.” Juno groaned, doing his best to support his own weight. Buddy rolled her eyes.

“Hush darling, you’re going to the infirmary until you can actually stand on both legs. If Vespa was awake she would’ve already knocked you up herself, and I will not hesitate to do the same.” She said with a fond smile, and Ben laughed. He should’ve tensed. He should feel his skin crawling with the insinuation of this woman hurting his brother. He should want to grab Juno and hide somewhere small and dark like they did so many times as kids and like he still never fully forgot.

But he didn’t. Because she wasn’t threatening him. No, she was being kind and considerate. Careful not to act intimidating or move sharply. Juno didn’t even flinch, and he was much more sensitive to the implicit threats in interactions. The realisation dawned on him that she’s acting like a mother might’ve acted. Like their ma never did.

Once Juno was safely deposited in the infirmary (manned by one Peter Ransom, who Benten noticed looked extremely concerned about Juno), Buddy lead him out to what seemed to be the common room of the ship.

“Thank you for your help, Benzaiten. I appreciate what you did for my family.” She said, pouring two glasses of a drink which was unfamiliar to Ben, but smelled distinctly alcoholic. She pushed one glass toward him.

“Sorry, I don’t drink.” He apologised, pushing it right back. He quit when he was fourteen, and tried his best not to return to old habits. He almost did at nineteen, after his near death experience, but he held strong. “But... really, it’s no problem. You looked really concerned about that woman... Vespa, right? I think Jet mentioned her name. She’s going to be okay. I’ve seen weaker people come back from worse.” He tried to offer encouragement. Buddy shook her head with a smile.

“I know that, darling. My Vespa’s been through much worse and bounced back, and both Jet and Juno are very capable, but there’s always a few when you know your family is in danger and you aren’t there to help.” Her voice was deep and soft, lulling Ben into a sense of security. A realisation hit him, shocking in its strength.

“You consider Juno part of your family too.” He looked at her, stunned, and she let out a low chuckle.

“Well of course. All the people on this ship are my family. We live together, we work together, we protect each other and care for each other. In my opinion, that is the essence of what family is.” She leaned forward, confident and comfortable, like a queen on her throne.

“This... I bet he doesn’t say that, but this has to mean a lot for Juno. We never had much family growing up except for each other, so this... this is huge. Thank you. For being his family.” He looked away, a soft smile still on his face. It looked sad.

“It’s not a problem at all, darling. You’re also welcome to see yourself as part of this family. I assume you wouldn’t stay, but my family’s family is my own.” She offered him a hand again, and he hesitated before shaking it firmly. “Welcome to the family.”

[starlightinhumanform]

The Art of Love: Chapter 10

Fandom: She Ra (2018)

Ship: Glimadora 

Summary: It’s chemistry again and Adora is missing, leaving Glimmer to wonder where she is. Glimmer has to face Weaver, Cat, and her feelings by herself. 

Warnings (for this chapter): Some descriptions of mild emotional distress/anxiety, Mild language (please tell me if anything needs to be added)

Genre: High School AU, Angst with a Happy Ending, Rivals/Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Fluff

A/N: As always, all notes mean so much to me (especially reblogs). I always love getting feedback and questions so feel free to drop a comment, send an ask, or add something in the tags! Hope you enjoy my dears~  Love you all 🖤✨

Ao3    The Art of Love Masterpost    Fic Masterpost    Fic Request Info

Glimmer’s feet shuffled on the laminate tiles as she dragged herself to fourth period. She could tell by the quickly thinning crowd that the passing period was almost over. She couldn’t bring herself to move faster- or to actually care. She had fallen asleep in her last period and had been forced to scribble down the half an hour of notes she had missed in the last three minutes of class- and then a minute or two of passing after that.

Her mind was a fog and the only lamp that occasionally shone through the dense clouds was a grumble of frustration. Glimmer couldn’t decide if she should blame her sleep deprivation on Ms Weaver or if it was better to somehow twist the situation onto Adora. Her brain suggested the third option of it being her damn fault for being so distracted the whole night and spending so much time on being a drama queen instead of actually doing work.

Glimmer let out a huff as the bell screeched. She glared at the door down the hall, behind which Weaver was almost surely cackling out some Disney villain laugh as she marked Glimmer late.

A large part of her was highly tempted to turn around and spend the entire period lurking in a corner of the art studio. She had dropped off the model that morning (By some miracle, Weaver hadn’t been there) so Adora could still present it and get points for them.

She stopped walking and tapped her fingers against her thigh. It was only a ten foot walk to the class but, god, at what cost?

She was jarred into movement by a security guard speeding past her on a bicycle. He was shouting at the empty hallway- something about, “COME ON PEOPLE, KEEP MOVING,”- as if he were policing Times Square and not just Glimmer as she slouched her way past the empty row of monotonous doors.

Glimmer huffed and sludged forward, pausing to glare at the disappearing guard before wrenching the door open.

“Glimmer you’re-“

“Late, I know,” she grumbled the inevitable end of Weaver’s sentence.

Glimmer could feel Weaver’s raised eyebrow without even looking up.

“Keep doing this and you’ll get-“

“Detention. I know.”

The other students were watching the exchange like they were waiting for a bomb to go off- tick tock tick tock. Glimmer was sure that if it were just her and Weaver, the woman may have actually lost it and begun screaming at her.

She settled into her seat, resolved not to let Weaver bother her today. She was too tired to give a shit.

Weaver paused before conceding to simply shake her head and move towards the middle of the room.

Glimmer hazarded a glance upward only to see Weaver surveying the room with a wicked grin, hands pressed together like a praying mans’; as if she was showing off the wicked red claws of her nails. It made Glimmer sick.

“So class, I have a surprise for you,” Smug, purred, smooth with jagged edges; Weaver reminded Glimmer of obsidian as the woman soaked in the sounds of hopelessness coming from her students, “I’ll be checking your projects today to see what you have done!”

The class groaned in unison and the girl in front of Glimmer began whisper yelling at her partner across the room- as if that could do them any good now. Glimmer would have rolled her eyes if they didn’t feel so heavy.

“I know, it isn’t wonderful?!” Weaver’s shark-toothed grin widened as she acknowledged her doomed class.

Glimmer felt bad for the kids in the room who didn’t have a hyperactive, annoyingly insistent partner who had in on Weaver’s evil plans- so basically everyone else.

Now that Glimmer was thinking about it, she hadn’t seen said ball of energy when she had walked in. She turned and was surprised to see Adora’s seat glaringly empty. Glimmer fought back against the wave of disappointment that hit her. It’s not like this was a completely bad thing- it meant that Glimmer would actually be able to concentrate. And Weaver would be more likely to give Glimmer credit for her work instead of immediately assuming Adora had done all of it. So yeah, it was all good. Except... She said she’d see me at school...

Glimmer internally sighed at her own pathetic foolishness; she was getting way too soft.

She allowed herself another glance back, as if Adora would’ve suddenly appeared there in the three second break between her stares.

Another wave hit her, this time a cascade of apprehension. Adora was not the type to skip class and Glimmer’s mind was quick to fill the fog in her head with worries. What if something happened to her? What if she passed out? What if she passed out because I kept her up all night? What if she got hit by a car? What if I hit her my car?? Wait no... I don’t have a car. But what if she’s trying to avoid me?

Glimmer’s mind slapped its hand down on a proverbial bell- Yep! She’s try to avoid you!

Glimmer could feel the sensation of sickness growing in her stomach and rising to her chest. She wanted to bury her had in her hand as a stupid emotional groan began clawing its way up her vocal cords.

“Hey, Glimmer,”  A snarky voice purred above her.

Glimmer growled as she looked up into Cat’s smirk, “What do you want?”

Cat gave an over the top pout, complete with big eyes and crinkled forehead, “Why, I just wanted to make sure you were ok.”

“I’m fine; leave me the hell alone,” Glimmer spat.

“All right, all right. You just looked a little,” Cat waggled her fingers, which only added to the insult of her airy, pretentious voice, “dazed-out there.”

Glimmer was suddenly aware of the movement around her- nearly everyone was already sat down with their partners or were at least taking a seat as she looked around.

“Also, I kinda need that seat,” Cat wrinkled her nose at Glimmer and pointed at the chair she was in.

Glimmer turned her head and to the side to see Cat’s partner Scylar beaming at her. Scy was a tall-ass wrestler with a loud punk style; if Glimmer’s brain was dazed enough to somehow skip over Scy throwing herself in the seat next to her (the girl never did anything without enthusiasm), then Glimmer had to be really out of it.

She stumbled out of her chair to move out of the way, “Oh right... I’ll just- move to the back then, I guess.”

Cat waggled her fingers in a wave as she slipped gracefully into Glimmer’s chair, “See ya later.”

Glimmer blinked at the girl for a second before realizing she had froze again. She took a step back, just trying to remember how to move. See ya later... see ya. See ya.

The words bounced around in her head like the little metal ball in a pinball machine- dink, dink, dink. Every time they hit the walls of her skull, I knew conspiracy dawned upon her. What if she knows that Adora was with me last night? Dink. What if she’s trying to get revenge? Dink. What if she told Adora not to come to class? Dink. What if Cat knows I, well that I, you know, abut, you know, Adora. The thought made a little ding! sound this time before ricocheting back even stronger. 

“Uh, Glimmer?” The arch in Weaver’s eyebrow was sharp enough to cut a steak with.

She blinked again, bringing her eyes into focus. She had made her way to the back of the classroom but had failed to actually take a seat. Looking around, the seemingly the entire room had eyes on her. Her face burned and she lowered herself into the nearest seat. Adora’s seat.

Adora should have been there; Glimmer needed Adora to be there. Glimmer felt pathetic in every sense of the word. Only a few days ago, she had wanted to keep as much distance between her and Adora as possible. And now she was useless without her. It was strange and it was wrong and it shouldn’t have been happening but there she was, simmering within herself as the class moved forward without her. She needed the assurance that letting Adora in was the right thing to do, that she hadn’t scared Adora off. She needed the simple hope that Adora didn’t hate her. Why shouldn’t she? You hated her for months; you called her a lair and a fake. Why shouldn’t she hate you?

Glimmer resisted the urge to grumble at herself to shut up. Sometimes her brain really did deserve to be yelled at, though.

The class was moving again, sifting through the maze of chairs to grab their projects. Glimmer followed suit as best as she could to meld into the crowd this time after the embarrassing space-out that had happened only a couple minutes before.

Ok but consider this. Glimmer rolled her eyes internally as her mind began rambling again. What if she does hate you- so what? You thought that she hated you for a long-ass time; why does it matter so much if she actually does now? It honestly might be a good thing. It’ll help you get over that stupid crush.

She kept moving forward, trying to ignore the words floating around in her head but it was so much easier just to argue back. Was she just adding to the noise? Yes. Was it satisfying to tell the devil in her ear that it was an idiot? Oh definitely. Consider this- you’re the one that’s so obsessed with Adora and maybe if you stopped worrying about her for a second, I could find something else for you to yell at me about for no good reason.  

It struck Glimmer just how much Adora had taken over her life; she had spent the whole day thinking and worrying about the girl. She was just a crush after all; it was ridiculous. Ok so Glimmer thought she was gorgeous and funny and smart and definitely the weirdest person she had ever met but in the best way possible? It was crazy to get this obsessed. Glimmer took a deep breath as she lifted her model off the counter, resolved to relax and go about this whole situation like a “normal” person. One problem. She had never crushed this hard on someone before. She had no idea how to act.

She settled back into her seat- Yes, it was her seat; Adora wasn’t here right now and that meant her seat rights were revoked. Glimmer snorted at her sleep-deprived mind as it continued to crack into smaller and increasingly hysterical pieces.

Glancing around, it was clear that the rest of the room was occupied. Weaver was stalking from partner to partner, leering over each of her victims with the sadistic joy that only a high school science teacher could possibly possess. The groups that weren’t being judged were either trying to throw together styrofoam balls or were praying. Glimmer was pretty sure that neither of those would help at that point.

Glimmer decided to take advantage of the surrounding chaos and grabbed her phone from the pocket of her backpack. She opened her conversation to Bow, ready to dump all her problems in her messages and hope she wasn’t blowing up his phone in middle of a test. Oh well, that’s a problem she could deal with later-

Hey hey hey. Ok so I’ve a problem

Well more like a question. But it’s questions about a problem

...hi? What’s going on lmao

You haven’t texted me since you sent me that weirdass text at like two in the morning

What were you even doing up then??

Oh good you are here ;)

What do you mean?? You were up too loser??

Oh my god just tell me what your ~problem~ is

Ok um sooooo

Yes?

SOOOOO

YES

WHAT

Glimmer moved a hand over her mouth to muffle the giggles that were escaping. Bow’s dramatics always made her laugh and she happened to be uncharacteristically bashful about this certain topic.

So I kinda have a big fat crush

The giggles disappeared very suddenly and Glimmer dug her teeth into her bottom lip as she watched the little blinking dots march in their message bubble, waiting for Bow’s response. Fortunately, he didn’t take long to reply. Unfortunately, Glimmer didn’t quite like his answer.

Is it Adora?

Dfydfgdgthkl how??

Look no one hates someone for no reason as much as you hated adora UNLESS you actually love them

Ok so Bow had a point and maybe he was right and she should have realized it earlier, but “love” was taking it several steps too far.

Also that text you sent last night was so lovestruck I could practically see the hearts in your eyes

I literally just said it turned out ok that you gave her my number?? Because YOU were freaking out??

Yes but you said it with love <3 <3 <3

I hate you

And it’s NOT love. I just like her

Sure...

Glimmer very nearly put her phone away with a huff before remembering that she accidentally had a reason for texting Bow to begin with.

Shut up, anyways do you know where Adora is?

Ooo you missing your girlfriend?

