#and it's hard to do other stuff while you wait without ducking in and out of storylets constantly

[asleepinawell]

wait they nerfed knifegate???

[starryeyedjanai]

Steve and Eddie meet through their local buy-nothing-sell-nothing group when Steve’s getting ready to move in with Robin and he realizes he can't keep everything he owns while trying to merge households with her.

The first time they meet, Steve hadn't even been meaning to actually meet the person picking up the free toaster oven he’s giving away.

He’s setting his toaster oven outside his house on the porch when Eddie hops out of his van to pick it up and it would be rude to duck back inside without saying anything since he obviously sees him coming up, so they make small talk for a minute and Steve has to keep his eyeballs in check because they keep wanting to rake all the way down this guy’s body.

He’s covered in tattoos and so extremely Steve's type, but he knows better than to hit on someone who lives in his neighborhood and is not here for that reason.

He laments to Robin about it the next day, about the hot guy who’s probably using Steve's toaster oven as they speak, who he’ll probably never see again.

Robin rolls her eyes fondly at him and tells him that maybe if he puts more stuff up for grabs on the facebook group, he might see him again, but Steve suspects she just wants him to get rid of more of his stuff so it doesn't overcrowd their new apartment.

The set of items he puts up in the group next is an old blender and a butcher block that has three of the knives missing—seriously where did those knives go? He has yet to find them.

He tries to pretend he isn't secretly hoping Eddie will comment under his post that he wants the items, but he isn't fooling himself when his heart literally skips a beat when the first comment is from Eddie. He messages him and tells him to stop by later that day.

When Eddie shows up, they talk for longer than last time, Eddie asking why Steve needs to get rid of so much stuff and Steve asking why Eddie needs all this stuff—especially considering Steve snooped through the group and saw that Eddie joined over a year ago and hadn't once commented before now (he doesn't mention that thought, but he is thinking it real hard).

Eddie laughs and says he was in the market for a toaster oven when Steve posted one and wouldn't you know it? He also needs a blender—the knife set is just a bonus, he says.

Steve tries not to read too much into it, but his brain is spinning the interaction around in his head for the next week.

He puts up a space heater in the group and within minutes, Eddie has claimed it.

“I should just get your number and text you directly when I find something I want to get rid of next time,” Steve says flippantly when Eddie comes by to grab it that night. “Instead of clogging up the facebook group.”

Eddie smirks at him and steps a little closer. He says, “Maybe you should.”

His neighbor’s car alarm decides to go off right at that moment, ruining the flirty atmosphere with its incessant shrill. They can barely hear each other over the drone of it, so Eddie leaves without giving Steve his number and Steve is left feeling like he keeps having these missed connection moments with Eddie.

In a fit of desperation to see Eddie again, Steve puts up a bunch of random stuff in the group the next day—a shoe rack that’s missing a piece, a step stool, a cheap side table he got from Ikea—and Eddie is still the first person to comment like he’s been refreshing the page, just waiting for Steve to post.

“I left without giving you my number last time and I didn't want to be creepy and message you unprompted,” Eddie says as they load the side table into his van. “I think I was overthinking things and then got kind of spooked.”

“It doesn't look like anything could spook you,” Steve says.

When they get the side table inside the back of the van, Eddie turns to him and admits, “A very pretty boy could.”

Steve can feel his face getting hot. “You think I’m pretty?” he asks.

Eddie nods. “Why do you think I keep coming here? There's no way a person who’s lived here for as long as I have would need all this stuff.”

“Did you need any of it?” Steve asks in a teasing voice. “Or were you just so blown away by how cute my profile picture is that you just had to meet me?”

“Oh, I needed the toaster oven, but everything after that was just to see you again,” Eddie says before biting his lip.

There’s an entire swarm of butterflies in his stomach when Eddie's hand brushes his, when Steve takes Eddie's hand in his and leads him inside his box-filled house.

Later, when they’re making out on Steve's couch—when Steve really should still be packing since he has to move in less than a week—he pulls back to ask, “Wait, so are you gonna put the rest of the stuff you don't need back up for grabs in the group? I feel like that would start so much neighborhood gossip.”

Eddie grins wide and Steve wants to kiss him again, wants to feel his smile against his mouth.