Glimmer’s face would burned red even if Bow hadn’t taken the low dig and called Adora her girlfriend. Because that was the dream, right? Because that’s exactly what she wanted but what she could never have. Because Bow didn’t know the ache in her chest, the pain he was causing. Because he was her best friend so he should know what was going on and how much everything had changed. Because she just wanted to tell him everything and ask him what the hell she should do, but there was something keeping her from telling him and maybe if she could just ask for help, she would know how to solve all her problems. And because yes, she missed Adora and the feeling was so much stronger than it should’ve been.

She glanced around herself, positive that someone had seen her face glowing as bright as a stop light. Everyone was preoccupied with their various crises, leaving Glimmer to her own in peace. Unfortunately Weaver was only two rows away and was drawing closer and closer to where Glimmer sat slumped. She would have to finish up her conversation quickly then.

I’m just wondering why she isn’t in class ok? Nothing more

If you don’t know then I’ll find someone else to ask

Jeez ok

Glim I’m sorry for teasing you

But no I don’t know where she is. Sorry :/ 

Yeah ok. Ttyl my dude 

Glimmer let a puff of air escape slowly from her nose as she zipped her phone into its pocket. Her head felt like a bag of bricks tied to the end of her neck, her eyes just as heavy. She was slumped severely in the chair, so low that her shoulder blades were pressing into the middle of the seat and if she scooted forward a couple more inches, she’d probably slip off entirely; the idea of how much her mother would disapprove of her posture almost drew a laugh from Glimmer.

She debated whether or not it was worth it was worth it to fall asleep. Weaver would be standing over her, glaring with disgust in only two minutes or so, and she would therefore be risking whatever humiliation that would come with Weaver’s disgust. But, mmmm, two minutes of sleep? That might be worth it.

Glimmer was just shifting to plant her head on the desk when the classroom door exploded open. In the doorway stood a slightly sweaty Adora beaming, as always, as if she herself were the sun.

All eyes flickered over to her simultaneously, staring with confused and maybe amused expressions. Adora just grinned wider, apparently in response, “Hey everyone!”

Weaver stood up straight, freezing to look Adora up and down. She seemed confused as to what to do next. The girl continued to stand in the doorway for a moment, seemingly completely comfortable in the situation. The edges of her ponytail were frayed with baby hairs sticking up at odd angles that framed her reddened face. Her breathing was heavier than usual and the blades of glass plastered up her legs combined to give the impression that she had come directly from running.

Adora strode forward, “Sorry I was late! Soccer event with all the captains!”

So Cat did know where she was.

“Oh, I guess that’s ok then,” Weaver unfroze but still seemed somewhat unsure as she turned back to what she had been doing before Adora had burst in.

Adora made her way to the back, stopping only to give Cat a small wave, and sat down next to Glimmer. Her eyes were sparkling and the only signs of any sort of sleep deprivation were the dark circles that contrasted sharply with her pale skin tone. Her energy level was no reflection the amount of sleep Glimmer knew she hadn’t gotten

“Hi!”

“...hi?” Glimmer really wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say. That was usual. What was unusual was that Adora seemed to be expecting her to say something.

Adora was sitting next to her and just a minute ago, Glimmer would have sworn that’s exactly what she wanted but now she had doubts. Adora was just so loud. Her energy made white noise roar in Glimmer’s head and her voice thundered in the empty space between Glimmer’s thoughts. And her smile, god her smile, it was the brightest thing Glimmer had seen all day and it made her eye smart; it felt like a hand had gripped the bottom of her heart and was pulling it down, stretching out of shape and digging crescent nail marks into the flesh. That smile was all that she wanted and all that couldn’t live up to.

Adora cocked her head to the side and let the smile drop slightly, looking more like a puppy than ever, “Is something wrong?”

Glimmer shook her head and took the easy option, “Nah I’m just tired.”

“Oh ok,” Adora seemed to debate on something for a second before regaining her grin, “Me too honestly.”

It managed to draw a snort from Glimmer, “Really? I could not tell by the way you came bouncing in here.”

“I had like, way too much sugar. Anyways, what’s going on?” She turned her head from side to side to look around the room and causing her long ponytail to whip in either direction with the momentum.

Glimmer sat up from where she had ducked down to avoid Adora’s weaponized hair, “You were right. Weaver’s going around checking all our projects.”

Adora pumped her fist, moving her elbow towards her body and dramatically sweeping her head forward, eyes closed, as she did. It was undeniably dorky and it was undeniably cute.

“And our project is great,” Adora stared down at the pile of wire and clay that was beginning to look to Glimmer more and more like some strange “aesthetic” torture tool used by a Pinterest girl the 15th century. Of course, Adora was looking at it with the same starry-eyed expression that she always wore when looking at Glimmer’s art.

Glimmer shrugged, “It’s ok, I guess.”

Adora feigned offense, “Excuse me, I put my heart and soul into that clay.”

Glimmer couldn’t help but break down into giggles. She was so tired and Adora was so dumb and Glimmer couldn’t exactly explain why but every joke Adora cracked became the funniest thing she had ever heard.

Adora grinned back at her, “But really, you should give yourself more credit. It turned out great and I know that it’s not thanks to me.”

Ugh, of course she had to go and make it all “wholesome.” Glimmer debated if it was worth it to say something back. It would be so much easier just to brush it off; so much safer. She had already crossed too many lines last night, the only solution was to go back to normal today. But she couldn’t even remember what normal was.

Glimmer glanced down at her hands. She had been unconsciously worrying at her nails and now her cuticles were beginning to turn red. She looked back up at Adora, “Look though... I wouldn’t have been able to get it done without you and I’m actually really glad you insisted on coming over.”

Adora smiled with the brightness and warmth of the sun, “I am too.”

Glimmer was in the process of absolutely melting under Adora’s affections when Weaver stalked to a halt in front of them, effectively freezing her back together, “So, Adora how did it turn out?”

Glimmer turned to Adora, watching her eyebrows scrunch together as confusion slowly drew across her face, “Well Glimmer did most of the work...”

Glimmer was beginning to wonder if this ‘innocent curiosity’ was something Adora put on just for Weaver. She wasn’t stupid, she certainly didn’t actually like Weaver and she had to know that there was something going on between her and Glimmer.

“...so why don’t you talk to her about it?”

The end of Adora’s sentence snapped Glimmer sputtering out of her thoughts, “Wait what? No, sorry?”

Weaver pivoted on her heels to face Glimmer, “Well then, what do you have to say?”

Glimmer glanced at Adora with wide eyes trying to convey the message of What the hell? Why would you do this??

Adora gave an encouraging smile and nodded. Very helpful.

“Um well,” Glimmer dragged her eyes from Adora (who was still giving that somewhat infuriating smile) to Weaver, “It’s a model of bismuth. The particles or painted to look like a sample of bismuth. That’s about it.”

“Very well then,” Weaver sniffed and began leering over the mess of purples and grays.

Glimmer could have sworn Weaver hadn’t been that critically focused on other groups but, then again, she hadn’t really paid much attention to what Weaver had been doing until moments ago.

Weaver continued to glare over the project as Glimmer continued to hold her breath. After far too long, Weaver moved away with nothing more than a “humph.”

As the click click of Weaver’s heels moved to the other side of the room, Glimmer deflated into her normal slump, “I swear she hates me.”

Adora squinted in the direction of their teacher, “I still don’t see why she’s such a bitch to you.”

Glimmer’s eyebrows shot up without her consultation, “I was not expecting you to say anything that... strong.”

Adora shrugged without giving a response, still grimacing towards Weaver- whatever that meant. If it meant anything at all. Maybe it didn’t. Maybe Glimmer was just taking a simple stare to mean way too much. After all, Adora was sleep deprived and apparently coming down from a sugar high. It would make perfect sense for her to space out. So that settled it; Glimmer was reading into too much, that’s all-

“I swear one of these days she’s going to say something shitty to you, and I’m just going to lose it.”

Oh. Glimmer could feel her heart rate spike like it was trying to reach the sky. That sounded nice, that sounded like maybe- just maybe- Glimmer wasn’t reading into it too much. It sounded almost protective and normally that would make Glimmer gag, but somehow this wasn’t normal.

But of course her only reply was to let out a nervous wheeze, “Why on Earth would you do that??”

Adora shrugged again, “I don’t like the way she treats you.”

Glimmer didn’t like the strength in Adora’s eyes. It wasn’t the level of contempt that led to bloodshed, but it was certainly more emotion than Glimmer deserved or would ever ask for. It made her uncomfortable; she didn’t understand why Adora would be so angry about something which, in the long run, probably wouldn’t matter.

She gave another awkward giggle, “It really isn’t a big deal.”

Adora opened her mouth to respond and Glimmer was almost grateful when Weaver began speaking from in front of her desk. Something seemed to switch off in Adora, her expression relaxing as she turned to face the front of the room.

“I can’t say I’m surprised but a lot of you really need to get to work,” Weaver hissed out a tsk noise between her teeth, “You only have a few days left to get this project done. You have about fifteen minutes left in this period and I expect you all to be focused that entire time. All right get to work.”

The class dissolved into noise as chairs were scrapped across the floor and notebooks were grabbed with the fevered terror that can only be inspired by a looming due date.

Adora reached across the desk to open one of the class-set laptops. She brought up the presentation she had been working on yesterday, the same pastel rainbows and soft pink theme. It sparked a strange sort of déjà vu in Glimmer, the exact same situation as yesterday but with so much less hostility. The dissonance was enough to make her head spin, but she couldn’t help but enjoy the difference.

Adora turned her head, mirth poorly concealed in her smirk, “Can I help you?”

Glimmer blinked quickly, suddenly aware that she had spaced out staring at at Adora, “Oh, um, sorry, no. I was just- no I’m fine.”

“You sure?” Adora was very obviously struggling to keep her smirk from dissolving into a full smile. People talk a lot about feeling butterflies in their stomachs but to Glimmer it felt more like a hundred tiny grasshoppers jumping out of time with one another.

She swallowed but her mouth had gone dry and she wasn’t sure when that happened. She tried to piece together a sentence that a normal human would say, “Yeah, um, I’m good. But what about you? Ya know, do you need help with the project or, uh, something?”

Adora seemed to pause for a moment, once again having to switch to a different setting. She looked almost disappointed and Glimmer still didn’t have any idea what was going on.

Then Adora’s face did something else Glimmer was not at all expecting. Her expression lost all of the playful cockiness it had held only a second before, shifting into what Glimmer could only describe as timid- maybe even embarrassed, “Um, yeah, actually. Could you draw some more things for me to use in the presentation?”

Glimmer didn’t understand Adora’s apparent discomfort. She flipped open a sketch book and grabbed a pencil, “Sure; what do you need?”

“Just another a sketch of it unprocessed or something like that would be great!”

Glimmer was beginning to learn that Adora’s stupid sunshine smile was somehow even warmer when you knew you were the one that had caused it.

The next few minutes went by quickly. They sat mostly in silence, both content in their own work. Sometimes Glimmer would glance over, catching Adora staring at what she had been drawing. Every time she did, Adora would give her a tiny sheepish grin before ducking her head away. Every time she did, something unfamiliarly soft would fill her up from her toes to her cheeks that she could tell were turning pink.

When the bell rang, Glimmer argued that the main reason she didn’t want to move was because she was just too tired, but she could tell it was a flimsy excuse of a lie and she hardly even cared.

Adora stood up, looking down once she had grabbed her backpack, “See ya!”

Glimmer sighed as she watched Adora bounce away from her. See ya.

[pinkevilbobdoesthings]

Okay guys, content warning on this one. There’s body horror in this chapter. Just giving you a heads up.

So here’s Chapter 5 of ‘Make You Scared’.

Caleb focused on keeping his breath even, on keeping calm and trying to deny the fear creeping up on him. Ikithon wanted him to be afraid, and there was no way Caleb was going to give him what he wanted. Unfortunately, Caleb was terrified. Everything about the room haunted his nightmares, and it was all Caleb could do to keep himself from whimpering like a child. 

"Well, let's see how you are doing," Ikithon said entering Caleb's room. He tapped on the current iv bag dripping solution into Caleb. "You know, at first you were a complete failure. I was furious with how you'd turn out negative result after negative result. But then I realized that I was looking for the wrong results." Ikithon turned off the drip of the iv bag and unhooked it. "See, you were supposed to be a greater unending resource of fear, but you weren't. Certainly you were scared; you're very good at being afraid, but your fear was very pedestrian. A disappointment really." Picking up an IV bag filled with a dark sludgy mixture, he hooked it up to Caleb. "But then I thought to look for something else in you. And oh it turned out that you were fun of all sorts of mysteries and answers we never thought to ask." He flicked on the switch for the IV drip. "And then you left me." Anger and hatred dripped from his voice. "You've caused a bunch of delays, I'll have you know."

Caleb watched as the sludge went through the clear tube towards his arm. It was slower than most of what Ikithon saw fit to inject into him. 

Ikithon chuckled as Caleb squirmed trying to get away from the inevitable. "Really, you should've learned by now that struggling doesn't change anything. I mean it's amusing to watch, but that's not what I'm here for, not really. But for all my complaints, your escape taught me some things. Most of them about doing proper screenings on security, but your return shown me things that I wouldn't have dared test. You're very adventurous to try monster food. Most humans would've gotten violently ill before they ate even half as much as you did. But you're not entirely human anymore now are you, Bren." 

Freezing, Caleb stared at him. A thousand questions ran through his mind, but the cursed gag stopped them all. The sludgy solution from the IV enter his vein and a hot pain went through him. He shook uncontrollably covered in sweat. "There's no point in fighting it," Ikithon said. "It will run its course no matter what. Now, there's something I must attend to, but I'll be back by the time you're done." He patted the IV bag.

Bile rose up in Caleb's throat, but he forced it back down. Being sick with the gag was not an experience that Caleb wanted to repeat. His brain was in a fog and he tried to focus, but all he could think of was the pain. Hands touched his arm and he tried to pull away. "Caleb, Caleb, it's okay, it's me." Caleb squinted to see a blue face. Jester. She took the gag out of his mouth and pulled the needle out of his arm. The IV bag was already empty. More time must’ve passed than he had realized.

Caleb tried to sit up, but he fell back down onto the bed. "You found me." His voice was dry and croaky. "You actually found me."

"Of course I did," Jester said.

"I'm sorry no one found you. You shoulda been found." Caleb could feel himself rambling, but he couldn't stop his tongue. "I shoulda found you."

Jester carefully picked Caleb up lifting him out of the bed. "You weren't even in the monster world, Caleb."

"Caleb, that's my name," he said clinging to Jester like a lifeline. "Caleb should've found you."

"Well, Caleb's found me now. Caleb's a very good friend," Jester said gently.

Caleb shuddered in her arms. The shaking still hadn't gone away. "No, he's not. He’s not a good thing.” He looked up at her. “You're blue." His head hurt and everything felt fuzzy.

"Yes, I am blue."

He rested his head on her shoulder. "Blue's favorite."

"Yeah?"

“I like Jester.” Caleb had trouble quite remembering where he was, but everything hurt and he liked whatever was holding him.

There was a pause. “Oh, well, Jester likes you too.”

He tried to move his hand, but it was a thousand pounds and too heavy for him. “She shouldn’t. ‘M bad.” His head dropped down and he couldn’t lift it.

“Caleb. Caleb!” The voice was pretty but scared.

His tongue was itchy, thick and hurt, but he managed a hum of acknowledgement.

“Oh, don’t scare me like that. I know it’s my fault Ikithon got you again, but I need you to be okay.”

He wanted to tell her something, but he couldn’t think of what it was and his mouth wouldn’t open. Instead his mouth ached and he was certain his teeth were falling out. A pressure built up in his head until it felt like it was splitting. Like a hot whip, a searing pain burned along his spine. Instead of fingers, it felt like he had blades shoved into his hands. Then suddenly everything was so much pain all he could see was white.

And then the pain cleared, and Jester was looking down at Caleb her eyes wide with concern and fear. “Caleb,” she gasped.

Caleb stared at his hands. His fingers were replaced with long, sharp claws. “Jester?” It came out messy and slurred. Running his tongue over his teeth, Caleb discovered that they fangs, huge and fearsome. He looked up at Jester hoping for some explanation that would undo all of it.

“Caleb,” she said, her voice full of confusion and care, “you’re a monster.”

***

Jester still held Caleb in her arms. It didn’t make sense. None of it made any sense. Caleb was human, and humans did not just become monsters. The only explanation she could come up with was Ikithon must’ve done something to him with all those tubes and syringes. But it shouldn’t have been possible.

Caleb stared down at his hands in disbelief. No longer were there pupils in his eyes; instead just blueness. Four pairs of tiny horns protruded out of his hair. Jester had to adjust her grip on Caleb for the bony protrusions jutting out of his back. A bristly tail hung limpy from the base of his spine. She had never seen monster quite like him before but he wouldn't have stuck out of a crowd. 

"Well," Jester said trying to look on the positive side, "You're a very handsome monster."

He just looked up at her wanly.

"Sorry. But I thought you should know." Jester wished there was something that she could do for him. She couldn't imagine what it must have felt like. What would she do if she were suddenly a human? Probably cry. "Are you okay?"

"I-" but it just sounded like he had a bunch of snakes in his mouth and long thin tongue slipped out from behind his large fangs. Caleb ran his hand through his hair and stopped when he got to the horns. The look he gave Jester was heartbreaking.

Jester pushed down the dread in her heart and smiled at Caleb softly. "I'll get you out of here."

"Will you now?" a voice said behind her. Jester turned around to see Ikithon. "I believe you have my property there and must request that you put it back where you found it."

"You have no right," Jester said. "He's not yours, he's a human being and shouldn't be here."

Ikithon chuckled. "I believe you mean monster. Or rather a hybrid, I suppose. Don't believe I've gotten rid of all the human from him, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. It's not like I was trying to just make a monster. Any two monsters can do that."

Caleb shuddered in Jester's arms. "You," he said.

"I? I gave you a gift. You don't need to fear anything now. You are something new and marvelous," Ikithon said. "True, you don't have much purpose in the world, but for science, you will show us so many new possibilities."

"Change him back." Jester stared down at Ikithon. 

Ikithon gave her a look of disgust. "Why in the world would I do that? Not that I could, but there's so many tests we can do on him. We can see what the true divide and difference between humans and monsters is. Bren is the answers to all the questions we never thought to ask."

"He's not Bren and he's not yours!" Jester shouted. Caleb gripped her arm accidentally scratching her, but she didn’t mind.

"Then whose is he? Something like him has no place in the world. Hybrids like him are unnatural and get rejected by the world. It is my place to care for him as no one else will," Ikithon said it like he was doing a grand and noble thing he was doing.

Jester looked down at Caleb. He looked so small and dejected in her arms staring still at his hands. "I will," Jester said. "He can be mine and I will care for him." She smiled at Caleb and the shock on his face. "It wouldn't be a hard thing to do."

Ikithon made a sour face. "You are a fool if you think you could be happy with a thing like that. He was a human. A creature capable of the most terrible things. His kind kill and destroy for fun."

"And you don't?" Caleb asked. His tongue would slip out of his mouth long and thin and he tripped over his words, but Caleb kept going. "You've destroyed everything you've touched. My mother, my father, me! You are are just as bad as a human."

Ikithon shook his head chuckling softly. "I'm a monster and am as nature made me. Humans are supposed to be more."

"Jester is more. She's more than anyone can ask for." Caleb looked up at Jester with the softest look in his eyes and shifted to get out of her arms. She let him down, but Jester kept an arm around Caleb hardly believing the kind words he was saying about her. "You can't say that to be monster is to be horrible if she is one. Nothing that is even slightly like her can claim to be awful by nature. Your evils are entirely by your own doing!" Ikithon snarled showing off his fangs. They weren't as big as Jester's or Caleb's, and Caleb just laughed. "You're nothing! I was an idiot to be scared of you. What are you?! Just an old man with a needle!"

"Watch your tongue, you filthy thing!" Ikithon spat. "I can destroy you without a second thought."

Caleb's legs were shaking and he leaned most of his weight against Jester, but he held his head up like he was a noble king. "You're the one that made a filthy thing. How does that reflect on you? A doddering old fool wasting his time on a pointless folly."

"And Caleb's not filthy," Jester added feeling like she needed to say something. 

Caleb glanced at Jester and barely shook his head. He returned his glare to Ikithon. “What are you? A monster? Ha, you are nothing.”

With a wordless roar, Ikithon launched himself at Caleb. "Run!" Caleb said shoving himself away from Jester. Ikithon tackled Caleb and the two tumbled head over heels crashing into tables of medical equipment. Jester backed away almost frozen with fear. With loud snarls and growls Caleb clawed at Ikithon, but the old monster's scales were too thick to break through.

Ikithon laughed mirthlessly as his hands wrapped around Caleb's neck. "You stupid boy. Not even a monster for five minutes and you try to pick a fight. I should've never wasted my time with you. Oh well, I can still learn from an autopsy.”

Jester looked around in a hurry and grabbed the first thing she could find, a clipboard, and slammed it against Ikithon’s shoulder.

He hissed out in annoyance, but his hands remained firmly around Caleb's throat as Caleb turned blue. "Idiot! Don't think you'll get away with this. I'll have my revenge on you, but first I'll dispose of this filth!"

"Caleb isn't filthy!" Jester yelled kicking Ikithon in the head.

The old man stumbled and his grip on Caleb loosened.

Jester grabbed Caleb and dragged him and and towards the door. "You were supposed to run," Caleb said coughing.

"You're my responsibility. I wasn't going to leave you." Jester tried to open the door only to find it locked.

"Did you think I was foolish enough to let you escape?" Ikithon asked. "I wasn't going to do that. Now you're going to just give up quietly and no one is going to get hurt."

Jester glared at him showing her fangs. "Why would I do that? I’m not dumb enough to believe you. You're not getting Caleb!"

"I wasn't talking to you," Ikithon snarled. "You want her to stay safe, don't you?"

Caleb nodded and approached Ikithon his fists clenched to his sides. 

"Caleb! Don't'!" Jester screamed. "There's a better way! There has to be."

Ikithon smirked at Caleb returned to him. "I knew you'd listen to reason. Always were a soft one, weren't you?"

Caleb just nodded. "She'll be safe, right?"

"She’ll rest in peace," Ikithon said. He laughed at Caleb's glare. "I can’t let her run about revealing what I’ve been doing here, can I? A man has to keep his secrets."

Caleb glared at him and then started coughing so hard that he doubled over low to the floor.

"Get up!” Ikithon demanded. Jester started to move forward, but Ikithon held up a hand. "Make another move and I will kill him right where he stands."

Jester stood back fighting the tears. 

Caleb pushed himself up off the ground and stood up leaning against the wall. He was panting with exertion.

"A weak thing, aren't you," Ikithon said.

Caleb nodded and then lightning fast jabbed two needles into each side of Ikithon's neck. Ikithon clawed at the needles as Caleb sunk down the plungers. With a gasp, Ikithon sunk down to the ground and then fell over.

"You knocked him out!" Jester said. "We gotta get out." She knelt down next to Ikithon and took the key to the door out of his pocket.

Caleb shook his head slowly staring down at Ikithon. "No, not knocked out."

Jester froze half way through unlocking the door. "You killed him?"

"Yes." He stared down at Ikithon silently. “He was going to kill you.”

“He was going to kill you too, Caleb.” Jester lightly put her hand on Caleb’s shoulder and turned him away from the dead body.

Caleb followed her numbly to the door. “I just killed a man. What am I?”

“You’re Caleb and my friend. You were hurt bad by a bad monster and now you’re a good monster,” Jester said as she unlocked it letting them out.

“Am I a good monster?” Caleb asked looking incredibly lost and hurt.

Jester grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze as she led him through the old abandoned hospital. It was late and  Ikithon was the only one there, but Jester was starting to think that he had set that up to be a trap for them. “You’re a very good monster. And one that I’m going to take care of.”

Caleb shook his head weakly.  “You don’t have to. I can take care of myself.”

“Just because you can doesn’t mean you should. Monsters aren’t supposed to be alone. And neither are humans, and I think that that goes for hybrids like you,” Jester said double checking the halls just in case someone else was there. Nott should be up at the front of the hospital gathering evidence of the illegal experiments Ikithon was running. “Besides, I don’t think you can take care of yourself. Do you know anything about being a monster?”

Caleb let out half a chuckle.  “You have a point there. But it doesn’t have to be you.”

Jester pouted at him. “I gave Ikithon my word that I’d take care of you.”

“And you always keep your word?” Caleb asked.

Jester nodded. “I do. Besides, there’s kind of another reason why I want to.”

“And what is that?”

Before Jester could lose her nerve, she kissed Caleb on the cheek. “I like you.”

Caleb’s cheeks and horns turned red and he sputtered. “I like you too,” he said, ducking his head down. Jester laughed and hooked her tail around Caleb’s. His eyes went wide with surprise. “Oh, oh, I could get used to this.”

[starfaring-princelotor]

Best Friends

Summary: Lotor and his best friend discover the beginning of something new.

Pairings: Lotor x F!Reader

★ Disclaimer: I do not ship Lotura and I kindly ask that this story to not be tagged as Lotura. This is a Lotor x Reader/Self-Insert OC story which is in no way related to Allura at all. Please be respectful of my chosen pairing. Thank you. ★

Warnings: Threats?

Future Sight___Historic Significance___No Time Like The Present___Thinking Ahead___Best Friends

Romelle’s eyes skimmed over the page, re-reading over the instructions carefully while she poured the rest of the contents of her cauldron down the drain. She let it sit out too long and now it was practically black, gooey sludge. Oh, the smell was unbearable, it nearly made her throw up dinner she had with Allura.

Speaking of, the Princess knocked on the bathroom door.

“Romie? Is everything okay?” bless her heart, she was concerned about her well-being.

Well, waking up a few hours before dawn to use the restroom would be a cause for worry. Romelle rinsed the cauldron with hot water, making sure to leave no evidence behind. Quickly, her wet hands closed the book then she shoved the pot in the corner, opting to let it dry for the rest of the day.

Once Romelle opened the door to see sleepy faced Allura, she couldn’t help but smile softly at her.

“Yes, I just had to clean that stinking cauldron,” with a gentle hand, she guided Allura back to bed, “And take care of a few...things.”

You weren’t doing too well.

Not at all. Grumpy wasn’t the right word to describe it. Sad? Maybe. Heartbroken? Yes. Yes, that was the feeling. Like you lost a close friend. It was hard not to think this way, think that your relationship with Lotor was coming to an abrupt end. He just needed time. That’s what he said, right? Time and space? But, damn it all, why did it hurt to be sitting on the sidelines like this?

Lotor never mentioned this before, how cold he can actually be. Maybe you really weren’t paying attention to him? Or maybe he was just too closed off to truly be comfortable with you? Maybe it was both of your faults? The turmoil of arguments in your head made you heavily sigh in defeat, an act that did not go unheard by the prefect sitting besides you.

“You know, food tastes better when you actually eat it,” Shiro bit off his own piece of bread, eyes watching you with slight mirth behind them, “And when it’s warm, too.”

You groaned and slumped in your seat, leaving the spoon under the smeared mashed potatoes, “I’m not hungry.”

Or at least, this meal wasn’t as enjoyable without your purple friend. The mindless conversation, critiquing each other’s eating habits, even sharing from the same bowl was fun. It seemed so...perfect, didn’t it? What changed? You wracked your brain for anything that could point you in the right direction, but alas, nothing popped up. Ah, there you go again, thinking too much.