“Oh, we’ll be the talk of the town, baby,” Eddie says, pulling him back in.

[worldofkuro]

So, you do headcanons imagines, stuff like that... Yeah? Can you do one of Alastor, Blitz & maybe Lucifer where someone they care for (S/O or daughter) who has borderline is having a emotional breakdown? Or a splitting episode? I have borderline & I'm not having a good day...

I’m sorry I answered it so late, my dear. I won’t lie, I don’t really do other characters than Alastor, because I think I handle his persona quite well ( I won’t sugarcoat him,dear. So his scenarios can be…rough.). I had to do more research on Lucifer and Blitzø. I hope it will still be good for you.

Alastor: 

Alastor would pity you. How weak of you to be controlled by your emotions, be stronger he doesn’t someone  weak.

He would watch you as you broke down, grinning while spinning his microphone. Your tears were a beautiful spectacle but he was getting tired of it, he needed you to do an errand for him and he was busy being annoyed by you, so you had to go.

He would tap your head, asking for your attention in a silent way. He always hated when you were more concerned about yourself than him. How narcissistic could you be!

When you looked at him, he would smile at you like usual, telling you were making a show of yourself. He couldn’t have that right? He was the star in this hotel !

He would easily calm you down… Well, it’s not calming you down. He would use words that would stun you so hard you would freeze. He would use your insecurities against you to make you feel even more bad than you were feeling but then he would say how amazing he is to keep you by his side even when you were in that state.

You wouldn’t want him to get bored of you, right? So you should cheer up, and give him a big smile! 

In your weakened mind, Alastor’s words sounded like comforting words while it was only condescending manipulation.

In the end, you would go do your errand as Alastor waved you goodbye with a mocking smile.

You were so easy.

“ And don’t forget dear, you are never fully dressed without a smile!”

Blitzø:

Shit, shit shit shit shit !

He would be so lost! He didn’t know how to handle those kinds of emotions, that’s why he ran away from them. He was hesitating between screaming at you to stop being a pussy and hug you.

But it was you… And seeing you in that state really..moved something in him.

He always despited himself, he always pushed away people’s care for him because he knew he would lose their love soon enough. He knew it, he was unlovable. He wasn’t deserving of people caring for him. That he knew.

But when he heard you say those words, the same he thought about himself… He despite it.

He would put you on his knees, his tail wrapping around your ankle and wait for you to calm down. He really was clueless, the only thing he wanted was for you to feel him even when you were lost in this storm of emotion.

Once you began to come back to your senses, he would ask you why you were feeling like that. That might sound stupid, but if you managed to talk about how you were feeling it would help him understand himself better.

He would hug you stronger as you kept stalking. He was just a useless imp… But you didn’t have the right to feel like this, you were better, you were… out of reach. And yet you broke down in his arms.

He would find a solution in sex, I won’t lie. It’s something, bad or good, he used to ground himself, so he might ask if you were in the mood. Maybe that way, you would be able to see how much he cared without him saying it.

“ We’re fine.”

Lucifer:

He would run toward you, maybe crashing against his pile of ducks. He would approach his hand toward your shoulder before taking them back. Did you want to be touched?

Between Alastor, Blitoø and Lucifer, he was the one more capable to understand what you were going through. Sometimes he would feel overweight by the hotness of Hell, wishing for nothing more than to feel the cold air of heaven between his wings.

He knew how feelings could be stronger than oneself, so he would kneeled at your side, and enveloping you in his wings.

He would have his back turned on you and his wings would cover you, making you feel safe, like you were cut from the world you were living in.

Lucifer would sing you a lullaby, a song that he used to sing to Charlie when she was a baby. He would stop when you form would have stopped shaking and you whimper quieted down.

He would turn his head toward you, waiting for you to speak first. If you decided to stay silent, not asking him to sing again, you would stay in a comfortable silence.

He would sometimes wiggle his wings if you touched his feather, wishing to hear your laughter. That’s the least he could do.

He would feel at fault for your conditions, were you like this because you were a sinner? Because he decided to give free will to humans, you had to suffer like this? Your episode would sometimes trigger his own mood drop.