“I miss Lotor.”

“The gremlin has to come out of his room sometime,” he tried to be lighthearted about it, but it didn’t even crack a smile from you, “There’s a potion for that, y’know. Changing into a gremlin. Interesting what you read ahead in the books.”

“There’s a potion for everything,” you counted off your fingers, “Toe fungus, pimples, that one where you can change your fingers into cat heads.”

“I heard there was one that can make you glow like a light bulb.”

Shiro would’ve said some cheesy punchline, something like “so you can brighten up his day,” but your despondent face told him that it would go in one ear and out the other. He rubbed his neck in uncertainty, not quite sure how to console a friend of a friend. There was an underlying reason he came to talk to you, though. Maybe one he thinks you might be able to help him with.

“Hey, mind if I...ask you something a bit personal?” he lowered his voice a bit.

A nod, a sad, sad look glazing over your eyes.

“Have you noticed anything...strange about Lotor? I mean, stranger than this. He usually isn’t this cold.”

You crossed your arms and buried your head in them, “I don’t think I really knew him at all.”

Shiro nodded solemnly, “If it’s any consolation, these past few months have been the most I’ve seen him smile.”

You peeked at him from underneath your hair, unsure if you heard him right. Yes, you, too, were happiest with him the last couple months, smiling and laughing and learning little bits about each other here and there. Like friends do. Like best friends do. Eyes bore into the now cold dinner in front of you as if it would somehow give you all the answers to your questions.

“I think that counts for something, don’t you?” Shiro laid a comforting hand on your shoulder.

Yes, you thought, it has to count for something.

Lotor’s fever was back, tenfold. To the public, it would look like he was just a little too warm with a light sheen of sweat on his forehead. Deep down, he was burning. It was barely tolerable as he knew this sickness will eventually pass. Just like his last one. The only odd thing about this was that fevers usually...do not come back so soon. He was on his way to the medical ward to get another potion from the nurse.

He needed more sleep. That was probably it, what with all his tossing and turning at night.

“Lotor?”

Oh no. Not who he wanted to talk to right now.

“Allura.”

Where was Madam…? Oh. Right. The one day she was out visiting family was the one day he needed help. Just his luck. No matter, things are in the past between them. At least, that’s how he saw it. Judging by the odd defensive look hidden behind her eyes, the Princess still felt a little suspicious around him. He wasn’t so sure if he liked that scrutinizing, almost acidic, gaze she gave him.

“What can I help you with?” she asked, straight to business, which he appreciated.

“It seems my fever has returned. I am in need of two more snowdrop potions.”

She opened a cabinet that had shelves with labeled vials, many of them varying in color, “Have you had any other symptoms? Headaches, soreness?”

“Migraines,” Lotor took a seat on a stool, suddenly feeling very dizzy, “Severe migraines.”

“I’ll grind some mandrake roots for you, they should help settle those - “

Was the room spinning? Why was it suddenly getting harder to breath? Lotor’s lungs were wheezing lightly and he tried blinking hard to get the blackness out of the corner of his eyes. No good, no good at all. He could feel his body start to lean forward against his will, hand reaching out to try and steady himself before he kissed the floor. All he managed to grab was the empty air as he collapsed in a weak heap at Allura’s feet, a groan of pain pushed out of his chest.

“Lotor!” she called out after hearing his body thump on the cold stone, kneeling down to help flip him onto his back, “Lotor, can you hear me? Lotor!”

The Princess pulled out her wand and lit the tip, hoping that it was bright enough for his pupils to follow. However, much to her horror, his gaze was stuck on the ceiling. Was he even conscious? Lotor was panting, trying so very hard to stay awake, but her voice was fading and so was the rest of the room. Stars, his head hurt like something fierce, like it was tearing itself apart in two.

“Father! Father, come quickly!”

The last thing he heard was the rushed footsteps clacking on the floor. The last thing he thought of was, well, suddenly his space felt very, very lonely without you besides him.

“Peppermint sprigs...porcupine quills...hm.”

What a strange list of ingredients for a potion, but who were you to argue on the weirdness that is magic? After Shiro’s cryptic question, you took it upon yourself to drown yourself in the good memories. Well, tried. The more you thought about the time you spent with Lotor, the happier parts, the lighter your heart felt. Yes, you still despised this…distance, but you had to keep to your word.

Give him space.

And if...when he returns, you were sure nothing would make him happier than a Happy potion. Right? Supposedly, it cures depression and, who knows, maybe you might take a little swig of it, too. Now, making it was another thing. Classes were over and there weren’t any potion professors on grounds, so you would have to play this by trial and error.

Doesn’t sound too hard. It’s just a Happy potion. Worst effect? You start singing too loudly or you end up tap dancing until midnight.

“What are you doing here?” came a voice from the opened door, making you turn to acknowledge the blonde staring directly at you.

“Um...making...potions?” you meant it to come out as a firm statement, but out of habit, you smiled guiltily like a caught thief, “You’re, uh, Rome...Romelle, right? Allura’s friend?”

She kept her gaze fixed for a few more seconds. It was a little unnerving, especially when her expression suddenly softened and she offered you a friendly, inviting smile. Romelle put the heavy cauldron in her arms off on one of the empty tables then plopped a seat besides you. She peered over to your book then hummed in thought.

“Happy potion, huh? What’s got you down?”

“Oh, no, not for me. Well, not ALL for me, anyways,” you turned the page, looking for the instructions and brewing time needed for it, “It’s for my friend. He hasn’t been...At least, I don’t think he’s been feeling too well the last couple weeks. Thought this might cheer him up.”

Romelle perched her elbow on the table, chin in her hand, “Well, aren’t you a good friend! I’m a bit of a potion master myself. Anything you need?”

Now, you returned a smile of your own, feeling proud of her compliments aimed to inflate your ego. You gave her a nod of thanks then shrugged sheepishly, finding her oddly over eager assistance a bit strange. If you needed help, you would ask. Ah. That’s...how it felt to say it out loud. A pang twitched in your chest, recalling back when those same words left Lotor’s mouth.

“Thank you, but I think I can handle it. Doesn’t seem too hard,” a soft way to tell her you weren’t as incompetent as you seemed.

That didn’t seem to be the answer she wanted to hear, though. Even if she was smiling and respectfully giving you your distance, there was a flicker of...annoyance behind her eyes. Oh no, did you come off too hard? Or...was it something you said? The anxieties started welling up in your mind again and just as you were about to close your book and pack up, figuring you could finish another day, Romelle gently slid her hand over yours.

You were sure this was supposed to be an act of kindness, of support, but it felt...wrong.

“If you need anything at all, do not be a stranger.”

As soon as she finished talking, she took a step back and left with a cheerful hum on her lips. You hand tingled. Not in a good way either. Not like when Lotor held your fingertips oh so gently while he led you in a dance. Not like when he helped you firmly grasp your wand correctly. Not like when his hand curled around yours to keep you warm in the chilly night.

You dearly missed your friend, your true friend. When you brought your hand to your chest, the plumpness of your palm accidentally skidded over the page. It turned, but not without leaving you with a thin paper cut from your careless attention. Immediately, you cradled your minor wound, not wanting to stain the pages, until your eyes landed on two words.

Hate Potion.

“How long?”

“Three days now. He can barely stomach soup without regurgitating it. I am not sure what seems to be causing his illness. This isn’t typical fever symptoms and my father is doing his own research to help.”

You needed to be alone with Lotor, but Shiro and Allura were right at his bedside. It felt weird, creeping like this, just outside the door and eavesdropping to see when they would leave. The book clutched to your chest and the vials in your pocket suddenly were too loud.

“Maybe there is something I can do to help,” Allura voiced with hope, “I will go aid my father in his research. Will you stay here and monitor him in the time being?”

“Sure, Allura. Thank you again for doing this. We’ll figure out what’s wrong with him. In the mean time, don’t push yourself too hard. He’s resilient. I should know.”

Yes, he was hinting at the strenuously long friendship he had, and will continue to have, with Lotor. The Princess’ heels clicked against the floor as she walked out, completely missing your body tucked behind the opened doors. Good. You weren’t sure if she would be too happy with what you found and...what your conclusions would insinuate.

“Shiro?” you peeked in, making sure it was just him, then your eyes landed on Lotor.

Your friend, he looked so pale with furrowed brows and eyes clenched shut, like he was having a bad string of dream. Standing besides the taller man, you silently asked him if he was okay, If he was going to BE okay. A fever wouldn't originally be a cause for too much concern, much like when you visited the purple prince in his rooms. But two?

It stung something deep to see him in such pain.

“Don’t worry, he’s come out from worse,” Shiro encouraged with a hand on your shoulder, “He’ll be fine. You don’t have to be here if you don’t want to.”

Underlying meaning? If you’re still...uncomfortable around him after that harsh spat from weeks ago, you aren’t obligated to stay. It’s funny what a little time can do to the heart. Its funny what you came to realize that even if he didn’t want to be friends any longer, you still wanted to at least get some defined closure. But first, Lotor had to be awake to tell you this, tell you why, because you at least deserved an explanation that made sense. Hopefully, he had enough time on his own to come to the same thoughts.

“No, no, I wanted to see him. I didn’t think he was this sick,” you took a seat on a stool besides the bed, “Is he, I mean, can he hear us? I bought a book I thought he’d like to read. Or, er, or I’d read to him.”

Shiro offered you a thankful smile hidden behind a short chuckle. He got the hint. He knows when to leave, when to give you privacy for the sake of comfort. Though, now that the thought about it, perhaps your voice would be the one to wake him up. He’d take that chance, he likes those odds for his friend’s health.

“I’ll head to the mess hall to grab a bite. Should I bring you some?”

“No, no, I’ll be alright. Don’t think they have my pie in menu today.”

He walked out, trusting you to watch Lotor for the time being. It wasn’t until you no longer heard his footsteps did you scoot closer to the head of the bed. Those freckles looked dimmer than usual and his hair was slicked with dried sweat. Time to put your plan into action. Carefully, you opened to a specific page of your text, the one you bookmarked with a folded corner.

“Lotor…?”

No response. This time, you placed a hand on his and ran your thumb over his knuckles, ushering him to hear your plead.

“Lotor...Lotor, can you hear me?”

“Mm…” thin slits of nebulous eyes barely opened, but they instantly honed in on your face, “...Huh…?”

Good. He was somewhat coherent, if not dazed and dizzy. Lotor licked his parched lips and you got the hint right away. Grabbing a cup of water from the side table, you held it up to his mouth gently then waited as he took gulp fulls of the cool liquid. With how much he was sweating, he was no doubt dehydrated beyond tolerable levels.

Lotor turned slightly, signaling he was done, and leaned back into his pillow, “What...what are you doing here?”

Not...exactly the first thing you wanted to hear from him after being apart for nearly a month, but again, you had to remember this wasn’t about you. This was about your friend, your very sick friend who must’ve had a smidge of trust in you somewhere deep in his ill mind.

“I think you were poisoned,” you paused when his gaze gave no emotion, “I can’t be...100% sure, though. But if you could - if I could ask you something…”

Poisoned? Well, that certainly wasn’t the first, but this would be the first where he didn’t recognize his own symptoms. These were sneaky, slow-acting with fevers and migraines and severe dehydration. But he couldn’t piece together what exactly can cause this so quickly.

Stars, that look on your face, the meek, unsure, hesitant one. Why were you never confident in yourself?

You took his silence as a yes, “Do you remember drinking anything that tasted strange?”

“No.”

“Did you have...er, did you have mood shifts this frequently?”

A sharp glare and you nearly cringed away from him, but he answered honestly, “...No.”

“When did you start not feeling well?”

“Three weeks ago.”

Your eyes going down the symptom list weren’t happy with the information you were getting from him. Not at all and the questions you had in mind would only get more personal here on out. Hopefully, he won’t shut you completely out again, or worse. Send you away with another argument.

“When you...sniffed the love potion - “ “So, that is what this is about.”

“Lotor, no, I promise, this isn’t - it isn’t about that. If someone was poisoned by a hate potion, they would feel nauseated because of the counter effects of different ingredients in the love potion - “ “It was you,” Lotor mumbled, and you swear your heart skipped a beat, “I could smell you and it made me sick to my stomach.”

If you weren’t thinking of his potential sickness, perhaps those words would’ve cut your heart into pieces. Instead, you remained silent, questioning over, and ruffled for one of the vials in your bag. The pinkish liquid swirled slowly between you two and Lotor instantly knew what it was. He was stuck between feeling disgusted and oddly hopeful.

“I know...I know it doesn’t sound solid, but the book here says a love potion can help nullify the effects of the poison,” you explained before putting the vial on the bedside drawer, “I know its illegal, I know I can get in trouble for this, but here. It’s your choice and I won’t - you know I won’t think any differently of us whatever you choose.”

There were words on his tongue, but none came out. Again, you were over caring again, going the distance when he told you to stop. Or perhaps, this isn't what it seems at all. Someone succeeded in poisoning him, messing with his damn emotions, and messing with the two of you. Now, he had to wonder what would happen if he drank it. Would he still push you away? Or would all these seething emotions cease to exist? Would he return to normal? What was normal?

Risk. Again, too much risk, and he didn’t like it. You left him alone to his thoughts.

Lotor drank the potion discreetly, not wanting Allura or even her father to know how he magically healed within a few days. It was a Christmas miracle, Professor Alfor said. The Prince would let him think that for now, at least, until he can safely secure both of your asses from getting in trouble.

The potion worked. Slowly. Gradually, his unreasonably pessimistic thoughts began clearing from his mind. No longer was just thinking about you giving him a headache. No longer did he catch himself constantly annoyed whenever he thought about the times you two spent together. No longer did he keep the shared journal stored away in his drawer.

“Allura, may I have a moment?”

And no longer was he going to stand aside when he knew damn well who poisoned him.

“Of course, do you need something?”

“No, no, not with you,” Lotor’s cold gaze drifted to the blonde standing besides her, “You. I wish to have a word with you, Romelle.”

He would applaud her on the brave mask she wore. It was no mystery to him who slipped a drop of hate potion in his drink when he wasn’t paying attention. He never liked black tea and now he had a new reason for it. Allura, sensing the tense situation, sought to stand between Lotor and her friend.

“Is there going to be a problem?” the Princess asked firmly, challenging Lotor’s stare.

“No, nothing of the sort. I simply wish to ask a few questions. Private questions.”

Private. Meaning without her around. Romelle placed a hand on Allura’s shoulder, a way to temper and silently reassure her that everything will be okay. The Princess always was the first to help in a confrontation when those she cared about were concerned. The hero type, always jumping head first without all the facts and Lotor wasn’t here to bother filling her in.

“You have my word, I am merely here for conversation.��

“Go. I’ll meet you in the library,” Romelle ushered and finally, Allura acquiesced.

However, Lotor’s piercing glare never left Romelle’s face. He was studying her, trying to find a crack in her facade, anything that would point to her being innocent. Jealousy was a powerful tool that can drive even the most soft, kind-hearted to do despicable, horrific things.

“Why did you do it?”

Romelle tilted her head to the side, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“In divination class, you slipped a hate potion in my tea,” he explained calmly, as if talking about fair weather and approaching cold front, “You let the bitterness cover the taste.”

“Hate potion? Lotor, I really have no clue - “

“You did not clean your cauldron as well as you thought, wench.”

Now, Romelle’s eye twitched at not only the insult, but the rightful anger laced in his tone. Impossible. She cleaned her cauldron spick and span. There was nothing left but water. Either way, she stood her ground in front of Lotor. He had no proof, he had to be bluffing. Yet, there was still part of her that was on edge. Teetering on the “What if…”

“Hate potion residue glows blue in the dark when dusted with moonstone dust,” he took a step forward, she took one back, “unless washed with beetroot juice, it is a permanent stain on whatever surface it touches. Did you forget that bit of information in your grand plan?”

“I did what I had to,” she admitted, no shame, no guilt.

“I will ask this only once more: why did you do it?”

There it was. That burning, eternal flame of rage glossing in her soul. She would burn him, burn everyone around her, burn those she loves, burn Allura, just to seek revenge on him. He only wondered how long until that fire consumes her very being. Lotor narrowed his lids, daring her to speak the truth.

“You don’t deserve to be happy.”

The Prince raised his chin, judging her glowering face ready to bite into him like a rabid, furious animal.

“You don’t deserve to be happy after what you did to Allura. You broke her heart. You tricked her.”

“I know what kind of person she is. I know how gullible her heart is. I know she trusts you to be kind just because you two are close friends,” Lotor had what he needed, he had the evidence tucked neatly in the back of his mind, “I know I broke her heart. And now, you will break hers, too.”

Romelle’s back hit against the stone wall, suddenly aware he was towering over her with venom seething from his every word. She wanted to punch him. Fight him, here and now, make him feel how painful it was to pick Allura back up when she was at her lowest. Listen to all the regret and sorrow the Princess would whisper in her deep sleep.

“Either you tell Allura what you did or I will,” Lotor leaned back, his menacing aura giving her room to breath, “Consider this a fair trade for hurting my best friend.”

Either way, the truth would be her downfall.

As much as he wanted to report her, get her expelled for poisoning him directly, Lotor knew seeking revenge would only waste his time. Right now, he had to see you, talk to you, explain himself in hopes you would understand. You didn’t deserve to be attacked by the mistakes of his past relationships.

Sleep barely came to you that night. A full moon was supposed to be the most peaceful of them all, yet your mind was anything but peaceful right now. You wondered if Lotor drank it. You wondered if he did and if he felt better. You wondered if anything could help him where you could not. You wondered if he still wanted his space. Sighing, you turned on the other side of your bed only to be met with a glowing, blue journal.

Lotor? Lotor was...he was talking to you? Immediately, you reached over and opened the book where you last finished writing to him. His familiar handwriting began scribbling three little words.

Black Lake. Tonight.

You didn’t need to be told twice. It was a blur, slipping on warm clothes, pocketing your trusty thermal stone, tucking the thick scarf around your neck, then rushing down the halls as quietly as you can. Maybe you should consider yourself lucky for not getting caught with how loud your boots echoed on the floor. By the time you arrived, you could already see his tall physique standing in the distance, back towards you.

“L...Lo - huff...Lotor?” you were panting slightly from running in the cold and all your friend did to acknowledge you was raise a silver brow, “I - huff, huff - give me a sec…”

He placed a hand on your shoulder, the familiar touch warming you instantly, “You need not over exert yourself for my sake.”

“I know, I know, I just...I have no excuse, really,” you wanted to add that you missed him, but you were surprised by the next words that came out of his mouth.

“I understand. I missed you, too.”

Now, you stood awkwardly, eyes looking everywhere but his face. The time apart, it didn’t deter your feelings for him, but it felt...weird. Changed, but for the better? You weren’t so sure. Lotor sensed this and took a deep breath. Come clean. She is your friend. Your best friend. Tell her this or you will lose her forever.

“I...I lied to you.”

“...Huh?”

He looked up to the stars, please, help me, then back down at you. Gentle hands reached for yours and he upturned your palm, seeing the scar embedded there in the center. He had the same mirroring his own hand and, faintly, he thought destiny must have a funny way of showing him how friends are made.

“Allow me to explain. Do you remember when I told you what I saw in the mirror? About how I saw myself with someone I deeply cared about?” he stroked the jagged skin with his thumb, reminiscing that fateful day long ago, “I saw you in the reflection. We were both so happy and I...hesitated telling you this because…”

Because? He had his reason, none of them seeming valid right now.

“I have no reason why I did not tell you. Maybe I was scared about what I saw. Maybe I did not want my future to be set in stone.”

“Lotor, c’mon, that was ages ago. I don’t care about what that dumb mirror showed you. Why would I get mad about that? You have your secrets, that’s fine, and - “

“Please,” he ushered, the bravery to speak so openly about how one mistake led to another starting to make him clam up, “You must understand. After the mirror showed me what could be, how happy I could be with you, I began questioning myself. Questioning you, questioning us. I do not regret all those times we spent together. Not one bit. But, I do regret that...I did not know what this was truly telling me.”

This? This being his heart, the one he placed your hand to cover on his chest. Now, you were blushing and a little speechless.

“Say something,” Lotor’s eyes searched yours, hoping against hope that you didn’t hate his guts for isolating himself away from you, “Anything.”

But what COULD you say? A whole months worth of thoughts suddenly became quiet, abandoning you when you needed them most.

“When we finished those love potions, I had a feeling it would be you. I just...wasn’t aware of myself. I didn’t know what to do when I realized I like - I love spending time with you, Lotor. I feel like a better me.”

You dug your mouth under your scarf, a nervous habit hoping it would hide you completely.

“You were right. About before. If I paid more attention to you, I would’ve seen you were sick much earlier on and - and I could’ve helped sooner. I know you wanted space and I’ll give you as much as you want. Just - I want you to feel better, too. A better you. Does that make sense?”

“Yes. Yes, I believe I do undersatnd,” a shadow of darkness covered his eyes, “Even now, I still feel unsure about what this means. We are...best friends, still, yes? And yet, I am wondering if these feelings I have are honest. Ever since the mirror lured me with a future of love and happiness, I doubt myself, and I would never, ever, want to have these uncertainties come between us.” 

Lotor was a man who loved with all his being or none at all.

He reached one hand within his coat and pulled out a rose. A black rose. Of course, your gaze landed on the flower, eyes glazed in fascination of the dark plant, before he openly offered it to you. At first, you took it to examine its qualities. The thorns were gone and the gentle bud was barely starting to open into a bloom. Your fingers traced over the petals, the soft, smooth petals, and you let out a curious hum.

“This is for you. I wish to give this to you. As a sign of my…”

Affections? Appreciation? Infatuation?

“My attraction to you.”

Oh, where was his silver tongue now?

“Ah...I - erm…” your cheeks were tinted in a lovely hue of pink as you realized he was still cupping your hands in his, “Lotor, if this is about, y’know, the other night - I mean, it’s, you don’t have to feel obligated to...you know that, right? I did it to help you and all, but you don’t have to - mmf, how do I say this? I’m not...I don’t know where to go from here.”

Wait. Were you rejecting him?

“I, hold on -no - I know how that sounds,” you let out a frustrated sigh, having a difficult time finding your words, just like he was, “I guess...why are you offering this to me?”

“Dear, I am giving this to you in hopes that you would allow me to learn about you. And, in the process, I hope we can become something...more than what that mirror promised me. Something real, something I can experience in the present.”

Lotor wanted to break away from the deep, obsessive infatuation, rooting in his mind and instead explore what was hidden underneath. He knows he felt it, before the hate potion, before the dance, before he even took you stargazing. It was there, he just needed to reach far and feel it grow in his hand.

“Are you, uh...you sure you want to do that?”

“With some exasperation, yes. Yes, I am sure.”

The Prince leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours in a soft plea. You, too, were gazing into his eyes with a smidge of love buried somewhere in your soul. This felt...calm. Peaceful, much different than the times you two cuddled under a blanket or riding his broom at night. It felt...freeing. No bars held back. No bricks blocking each other. No mirror telling him where his heart should lie.

“If I am to be with you, have a future with you, I wish it to be on my own terms, dear. Our own terms,” he slowly slid his eyes closed, mind only thinking about the potential, the work, the love he knew was in store, “If you will have me, that is.”

Tucking your head under his chin, you gladly nestled your face on his chest, only slightly aware that your eyes were wet.

“Of course, Lotor. What are best friends for?”

[zu-daba]

A Great Cry in Zul’Gurub

This is war.

And so, Alliance, I understand what you have done. War is ugly.

Some of you chose to let us leave. Some pursued us across the seas.

But you let us live.You let us return.

And so you must understand what we are going to do to you.

We will bring to bear horrors beyond your imagination.

We will kill your friends, your family. Your young and your old.

There will be no surrender, no quarter, no mercy for the injured or captured.

There is only escape, or death. I pray to my loa some of you will be wise.

I pray to Lukou those of you who are not will receive respite..

But mark my words, Alliance. This is war..

And if you stay in my city, I will paint it red with your blood.

“Oi, lad, sod off!” The ashen dwarf growled at the elderly human standing before him. “I’ve got work tae do. It’s a logistical nightmare out here, we’ve got trolls chargin’ back into th’city an’ reports are sayin’ we’ve lost the old infirmary.”

“My SON was in that infirmary, you heartless Dark-Iron..” The human’s grey brow furrowed as he spoke, “If my son has died to those savages, then--”

“Save it, before ye say something you’d regret.” The Dark Iron eyed him critically; pointing a finger towards the north across Zul’Gurub. “We just sent another group in. A good group’ve ‘em, so don’t go givin’ up yet, lassie.” The dwarf waved the human away, kicking back in his chair and grabbing a tankard from nearby to quaff of. The air out here was awful and far too humid, but having a good ole pint Grim-Guzzler style was welcome reprieve and reminder of home.

It was all just noise to Captain Curtis. A veteran from the 2nd war, the knight was one of Stormwind’s finest. He’d seen the atrocities of the orcs during their rampage, as well as the wreckage of the internment camps during their various rebellions. The antics of trolls weren’t much different, especially up north nearby Zul’Aman. Zul’jin’s forest trolls were simply another breed of brutes, and while he’d heard plenty of horror stories of old Zul’Gurub, the human knew that its present residents were not the trolls of yore. They were not Jin’do, or the Blood Lord Mandokir. They had no blood god or the high-priests of their faith. They rolled them over on their first trip through the city, and they’d do it again. For good, this time.

“Captain!” The elderly gentleman called out. Curtis sighed and turned towards the fellow, his gravelly voice responding quietly. “Yes, Thomas?”

“When did we agree to start getting bossed around by dwarves?” He asked, earnestly, with a hint of subtle humor. It was a ploy to hide his worry and fear.

“When we came to this accursed jungle to help take revenge on some tusk-apes, I imagine.” Curtis replied with a gentle chuckle. “Getting cold feet, soldier?”

“You know I don’t do that, Guard-Captain.” Thomas replied shortly. “Withersfield might have died in that crash, but we of Lakeshire stand strong. We don’t hide from any monstrous ilk.”

The man was jolted by Curtis slapping him on the shoulder and steadying him there, “Ain’t that just the truth. Listen, Thomas.. I know the dwarves aren’t much comfort, but soldier-to-soldier, I bet your boy’s fine up there. Best in his barracks, studying with the Church of the Holy Light.. What’d the clerics tell you?”

“A few broken ribs,” Muttered Thomas.

“A few broken ribs? Soldier, we both took worse from sparring matches. He’ll be fine. We’ve got our finest healers up in that infirmary helping Skaldrean’s medics. He’s in good care.” Captain Curtis offered a reassuring smile, then fished a flask from his side to offer towards the soldier. Side-eyeing the stern dwarf nearby, he snickered when he heard Thomas taking a generous gulp.

“It’s hard not to be worried... He’s my son-- He’s all I’ve got left.” The man murmured, “You think Withersfield would be ashamed right now?”

“You want my honest answer?” Curtis murmured.

Thomas nodded in response, his expression listless.

“I think he would’ve left by now.. I mean, all this for a kodo charging over a bridge--” “More for the rest of them.” “-- Fair.. But, every day, this feels more like the Commander’s conflict.. Not ours. We should be in Kul’tiras, or on Zandalar. Fighting the Horde.” He held out a hand to retrieve his flask from Thomas, putting it back on his belt.