That’s why, when you both were feeling down or you could feel an episode coming and you needed each other, Lucifer would wrap you in his wings, his back turned on you and you would stroke his father from your fingertips.

This was your way of saying, for the both of you.

“ I’m here.”

[missmarveledsblog]

FLUMPY part 11 ( jake seresin x reader)

summary : with roo , nat and jake gone the remainder of the dagger squad take it as their mission to make sure that the pregnant girlfriend and their friend is taken care of while she is racing to tell her dad before someone else is going to let it slip , dealing with life without jake being by her side isn't as fun and she is counting down the days til he and her favorite people return .

warning: other than my spelling and grammatical error this is a mostly fluffy goofy chapter with the mentions of pregnancy and all the good stuff that comes with it . the men of the dagger squad being big brother goals ,some mentions of an encounter with a shitty human who tries to hurt a dog.

(previous part)

She sat sitting in the car not actually knowing what it was that had her crying . was it the hormones , the fact jake was gone for three months or fact he didn’t dump her there and then . she didn’t know how long it was she was there but the crowds were long gone some even stopped to see was she ok that was til she heard a tapping on her window only to see bob standing there holding container in one hand and smile on his face . 

“ hey what you doing here” she sniffled trying not to look like an absolute mess .

“ nat sent me told me you needed this and probably a hug” he stood shyly only for her to start crying even more. “ shit you want me to bring you good duck park rooster and hangman said that cheers you up” he offered quickly only for her to cry harder. 

“ they know me to well” she sobbed as he pulled her into a hug  knowing or thinking he knew why she was crying . 

“ we can just go home or hard deck i’ll even do a shot with you” he smiled. 

“ i’ll go the hard deck but i can’t drink “ she winced.  “ kinda erm pregnant which with how loud jake yelled it  well i need to see my dad quickly “ knowing some of the men where actually worse with the how lose their lips could be . sure national  and classified secret hold til the grave but moment it came to things of normal like well they turned into a sewing circle. 

“ congratulations really” he smiled widely . 

“ ugh your so cute” she sniffled wiping her nose .  

“ come on leave you care we can come back for it later or i’ll leave mine either way your in no shape to drive”  bob help her out of the car she instantly notice how his touch got softer almost like any pressure would break her making her roll her eyes but hug the WSO  hard . 

The moment she walked into the hard deck all eyes were on her , giving bob a nod she headed over to her dad who sat talking away to penny til his eyes landed on her . 

“ well didn’t think i would see you in this place for nine months” he crossed his arms . 

“ worse then high schoolers” she turned to the officers standing around promptly turning their attention to anything else under her heated gaze .  “ i was going to tell you properly but jake well yelled so loud honestly  surprise you didn’t hear him from your place” she joked smiling awkwardly. 

“ pay up “ penny smirked. 

“ can you two stop betting on my life please it’s a bit odd but also go penny” she rolled her eyes hugging her dad. 

“  i would of rather heard it from you but the free drinks helped “ he chuckled. 

“ hey i want free stuff not alcohol if wanna be generous nacho’s would be awesome” she yelled out . 

“ so i guess jake happy” penny laughed hugging her. 

“ yeah i was so nervous then the whole dock found out got lots of hugs from strangers” she nodded . 

“ well heres a free cola on me  and looks like the guys are waiting for you” penny smiled nodding her head over to the little small group of the dagger squad. 

“ we come over tomorrow anyways go kiddo enjoy” pete kissed her head. 

“ yeah coyote looks more lost without jake than i do “ she teased making  her way through the crowd nodding at the congratulation til she got to the usual spot only for javy to lift her off the ground with a hug  almost spilling her drink but like a knight in shining armour bob took it from her hand put on table . 

“ our baby is having a baby “ he cheered . 

“ excuse me “ she laughed , 

“Oh we decided a while back you were our little sister so not up to you “ fanboy shrugged. 

“ i’ve no say in this?” she asked . 

“ nah .. plus one of us already called mav dad before” payback snickered. 

“ that was once and it was slip of the tongue” bob grumbled. 

“ we even cleared it with rooster” coyote winked  as she hugged the others . 

“ well i’m glad you got his approval “ she rolled her eyes taking her seat. 