“You’re not a bad Guard-Captain yourself, Curtis. I think he always wanted you to succeed him. When we get back to Lakeshire, I owe you a pint--” A thick drop of water fell onto Thomas’ brow as the elder’s wizened gaze drew skywards. “Ah, another rain storm. Wondrous.. Just what these old, aching bones needed today.” He spoke with a careworn tone.

“You’d figure we’d get used to it after a few months, wouldn’t you..?” Curtis peeked betwixt the verdant canopies above, then frowned softly. “Quite a storm.”

A great shadow loomed over Zul’Gurub as the clouds rolled in without warning, suffocating the comforting light of the stars and moon as phantom winds coiled about his body. Curtis shivered and canted his head, observing how the sky above almost appeared to glow green. He’d seen similar storms before - Such clouds heralded monsoons or hurricanes. Whirlwinds, for the most intense of them. They could normally predict these storms..

Both of the men startled as lightning coursed along the blanket and then struck downwards around the city; almost as if it were aimed by divine providence. Fire spread outwards from their points of impact, turning garrisons and barracks into beds of chaos. Startled soldiers ran from their shelter into the waiting, malicious night; gathering the rain waters and tossing it onto the flames. Yet they did not cease, the sheets of falling rain causing the ground to quickly turn into an impossible mire. Muck stuck to Curtis’ boots as he looked desperately to his comrade, attempting to shout over the wind.

But to no avail. It howled like an unholy beast. The thunder from above was like the roar of a thousand drums, the cacophony interspersed with the cries of those who were torn from the central lake’s banks and plunged into its depths to drown. The pair hunkered down, clinging to the weighty log as the storm raged around them. Their very allies, their very structures, were as deadly an obstacle as the storm itself. This was no regular tropical storm.. This was vengeance.

A loud thump - The log shifted. Something bounced from Curtis’ shoulder..

He kept still, sliding his gaze over towards Thomas. The man’s gaze was fixed forward, and he could see a shadow out of the corner of his eye. It was heavy, and lay half-buried within the mud.

Don’t.

Thomas crawled out from cover, his knees dragging across the cobblestone pathway. Wrenching the object from the muck, he turned it over in his hands and stifled his breath. Blood flowed down his fingertips as dozens more landed nearby, and the lightning flashed above.

“L-liam..?”

Curtis recognized the boy. He’d seen him grow up on the farms in Redridge.. He’d seen him hold the line against orcs and worgs. His eyes had been dredged from his head, and his mouth was twisted open into a scream while the tattered remains of his neck drooped against his father’s palms. Yet the cruelty did not end there. A seed lay within, and it sprouted the moment the father’s hands pressed against his son’s jaw. An eerie, terrified scream lashed forth from the fallen soldier’s maw; stretching to an almost impossible length as his father trembled in fear and sorrow.

“THOMAS!” Curtis shoved out from behind cover, scrambling as the smell of rot reached his nostrils. He felt practically drowned, hardly able to breathe in the thick downpour, and his lungs labored for breath. Yet still he pushed forward, mere inches from grabbing onto his friend’s shoulder before lightning struck nearby; sending him flying from his feet and back against the ground. His ears rang, but he stood back up and limped forward, calling out again. “THOMAS, WE NEED TO GET TO SHELTER, NOW! SOLDIER, THAT IS AN ORDER!”

No response. The storm was becoming white noise now.. He was growing used to it, accustomed to it. Over the din, he heard something else..

Songs.. No, chants. Chants, whispers, gleeful laughs. Silhouettes flowed around him, fluttering through the air with vague and twisted faces. Men, women, children.. Soldiers both young and old. Ancient shades, older than even himself, that doubtlessly dated back to the age of the Soulflayer. They were black as night, with eyes of blazing coal. The boldest among them lashed out from the impassive fog; clawing at Curtis’ heart as the weakest crawled along the ground. They moved as sludge, pulling themselves with drooping and stick-like limbs as their unhinged and ectoplasmic jaws opened to exude hollow sighs of hunger.

Curtis dropped his sword and shield, trembling as they drew in closer. He could see them swooping through the air nearby, towards those he’d not even noticed hiding prior. They were hoisted up into the thick of the monsoon, screaming as if their souls were being rent apart. Blood spattered the ground from above, tainting the rain and letting the sanguine roll on through the puddles. He would be next, if he didn’t think fast. There was nothing more he could do for Thomas. Despite the efforts of the young spirits and their furtive grasp, he wrenched away; leaping over their lines and dashing for his life towards the nearest structure. He needed shelter - ANY shelter.

Kicking and crushing heads as he dashed, he let adrenaline take the wheel. His need to survive took over his sense of fear. His focus turned upon what lay before him, not what chased mere inches behind him. His lungs burned, and he barely kept aloft with all of the destabilized dirt and unearthed roots. The whispers of the spirits got louder, he could hear them in his mind.

“You killed us..” “My child..” “My mother..” “My HUSBAND..”

“You let us burn!”

“The Veil hungers.. We hunger.”

“Do not run.. Join us in the clawing dark..”

He shook his head wildly as images passed through his brain..

 A great tree, once worshiped and exalted for shelter, had burned and fallen upon families in the district below. Women, children and simple tradesmen taking shelter.

Striped worshipers being shot into ditches at the foot of their own temple.

A slew of trolls falling from zip lines, mere minutes from their salvation while being shot by planes and dwarves on the great wall above.

Curtis pressed on, centering his mind.. And as he calmed, as instinct set in, the voices seemed less interested. His vision became more clear, and his shaking, clammy fingers found the door of his barracks. Opened, unlocked. He could hear the screaming of his allies nearby, but they were oft cut short. Fear.. Fear must attract these beasts! All the more reason to remain calm. He stepped into the structure that shook steadily in the rain, slamming the door behind him and barring it. Curtis’ muscular, aching back slid down against the coarse ironwood before he slumped against the floor; panting and centering himself.

Things were finally calming outside..

Until the door shook. Violently.

“Please-- Let me in, let me in! They’re coming for me, I’ve seen them.. They’re speaking to me, they want to take me off into the darkness in the north!”

Curtis spoke tiredly back against the door, but it was in his authoritative tone. He hoped it might appeal to the soldier’s sense of order. “Private.. I recognize your voice. Calm yourself-- I can’t let you in until you are calm.”

“S-sir, they’re here, I c-can’t s-stay calm.. There’s so many, they’ve killed everyone, and taken what remains..”

“You must, or I can’t let you in here.” Curtis peeked open an eye.. The roof was bent inwards from the heads striking against it. Even still, he could hear their sickening thumps and cracks as they landed nearby.. Then unleashed that ghastly and bone-chilling scream. “They feed off of fear.”

“PLEASE, LET ME IN!” The private shook the door as Curtis grit his teeth and closed his eyes. He wanted to hold his ears, but he couldn’t. The soldier’s breath was catching in his throat as he seemed tearful. “Don’t leave me out here.. I’m so scared, I can’t stop.. Go away, GO AWAY! PLEASE! I HAVEN’T DONE ANYTHING!”

He could hear their moans, their savage sounds of delight as they took hold of their prey. He could hear nails scratching against the doorframe as shivers ran down his spine, but all he could do was keep his mind center. Opening the door now would be suicide for himself and any other fool who had stumbled inside.

“PLEASE, CAPTAIN-- LET ME IN! LET-- LET GO! LET ME IN! LET.. ME... IIIIIIIIAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH..!” His soul splitting scream rang in Curtis’ ears before it was replaced by silence. He was gone - Gone with the rest of them.

The Captain shivered and nodded to himself. He spoke, but was unsure of his own words. “Just a nightmare, Curtis.. Just sleep.. It’ll be gone when you’re up.”

It was not. For Curtis, and all of Skaldrean’s misguided soldiery..

The nightmare had only just begun.

[composereggwrites]

TWEWYtober Day 8: Weird

TWEWYtober prompt list

AO3  | My TWEWY Discord server

Eri is no fool, Shiki's become secretive now, and she wants the truth.

Warnings for: Suicide mention (not actual suicide). Vague dysphoria mention because Shiki is a trans girl and you can't change my mind. That good gay shit.

“You know, Shiki, it’s weird. I don’t think you ever told me how you met Neku and all the others,” Eri says. “Or why you’re so mad about this Joshua dude tagging along now.”

She’s not oblivious. Eri is no fool. She knows something is up.

Shiki is secretive now. More confident, but secretive. She and Neku aren’t dating, she’s figured that out, but he… He was there for her, they have a bond that she and Shiki don’t share.

Eri shouldn’t let the jealousy coil around her heart like a vile snake, but she was Shiki’s friend first! That had to count for something.

Instead, Shiki keeps secrets, and she’s so close to Neku and Beat and Rhyme now.

“It’s… A bit of a story. Honestly, I don’t even know if you’d believe me,” she laughs, forced, huffed out.

“Oh come on, like I’d doubt you!” She looks up from her current design-work, grinning at Shiki.

A memory slithers beneath the surface of her brain, from the last time she let Shiki doubt herself. Slime refusing to stick, slipping away when she tries to hold it tight.

The terror as she texts. She calls. All in a vain hope the news is wrong. An accident. A careless accident. Shiki just forgot to look while she crossed the street, the driver didn’t stop. There was so much blood.

“Well,” Shiki sighs. “I--I don’t know if I should. Or if… If I’m allowed.”

Shiki makes a decision then. Fuck it.

If something were against the rules, she should’ve been told. Plausible deniability, they were negligent in their duties to keep her informed after the Game.

“Allowed? Is someone threatening you?” Eri’s voice spikes two octaves higher with the panic. “Did something happen to you?”

“Eri,” Shiki whispers, placing her hand on top of Eri’s, “I died.”

The words cut. They slice the slime, the sludge that kept the true memories at bay.

Three weeks.

Oh my god, three weeks.

Numb and tired weeks, drifting, a piece of her missing.

“You died.” Her voice cracks, snaps. Her hands cover her mouth as tears prickle at the edges of her eyes. “Oh my god, you were dead.”

“It’s okay, really!” Shiki says. “Listen, yeah, I died, but it’s complicated. And I’m alive now, see?” She guides Eri’s hand to the pulse-point on her neck.

Shiki’s heart beats strong, pumping on.

“I went to your funeral.” Shiki had been cremated. “How--?”

Shiki wraps her arms around Eri, and pulls her close, into a hug. “There’s this thing, it’s called the Reaper’s Game, and when you die, you might get to play it. They take an Entry Fee, something you value a lot, and you only get it back if you win. You have to Partner up with someone, and survive for seven days. Complete missions, fight things, it’s… It was a lot to go through. Neku was my Partner, and Beat was Rhyme’s, and we played during the same week at first.”

Eri sits there, absorbing this.

It wasn’t a nightmare, it had been reality. She’d lost Shiki. Pushed her away with one wrong sentence, Shiki, made of glass, shattering from her voice. Rivulets of blood outlining the cracks in her skin.

She chokes back a sob, leaning her head against Shiki’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, it’s my fault and I’m so sorry.”

Fingers run through her hair as Shiki sighs. “I was just an idiot who didn’t look when I crossed the street. It’s not your fault, Eri. I was upset, yeah, but… You didn’t cause my death. You helped me live.”

When Eri a small huh noise and looks up at her, Shiki continues: “The Game takes place on a plane above ours, like, stacked on top, and I could look and hear you, but you couldn’t see me. Not that you would’ve…”

“What is it?” She sits up, and wraps her arm around Shiki, pulling her closer now that it’s her turn to comfort.

“My Fee, it was my appearance. I was so jealous that they made me look like you. And I thought, hey, this seemed alright at first, the type of body I’d always wanted, but-- But it wasn’t right, and I couldn’t just pretend to be you, and,” Shiki’s breath stutters, ”I wanted my own body back, because this is who I am. I don’t need to act like you to be more of a girl, I already am one.”

Shiki brushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “It helped me figure that out, and… I figured out not all of it was jealousy, too. I mean, that’s not the only reason I admired your body.”

Oh. Shiki is blushing. Not looking up at Eri, cheeks painted red, and Eri knows by the fire burning at her skin her cheeks must match.

She’d missed her shot once, she won’t do it again. By some miracle of the universe, Shiki was with her, warm against her skin, and she resolves to never let her feel the way she did before.

Eri holds Shiki, broken shards remade into stained glass, her cheek is soft and there are no edges that cut. She’s stronger now, she dazzles the room like a disco ball, lighting up the world and reflecting energy back at others when it’s shared with her.

Eri is no fool.

Shiki’s lips don’t cut like broken glass, either. They hold firm against her own.

[coffeebooksorme]

LIFEL1K3 by Jay Kristoff review

GOODREADS SYNOPSIS:  On a floating junkyard beneath a radiation sky, a deadly secret lies buried in the scrap.

Eve isn’t looking for secrets—she’s too busy looking over her shoulder. The robot gladiator she’s just spent six months building has been reduced to a smoking wreck, and the only thing keeping her Grandpa from the grave was the fistful of credits she just lost to the bookies. To top it off, she’s discovered she can destroy electronics with the power of her mind, and the puritanical Brotherhood are building a coffin her size. If she’s ever had a worse day, Eve can’t remember it.

But when Eve discovers the ruins of an android boy named Ezekiel in the scrap pile she calls home, her entire world comes crashing down. With her best friend Lemon Fresh and her robotic conscience, Cricket, in tow, she and Ezekiel will trek across deserts of irradiated glass, infiltrate towering megacities and scour the graveyard of humanity’s greatest folly to save the ones Eve loves, and learn the dark secrets of her past.

Even if those secrets were better off staying buried.

I was given an eARC by RandonHouse via NetGalley for an honest review.

This book is just...this book is amazing. I quite literally have to force myself to not fill this with flailing gifs and incoherent keysmashes of joy to explain the amazingness that is this book. I love Jay Kristoff’s writing and this book has only solidified him as my favorite author. 

Lifel1k3 has been compared to Mad Max, Romeo & Juliet, XMEN, and various other fandoms throughout media but this story has a whole life (heh) of it’s own, lemme tell ya. From the setting to the world building to the characters to the vernacular spoken, this book is wholly original and absolutely fizzy to the utmost fizziness.

I went into this story not really knowing a whole lot other than it was a new book by Jay, it had robots, and it was set in a post-apocalyptic world. Considering I’d read most of his Lotus Wars series, Nevernight, and the Illuminae chronicles, I was excited to see what Jay would do with a sci-fi infused post-apocalyptic setting and he did not disappoint.

The Mad Max comparisons are on point because the Yousay is a totally broken wasteland of a world filled with desolation, despair, radiation, and cities that are ruled by corporations rather than government. It’s dirty, it’s filthy, it’s wholly unhygienic, and it is glorious. We go from the remnants of a literal trash heap floating in an ‘ocean’ that is nothing but sludge, plastic, and detriment of the old world to a desert town littered with ships, containers, and a hodgepodge of anything that can be scrapped together to make a building only to end up at the post-apocalyptic version of Babel that was once a shiny beacon of hope only to be brought down to nothing. The world in this book is choice and I loved it almost as much as I loved the characters.

Eve, Cricket, Lemon Fresh, and Ezekiel are our main cast and they are absolutely wonderful. Each one has their own distinct personalities that shine throughout the book. You will laugh, you will cry, you will scream, and you will stare gobsmacked at the book as you travel with them throughout this story. 

Cricket is by far my bestest little robot but don’t you dare tell him I called him little. He’s the sidekick to Eve’s main character but he was such a joy to read about. Every time he spoke on the page I was smiling and laughing at the bits of snarky sarcasm that he threw in. 

Lemon Fresh is the humor of this book and quite possibly the most badass bestie any fictional girl could have. She had her very own arc in the book that didn’t involve Eve which I really enjoyed because most of the time the side characters are only there as fluff for the MC but that wasn’t the case with Lemon. She had her own history, her own arc, her own very distinct and very awesome personality, and I cannot wait to see more of her.

Ezekiel is our lifelike of the story and love interest. I really enjoyed his character but he isn’t the swoon worthy HEA that I was expecting him to be as I was reading. Sure, he said some pretty words and did some pretty heroic things but I wasn’t all LE SIGH about him as I have been about other HEA’s. 

Eve is our MC who’s living a life filled with lies. I definitely got some Anastasia feels about her as the story progressed. She’s totally badass, sarcastic to a fault, a bit tempestuous, and sooooo much fun to read. She loves her Grandpa Silas to a fault, she’s super protective of her robotic puppy Kaiser, is super close with her bestie Lemon Fresh, and an absolute hilarious companion to Cricket’s mother henning. She’s a wonderful MC who went through an absolute roller coaster of a ride and I am chomping at the bit to read more of her considering how Jay completely ripped my heart out with the ending!

Kristoff is known for his twisted mind and twisty ends to books. Just when you think you’ve got it all figured out he flips you on your butt, grabs the story, and twists it in such a masterfully done way that all you can do is stare at the words and wonder what the heck just happened. It’s heart breaking, it’s maddening, and it’s absolutely freaking wonderful. In the wise words of Ron Weasley...

I do have a few qualms with the story that kind of irked me a bit. 

The addition of the Preacher just felt unnecessary. He’s a hired assasin sent by one of the corporations to capture Eve either alive or dead. He’s a one dimensional, Western inspired type of bounty hunter and while he did keep our cast on their toes for a good majority of the book, he just felt...blah. Yes, he spurred our cast to travel to Babel but I just didn’t really like him a lot. He’s very eye rolly.

Eve/Cricket kept calling Ezekiel Brain Trauma and Stumpy, respectively, in reference to some injuries that Ezekiel suffered in the book. To me, those ‘nicknames’ felt very degrading and insensitive and just a tad bit ableist to me. Jay could have left those out and the story would’ve been just fine. Also, when Eve and Lemon Fresh first find Ezekiel, who they assume is OOC, Lemon Fresh tries to take a peek into his shorts to look at his man bits and yeah, not cool. Robot or not, OOC or not, that left me with a really skeeved out feeling. Lemon’s quite obsessed with ogling at Ezekiel in the book and has no shame about objectifying him at all but actively trying to look in his pants when he’s the robotic version of passed out is not a good look.

Those few bothersome things aside, this book is amazing and I loved it. I laughed, I cried, I screamed (honest to goodness, I did), and I was completely thrown for a loop at the end. The book isn’t even officially released and I already want the sequel. 

[lesbrarians]

Junkrat/Roadhog: Voyages Ch 15

This is the end – post-chapter note over on AO3! Thanks so much for reading!

Title: Voyages

Characters: Junkrat, Roadhog

Rating: R

Summary:  After a rocky start and some ups and downs, Junkrat and Roadhog are officially partners, even if things haven’t progressed quite as far as Junkrat would like. With his treasure at the heart of their grandiose plans, they take their adventures overseas and leave their mark on the world, for better or worse. (Mostly for worse. They’re criminals.) Sequel to “Origins.”

—

Junkrat woke up to the smell of smoke and the suffocating sensation that something was horribly wrong. He extricated himself from beneath the dead weight of Roadhog’s arm and blearily stumbled out of the room to investigate. The air was warm, warmer than it had any right to be. He wandered down the corridor and turned the corner.

His eyes were still heavy with sleep. He rubbed them with his fists, convinced that they weren’t working right. It was the only explanation for the wall of smoke and fire that stretched down the tunnel in front of him. That, or he was dreaming.

He inched closer to the flames, his face burning up as he approached, and reached his hand out. He was used to extreme heat, but he couldn’t make it more than a couple metres away from the fire before the blaze became unbearable. This was no dream.

He could smell petrol and the foul smell of burning rubbish. If he glanced down, he could see the clearly demarcated line where the fire stopped in front of him. It stretched all the way out of sight, presumably back to the entrance. Someone had doused the area with petrol before setting it ablaze. Refuse served as tinder, fueling the flame long after the petrol had been consumed, and it filled the air with dense, grey smoke that smelled like rotten eggs and stung Junkrat’s eyes.

Smoke billowed in his face, and he coughed, pulling his sweater up over his mouth and nose. No one knew where they had set up base, no one except Lee, and they’d butchered the entire triad–

Junkrat froze, still dangerously close to the fire as he furiously tried to remember whether or not he’d seen Lee the previous night. She cut a distinctive figure with her facial tattoo, and the more he thought about it, the more certain he became that he hadn’t seen her face among the nameless gang members he’d fought the night before.

He swore and sprinted back to the room, which was growing hazy with smoke. He urgently shook Roadhog awake, trying to hold back his coughing. “‘Hog, ‘Hog, okay, don’t freak out, but there might be a tiny fire outside.”

Roadhog sat upright and looked around the room. The gas mask filtered out the smoke, which was the only reason why he had managed to sleep through it. He stared at Junkrat, trying to make him out through the fog. All at once, he stood up and left to see for himself. Junkrat hopped around the room, gathering up their stuff and haphazardly shoving it into their duffel bag. He dumped a bottle of water on a rag and tied it around his face, a makeshift bandanna to help filter out the smoke. It made it a little easier to breathe. It took two trips, but he lugged their belongings outside, where he found Roadhog staring at the wall of fire.

“That’s no tiny fire.”

“Might’ve been a slight under-exaggeration.” There was no way they were getting past this. “Junkenstein!” Junkrat said suddenly. They had made the executive decision to sleep in a different room than the one they used as their mad lab, particularly once their creation began to reach its full form. It was a terrifying, if awe-inspiring, creature, and even without a brain hooked up to it, they weren’t quite comfortable enough to fall asleep with its silhouette lurking in the corners of their eyes. “We gotta go get it, I’m not lettin’ all that work go up in smoke!” He held his breath and ran towards the flames and the doorway that led to their nearly-complete omnic. “You do the heavy liftin’, I’ll take care of all the miscellan–” He stopped abruptly when he turned his head to find that he was entirely alone. Roadhog was still rooted to the spot further down the tunnel.

Junkrat looked at the doorway, then back at Roadhog. He wasn’t sure he could drag his beast of an omnic back himself, and regardless, he didn’t want to be separated from Roadhog. And yet, he didn’t want to force Roadhog to get any closer to the fire. He’d never seen his bodyguard frozen by fear before, and it was deeply unsettling. Junkrat didn’t bear any childhood traumas that he was aware of – for as twitchy as he could be, he wasn’t easily traumatised. He had a skewed worldview, a faulty memory, and the inability to give a shit. He simply wasn’t affected by negative things that occurred in his past. It had never even occurred to him that Roadhog could be different from him, that he could have been scarred by the events of his lifetime, enough to shed his former life entirely. It had never even occurred to him that the man who had so brutally and gleefully murdered dozens not 24 hours ago could be the same man who was paralysed by the sight of a fire.

Junkrat looked back at the doorway. “Ah, fuck it,” he muttered to himself. He turned around and ran back towards Roadhog, abandoning the project he had so meticulously labored over and his dreams of reigning supreme over all omnics. “Run!” he yelled, grabbing Roadhog’s hand.

They ran until they were out of breath, venturing further into the bunker than they had ever gone before.

Junkrat bent over, hands on his knees as he panted shallowly. He already regretted his decision to run. There was precious little air as it was, and he was breathing too hard.

Roadhog didn’t have the same issue, given his gas mask’s air filters, but he had his own problems to worry about. “Couldn’t smell the smoke,” he muttered, preoccupied with his own thoughts. “Coulda slept right through it and died.”

“Well, y’didn’t,” Junkrat said. “That’s whatcha got me for.”

“You might not always be around.”

“That’s not ominous at all.”

Roadhog gave a noncommittal hum in response.

Junkrat straightened up and looked at him. “Tell ya what, we make it out alive, I’ll build you yer own portable smoke detector.”

“Good.”

The insufferable heat was lessening, replaced by a distinctly uncomfortable clamminess as they delved further into the damp underground bunker. They had outrun the worst of the smoke, but the air wasn’t getting any easier to breathe. Their only way out, and their only source of fresh air, had been sealed off.

With nowhere else to go, they kept walking.

“It’s happening again,” Roadhog said, and there was something odd in his voice, something raw and painful that Junkrat had never heard before.

He kept his mouth shut and his eyes on the ground, tracking the bobbing light of the torch Roadhog held to illuminate their path into the unknown.

“I was 18. Woke up like this. In the middle of the night, house burning down around me. It was something stupid, a frayed space heater cord or something, don’t fully remember. Lost my whole family that night.”

“Oi.” Junkrat didn’t know what to say. This kind of vulnerability was unfamiliar territory for him, and it left him feeling supremely awkward.

“Moved to Australia after that.”

Junkrat nodded. That was one of the few things he did know about Roadhog’s past, that he was originally from New Zealand.

“Brought one of the pigs with me, took up where my parents left off.”

Junkrat imagined a young Roadhog isolating himself in the Australian Outback, where he could be left alone and raise his pigs in peace, his last tie to his recently deceased family. “Which pig? Ink?”

He thought he heard the faintest glimmer of a smile in Roadhog’s voice. “No, it was Ink’s great-grandmother. Betsy.”

“Where’s the pun in that name?”

“No pun. My mother named her.”

“Guess ya didn’t inherit yer sense of humour from her, huh?”

“No. She was serious. Quiet, unless she was mad. She loved Betsy, though.”

“Oh. Sorry she died.” The words felt empty, but he had no idea how else to address a decades-old loss.

“Yeah.” Roadhog sighed. “Me too. Lost a lot that night. Lungs have been bad ever since. Then the radiation…” He trailed off, but Junkrat got the gist of it. All of the smoke inhalation caused damage enough, but the radiation poisoning destroyed them, taking him from asthmatic to perpetual gas mask wearer.

Junkrat was fervently hoping that his own lungs would recover just fine, if they managed to survive this, when Roadhog spoke up again. “You saved me.”

Junkrat looked up at him in surprise. “What, me? When?”

“Just now. With the fire. Not sure I would’ve been able to move without you.”

“Ah. Well, y’know.” He shrugged. “Figured it was about time I returned the favour, what with all the times you’ve saved my arse.”

They were well into the belly of the beast by now, the walls claustrophobic around them and the air stale and hard to breathe. The temperature was dropping, and Junkrat jerked back when he accidentally brushed against a wet and slimy wall.

He forged slightly ahead of Roadhog, a shield between his bodyguard and whatever laid ahead. Whether it was his usual self-destructive boldness or a desire to protect Roadhog that motivated him, he couldn’t say. Whatever it was, he kept a few paces in front of him.

“Eugh!” Junkrat rounded a corner and plunged into knee-deep water – cold, plague-infested sludge, the contents of which were better left unknown. Mud and filth never bothered him, but the slop was unpleasant and freezing and smelled horrific even by his standards. “Holy shit, get me out, get me out!”

Roadhog hauled him out of the mixture of water and waste and decomposing matter, and Junkrat slumped down against the wall.

The atmosphere was thin. He’d used up precious air and energy by yelling, and he was becoming increasingly aware that without any air circulation, he was going to asphyxiate.

“I’m gonna die,” he said, masking the weakness in his voice by dramatically flinging his arm over his eyes.

Roadhog silently sat down next to him. Junkrat peeked at him from under his arm to find him staring directly at the wall opposite them.

He dropped his arm. Roadhog’s taciturn agreement terrified him, as much as he wanted to pretend otherwise. Roadhog was usually the first one to call him out on his melodrama; the fact that he didn’t immediately shoot him down with a “No, you’re not” meant that he wasn’t over-exaggerating.

They were going to die in here.