“ so as your new found big brothers and future uncle to the baby seresin / mitchell that is growing inside of that tummy of your we are here at your beck and call so even if heartburn or some shit  in the middle of night you gotta call us “ payback informed her honestly it felt like she was being scolded like a naughty child. 

“ even if it’s for ice cream” fanboy added only for penny to bring over a container filled with nacho in front of her. 

“ courtesy of yale” she snorted. 

“Hey thank yale” she yelled mouth watering at the food before her only for more food items to be brought throughout her time in the hard deck that night some by the people that got them or to the point penny sent the delivery man or woman directly to y/n . each time she yell out the thanks to the name on the receipt . 

By the time she and bob got his car and she head home she’d enough  containers to feed  her for the week or least first couple of days .

Jake honestly was  up and down from one moments of being happy then being scared shitless within the space of few hours he was going through a series of emotions.  It  honestly  gave nat and bradley whiplash trying to keep up with him .  one hand he was so excited for  the chapter of his life , he was older almost into his forties so the fact he was going to start a family well it was everything . then it was fact he was actually going to be a father what if he was shit at it or his kid resented him for being in the navy or  what if something left him inured or worse kill in action . then he was afraid of not being there for his girl the fact she was going through three months alone without  him  being at her side. What if something happened and he couldn’t be there for her . now he was sat with phoenix and rooster since honestly the two need to get him to chill out or else get him sedated . 

“She not going to be alone the guys will be there and her dad” nat said softer than the usual tone she would take with hangman of all people. “ plus you and bradshaws got like weird spidey sense sort of thing with her so if you even for a second felt something was off you would … we all would honestly swim back to san diego” .  

“ she is right we knew she was off after that sea food platter and when she gets her period which now isn’t a problem because she can’t have either of those while pregnant” rooster smirked .  

“ he’s got a point” nat laughed, 

“ i’m going to miss three month of her pregnancy of my first child “ he finally said  looking down to his hands . 

“ barely anything happens in first three months” nat tried to play it off. 

“ scan says she 10 weeks so she be what six months when i get back”  he scoffed . 

“ well once your there for the birth meeting your first child , thats the main show my friend plus way you two go at it you’’ll get to experience it again” roo wince considering he caught them in considerably a few compromising times . 

“ honestly i’m surprised she wasn’t pregnant sooner” nat nodded along . 

“ yeah not helping , i just wished it was different i mean what if something was to happen to me “ he asked the two . 

“ i think coyote called dibs on y/ns” rooster said easily. 

“ so did bob” nat nodded along .

“ again not helping” he deadpanned. “ i don’t want my kid to grow up or my girl to be heartbroken trying to explaining   why daddy ain’t around i mean it hard thing to go through” . 

“ here as the only orphan of the group yes it hard  but i turned out fine my mom made life the best even if she was dealing with a broken heart , plus trauma make you funnier why you think me and pretty girl are so hilarious “ bradley winked. 

“ she does say she half way to being batman only Mav in her way” nat chuckled. 

“ look bagman sadly your a good guy and well we do unpredictable shit but your are going to be one of those fuckers that dies like ripe old age shitting in his diaper” bradley patted his back . 

“ i say this with love but don’t comfort people outside of our group but also thanks it weirdly helped “ jake said slightly surprise how it help just now he was counting down the moment he would get to see her . 

Waking up to a half empty bed was something she was never going to get over it . it had  been two weeks since they were gone and still felt like it was going to be forever before they got home . like it was perfect time every symptom decided to come at once leaving her napping during her lunch break or her head in the toilet . since word spread quickly of her pregnancy everyone was almost babying her making her want to honest bite them or something . admiral simpson also got a recruit one who was studying engineering to “Intern for her” which was his way making sure she wasn’t doing anything too strenuous but did mean she had to guide the dude through literally everything.  Luke wasn’t a bad kid and well poor fucker got confused more times then he should of plus calling him kid was a bit much given he was only a couple years closer . she notice kyle and coyote instantly being there too if she so much as looked at something they deemed too heavy. But true to their words one night she rang them crying because well she felt lonely and they all came and watched movie even camped out in the living room like it was a sleep over . whenever she mention of craving something well they would come back later with said thing .  bob even  got her new overalls when the little bump that started to protrude  out took her til she went home to realise what he done  , it wasn’t big by any means but still clothes where starting to get a bit tight . even mama seresin and jakes sisters sent some maternity clothes  down for her to wear and she had to give it to them they found cool stuff . she never wore the pj’s though because at night she would take one of jakes T-shirts wear them to bed was closest thing to having him there .  even during the week the guys including the newbie kyle brought her to the good duck part even making friends with the senior citizens that were there .  she was never so lucky in life as she was now to have the friends she did   when it came down to it moving to san diego and starting fresh was the best thing she ever done. 

Walking with the guys , shopping for stuff to send the guys that weren’t there care package she needed to rest when they spot some sport store honestly she zoned out half way telling them she wanted to rest on bed to knock themselves out . 

“ stupid mutt” was all she heard pulling her attention to a man yelling down at a terrified dog .  instantly she was protective mode hauling her ass off the bench no longer tired .  “ waste of money stupid thing” he spat going to kick the already shivering and cowering dog. 

“ hey asshole” she snapped pushing him away . 

“ mind your business lady nothing to do with you” he growled. 

“ i’m making it my business what fuck is wrong with you kicking a defenseless dog” she spat not noticing that fanboy was already rounding them up the moment he spot her walking off from the bench. 

“ again none of your fucking business chubs now fuck off what i do with my dog is my business”. 

“ and i told you dickless .. can i call you that because you’d have to be a dickless asshole to hurt an animal what pisses me off is if this little guy defended himself he would be branded a monster ,  don’t mind the dickless man you poor little baby “ she cooed down at the dog instantly cowering behind her. “ what if i hit you huh cut you down to size and chubs really dude you look more pregnant that i do “ she scoffed. 

“ listen lady keep you mouth shut or i’ll… “  he started. 

“ or you what , i hope you aint talking to our sister like that pal” coyote stood making himself bigger as the rest followed. 

“ because she can’t hit you in her condition “ fanboy added. 

“ but we can” bob spoke completely different honestly she was a little impressed . 

“ what like i’m afraid of you” the man said yet his face gave it away instantly. 

“ you should be “ payback stood in front of her. 

“ you know what you care so much about the bag of flea take it ain’t worth it” the man rushed off as they walked him til he drove off only to hear her giggling and laughing . 

“ he likes me” she beamed up at them . 

“ please let us be there when you tell jake” fanboy snorted.

“ he’ll get over it , day got better free dog and awesome cool bodyguards … sorry brothers now lets go get this little peanut some new things “ she smiled happily. 

 “ she’s gonna be the death of us “ kyle sighed and they all agreed. 

“ it doesn’t actually have flea’s right we took my car here” bob gulped.

Lucky for bob peanut did not in fact have  fleas but he was skin and bone . peanut was only seven months old pitbull and nothing to him  , she brought him everywhere even to the hard deck letting sit with her and the guys although he was nervous at first when it got busy but soon got use to it even  only place she couldn’t bring him was work and  so she brought him to a doggy day care one of the officers recommended one night at hard deck . two weeks was all it took for the pooch to get use to the new dynamic given it was probably the most attention he’s gotten in his life . now she was sitting on her sofa patiently ( for her ) for jake to call he let her know he had a slot for facetime coming up and she was looking forward to it  almost counting the seconds til she could  finally see him . 

“ now we gotta do this smart ok” she said to the dog currently sitting at her feet only for the phone to ring out and her to rush at it almost dropping it  as she hit the answer button . 

“ hey baby” god even his voice made her insides melt. 

“ jake i missed you so much “ she almost cried she was so happy to finally see and hear him . 

“ i missed you too hows baby” he asked nervously. 

“Growing and currently kicking my ass i mean of course they would given they’re half you , look ” she giggled holding the sonograms up . “ i sent some in care package so you’ll get to see it for yourself  i asked them kept gender surprise til your home so we will get to see it together “ she cooed. 

“ darling …. Tell me something and tell me truth” he asked his eyes coming closer. 

“ anything ask away “ she smiled sweetly. 

“ why is there a dog sitting beside you “ he asked wondering if weeks at sea was making him see things only for her to see peanut was in fact sitting beside her . 