Junkrat rested his head on Roadhog’s shoulder. Part of him wanted to be freaking out, to refuse to accept death, to try and seek a way out, but the other part of him, the part of him that was beginning to severely feel the effects of carbon monoxide poisoning, was tired.  And even if he hadn’t been sluggish and exhausted, he knew it was futile. They were underground, deep in the heart of a bunker that was carved into the earth. He didn’t have any blocks of C4 left in his arsenal to try and blast a way out through the ceiling, and even if he did, he’d probably cause a cave-in in the process and quicken their deaths. “Never thought this’d be how I’d go. Thought there’d be more explosions and fun things. Yer the only consistent part.”

To his surprise, Roadhog gave a wheezy laugh. “You always pictured me dying with you?”

Junkrat lifted his head up to look at him and raised his brows. “‘Course!”

“Pretty screwed up.”

Junkrat listlessly let his head fall back down on Roadhog’s shoulder. “Eh.”

There was a moment’s pause. “If I have to die, I’m glad it’s with you.”

Junkrat pulled down the makeshift bandana he’d tied around his face and turned his head to press a kiss to Roadhog’s clavicle. “Me too, ‘Hog. Me too–” He broke off in a fit of coughing. The mucus he hacked up tasted ashy in his mouth.

Roadhog sat up straighter in alarm and fished around for a can of hogdrogen. “Take a breather,” he said.

Junkrat obliged, and the hit of compressed chemicals helped ease the sudden pains in his chest. He hadn’t inhaled that much smoke, all things considered, but the rapidly dwindling supply of oxygen was suffocating him and exacerbating the symptoms. They both knew that the hogdrogen was just delaying the inevitable.

He let the can fall to his side, and they sat there in silence, waiting death out together. There wasn’t much more that needed to be said.

Junkrat’s fog-addled brain was making it very hard for his eyes to focus on much of anything. He stared at the blank patch of wall opposite them, illuminated by the beam of the torch in Roadhog’s lap.

Roadhog shifted, and the torch moved with him, shedding light on a seam they hadn’t noticed before. Roadhog saw it first, being considerably more in control of his mental faculties.

“A door,” he said, shining the torch further up the wall. The heavy metal door was dirty enough that it had blended in with the tunnel walls, and even Roadhog had to strain to wrench it open. It was a mirror image of the entrance they had first broken into, with a long set of crumbling stone steps that led up to the surface.

A spark of hope reignited in Junkrat – maybe, if they made it out of this godforsaken bunker in the next ten minutes, they could survive this after all. He struggled to his feet.

They hit a barrier at the top of the stairs.

“It’s walled up,” Roadhog said. “We’re still fucked.”

“No, no, we can do this!” Junkrat was desperate. He’d resigned himself to his fate, but now that he had been given this glimmer of hope, he would hold onto it until the bitter end. He ran his hands over the mortar and rapped on it with his knuckles. He didn’t think it was solid concrete the whole way through. “Gimme one of my mines.”

Roadhog’s hum was doubtful as he handed over a concussion mine.

They crouched at the bottom of the stairs, ears plugged as Junkrat chanted, “Three… two… one…”

With a resounding boom, a cloud of dust and smoke billowed skyward, and Junkrat’s hopes soared – but when he scrambled back up the stairs, they plummeted once more. The detonation had left behind a crater at the point of impact, but it failed to blast a hole in the wall. Freedom remained just out of reach.

Junkrat sank to his knees, woozy and defeated.

“Move.” Roadhog pushed past him and slammed his shoulder into the wall, a human battering ram.

Again.

And again.

Junkrat closed his eyes, his head full of nothing but the sound of each deafening boom and Roadhog’s grunts of exertion.

There was a great crash, and sunlight flooded through his closed eyelids as Roadhog broke through the wall. His eyes flew open as a gust of cold, fresh air hit him, and he gasped. It felt like the world was spinning when he stood up, and it was sheer will to live that enabled him to stumble out into the blinding light of day.

They burst out onto a sidewalk, narrowly missing a gaggle of pedestrians, who were looking at them like they had two heads. Junkrat collapsed on his hands and knees and brushed them off. “Don’t mind us, just… takin’ five.” They side-skirted him, whispering furiously. He rolled over onto his back and covered his face with his hands to block out the harsh sunlight.

Roadhog sat down heavily on the ground next to him, and they both rested, breathing hard.

“I give up, Roadhog,” Junkrat finally said, voice weary. “All this tryin’ and failin’… I’m full up of it. We’ve been workin’ too hard. Maybe we should just… not do this anymore. For now, anyway. Put me treasure back in the tire where it belongs and go have some fun.”

“We deserve a vacation,” Roadhog said.

Junkrat let his hands fall from his face so he could blindly grope for his partner’s hand. “Too roight, we do.” He found the thick wool of Roadhog’s sweater, the sleeve caked with blood and dirt up to the elbow. “Did you know London has crown jewels?” he continued, affecting a conversational tone. “Let’s go be kings. You can be my duke!”

“Pretty sure a king is higher than a duke,” Roadhog pointed out.

Junkrat acknowledged this with an airy, flippant wave.  ”Eh, details, details.” He felt his way down Roadhog’s arm to meet his hand.

“Can I wear the crown?”

“You mean the crown of King Jamison Fawkes the First? That’s my crown. But really, c’mon, what’s mine is yers at this point. ‘Course ya can wear the crown.” Junkrat cracked open his eyes to blearily gaze up at Roadhog. With the sun at his back, his head was surrounded by a glowing halo of light that looked positively ethereal, and all Junkrat could think about was how lucky he was. “And y’d look radiant in it, mate.”

Roadhog gave a soft huff of laughter. “Whatever happened to fifty-fifty?”

He wrapped his hand around Roadhog’s fingers. “Details,” he repeated, his eyes drifting shut once more. “Details.”

[raptorsenshi]

Milk

When I was a kid, I was obsessed with milk.

We all had that phase, right? Where there was a food or drink we just couldn't get enough of and wanted it morning, noon and night. That was me with milk. I could drink it by the gallon. My parents didn't mind, they would rather I wanted something healthy like that to quench my thirst than be constantly after soda or one of those concentrate drinks full of sugar that you had to add water to.

I could make myself sick sometimes, drinking too much, too fast. But didn't every kid? Hell, even adults can have too much of a good thing and make themselves ill for it. It was never enough to put me off though, no amount of aching bellies could separate me from my beloved milk. Nothing could.

Or so I thought.

See, our kitchen was pretty small or at least it was too small to fit in the gigantic fridge (and freezer) my parents had. So it was kept in the basement instead.

One summer when I was around sixteen, my parents decided I was old enough to stay at home alone whilst they took off on a second honeymoon or something. I didn't mind, at that age I would rather have stayed at home with my friends than been a third wheel to my parents as they tried to rekindle the romance. Besides, if I needed another my grandparents lived right across the street. Yeah, my family was the kind who didn't stray far from their roots.

It was uneventful as you might expect: I had friends over and we played video games, pigged out on takeout and that was about it beyond my taking care of the house duties.

Until the third week.

The house was old so creaks and groans and other 'unexplained' noises were something I was used to and easily brushed aside. This one night, however, I had just come back up from the basement – the door to which lay in our kitchen – with a glass of milk, ready to crawl up the stairs and settle into bed for the night when an unusual banging came from the room I'd just left.

I tried to brush it off as just the ancient stairs airing their complaints after I'd trampled up them, but there was something so off about it. In my sixteen years of living in that house I'd never heard anything like it. I figured it might've been a wild animal, maybe a raccoon or opossum that had somehow got in during the day. Being a typical teen, that was not something I wanted to deal with late at night, so I simply locked the basement door to prevent it getting up into the main house and went to bed.

Morning came and I tentatively went down into the basement to check for any signs of a wild animal, and beyond the few cobwebs to be expected even in a furnished basement like our own, there was nothing, so I decided it really had just been one of the many noises of our old house, got my usual glass of milk and headed back up the stairs.

That night, the noise returned. This time I was sure it wasn't simply random creaking, because it started up at the exact same time right before I headed up to my room for the night. The only difference was I hadn't been down to the basement yet so it definitely was not the result of me stepping on some well-worn floorboards.

Being the not particularly brave teen I was, I bolted out of the house and across to my grandparents. Fortunately they were still awake and my grandfather was a bull of a man not to be messed with. He marched over with his shotgun to investigate, only to come back a half hour later claiming he couldn't find anything or anyone. He reasoned, like me, that it was maybe a raccoon and was hiding in a nook or cranny somewhere down there, and had locked the place up to stop it getting out much as I had done the previous night.

I stayed at my grandparents from that point on, going back into the house during the day to take care of any chores and play on my Nintendo for a couple of hours. I didn't go back down into the basement, opting to eat and drink at my grandparents' home too.

About a week before my parents got back there was a summer storm that caused a power outage. It lasted a couple of days but gave me all the more reason to spend the remaining time my parents were away at my grandparents.

When I returned one morning to open up the curtains I noticed a foul smell spreading throughout the house. Knowing the power had been out I assumed the heavy, pungent odour was coming from the food in the fridge and freezer that had begun to go bad. The thought of dealing with it was unpleasant but it wasn't something I wanted my parents to come home to. I didn't want to deal with the cleanup and my grandparents would be out of town for the night visiting my great-uncle and I didn't much fancy having to clear out rotting food alone.

So I did what any bone-idle teenager would do and left it. Sprayed some air freshener and dealt with it for the day, choosing to eat dry cereal and drink water rather than going down to the basement and be overwhelmed by the stretch seeping out of it.

That night was particularly hot – even for summer – and so I ended up turning the AC on. The cool air spreading through the house was a relief as I went to sleep, but it was soon a decision I was regretting.

I woke up at around four in the morning to find the air of the house thick and muggy, it was worse than when I had gone to bed. Worse still, was the stench so strong I could taste it in my mouth. It was sweet and sour all at the same time, mixed with the sulphuric smell of rotting eggs and something my adolescent brain could only describe as someone having missed the toilet.

I thought about a time when I was younger, when my dad had accidentally unplugged the fridge and none of us had noticed until the milk had gone off. I could remember that smell as I gagged and hurried into the upstairs bathroom, kneeling before the toilet as my stomach threatened to empty itself. It was sweet and bitter like this smell, with something acidic I've never known how to explain, and I could remember the thick, chunky sludge the milk had become, none of this helped me as the scent that filled the house seemed to flood into every pore of my body. I could smell it on my clothes, it was so strong my eyes watered and with one final, heavy flip, my stomach heaved and I vomited.

How could the smell have gotten so bad in just a few hours?

It was only when I was cleaning myself up at the sink that I noticed the air vents weren't pushing out any soothing, cool air. Knowing that I obviously hadn't turned it off as I had been sleeping, I assumed the system was still messed up after the power outage. I couldn't stay in that house with that heat and that smell and so, dressed only in my underwear, I hurried over to my grandparents and, once again, spent the night there.

When they arrived in the morning I explained the situation to them. Neither were pleased I hadn't taken care of the rotting food the day before, but agreed to help before it could get any worse.

'Worse' would be an understatement for the odour that smacked us in the face. My grandmother couldn't even make it into the house, she was an ashen white and bent over the table on the porch, gagging. Even my grandfather lost his hardened composure upon setting foot into the house, having brought a tissue out of his pocket to cover his nose and mouth.

"Stay here," he told me, a clear command even if his words had been a little muffled. I, of course, didn't listen to him – because it made no sense to me for him to make me stay out and have him clean up all the mess – and once I heard the basement door open I cut through the house to the kitchen.

I can only describe walking into that kitchen as having your face millimetres from an oven door when it's opened and the wave of heat knocks you off your feet. It was that, but only the smell. I could hear my grandfather retching and coughing as he descended the stairs, and I myself was soon doing the same as I made my way to the basement door with tears forming in my eyes.

Now my grandfather was a hard man, but I had never heard him swear until that moment. And it was as if he was making up for a lifetime of never saying a bad word with the string of curses leaving him. This urged me on through the heated murk of stench that made traversing the stairs a grinding task.

I wish I had listened to my grandfather when he told me to stay with my grandma.

He tried to urge me back up before I saw anything but it was much too late for that.

The noises I'd heard from the basement weren't from the house settling, nor were they from an animal.

They were from a human.

A human now rotting in the summer heat and half-hanging out of an air vent. Now I knew why they'd stopped working, and how the smell had permeated the whole house so quickly. It also explained why neither me or my grandfather had found anything upon investigating the basement- they'd been in the vents. The fact a person had somehow gotten into my home was chilling enough, to see them as the first dead body in my life was worse. Death is a part of nature, but a disgusting part when the usual human ways of dealing with it aren't in practice.

A body rots quickly in heat, and their corpse was hanging in such a way I'm sure that if it had been left another day or two the body would've snapped in half. Fluids leaked down the walls: congealed blood, dirty brown liquid I didn't want to think about, and the worst of it- something thick, white and pus-like that reminded me of that sour milk.

The smell of death clings to everything, and even after the body was removed, all furniture from down there tossed out and the basement professionally fumigated, it still lingered. I threw out the clothes I'd been wearing that day, no matter how many times they were washed it was still there. I couldn't go down to the basement, it still hit me like a truck each time I so much as passed the door. Even my parents who were fortunate enough to still be gone during the worst of it couldn't deal with it. They moved to the street over and from what my grandparents have told us, whenever someone new moves in they always complain about the smell.

We never did figure out how they got in, the police believed there must have been some open window I missed one day and I'm inclined to agree. They were homeless, looking for food and shelter, something I can't hold against them. I almost feel guilty in a way. The noises they made sneaking around the basement at night drove me away to my grandparents. Maybe if I'd stayed I would've heard them call or help – if they had called for it at all – when they'd got stuck in the vent. Maybe they'd still be alive. I don't know.

What I do know is from that day on, I couldn't drink milk. The smell of even fresh milk would bring the reek of death back to me, like it had just been trapped and waiting somewhere at the back of my nose. The sight of it reminded me of those fluids seeping down our basement walls.

When I was a kid I loved milk, now I hate it.