“ well long story short , we were shopping for the care packages and well the guys went to soon store while i wanted to chill out on bench this douche was kicking him and then he called me chubby like dude looked like he was carrying quads anyways after fat shaming and threats boom free dog isn’t he a cutie” she cooed. 

“ darling don’t those eat babies” he whispered . 

“ oh my god your like the shelters … jake seresin are you dog racist” she gasped .

“ dog racist?”. 

“ these dogs are sweethearts it media and dumb ass idiots that make them like monster but peanut is a sweetheart better then the chihuahua in his daycare i think that dog hates me” she winced.

“ dog daycare darling how long is he there?” he chuckled.

“ oh like two weeks , we watch golden girls with miss wilson too  she knitted him a  little cardigan he’s still skinny as hell but he’s coming along greatly” she smiled softly kissing the dogs head. 

“Well i guess i can’t wait to meet him and tell rooster we have a dog now,” he chuckled 

The two chatted trying to fit in everything in the limited amount of time before he had to say goodbye only now peanut was added in to which confused the hell why the phone was talking to him but still wagged his little tail . when the call did end he got up in her lap and licked away the tears that fell down her cheek. 

“thank fuck you're here” she smiled sadly hugging him closely to her.  Only two more months to go before jake was home . 

part 12

taglist : @harrysgothicbitch @djs8891 @darksparklesficrecs @emma8895eb5eb @sarah-bear706318

[aidemint]

To Break A Habit | Routine Doesn’t Get You Kisses Like These

Summary: You kinda-actually find out he wasn’t joking about the spider stuff. Okay. But you’re totally cool about it. Totally.

Word Count: 5.1k

Pairing: Hobie Brown/GN!Reader

Notes: 5 minutes of screentime and i’ve already wrote more about this guy in a week than i usually write about anything in three months jesus christ

Masterpost | AO3 |  Part 1 | Part 3

“40081’s got this hoodoo shit goin’ on.” Hobie sighs as he makes his way down the main hall of Spider-HQ, recounting his mission discoveries from days prior. “Some sort of bad luck spell that’s making the world lose its plot.”

Gwen paces beside him, listening intently. “Sinister Six behind it?” she asks with a frown. “Or do you think it’s something else?”

“Not certain,” Hobie responds with a shrug. “But I’m close to catching the anomaly. Things should reset once it’s out of the fabric.”

“Hope it gets resolved soon.” Gwen sucks in a breath from between her teeth. “Miguel’s not looking too happy these days.”

Oddly enough, the mission so far had been almost deceptively easy—three days into the operation Hobie had already located and shut down a multitude of energy pockets emanating from certain parts of the city. A variant of Mysterio or Osborn was bound to show up soon, as the sites were likely siphoning vitality from the dimension. Now he just needed to gather intel about the effects of the magic while playing the waiting game. Luckily for him, he has a direct source.

“Relax Gwendy, it’ll be fine. I even got in touch with one of the locals for—” Hobie starts assuredly, turning to address his drummer, but pauses and swivels around when she’s noticeably no longer keeping up with his stride.

“You what?” Gwen stands frozen in the middle of the walkway, eyes blown as large as dinner plates with her mouth slightly ajar. She readjusts herself with a shake of her head, though her hands and shoulders remain raised and stiff. “Hobie, please tell me you’re not getting to know a civilian. ”

“Then I won’t tell you that I’m ‘getting to know’ a civilian.” A roll of his shoulder and he’s back walking, half-lidded eyes peering at Gwen when she inevitably joins again, bobbing and weaving through a downcurrent flow of Peter Parkers. “And I won’t tell you that it’s strictly for information about the mission.” A coy smile tugs the edges of Hobie’s lips upward. “Probably.”

Gwen looks just about ready to explode at the last quip. “You just told me— Oh my God, you know that, out of everything, is against protocol. Very against protocol,” she hisses, her voice lowering as her lip curls and she leans further into the privacy of only each others’ company. “What will you do when Miguel finds out?”

“You gotta live freely past the propaganda, Gwendy,” Hobie replies nonchalantly, patting a palm on her shoulder as a point of reassurance. “Just think about it.”

The best Gwen can offer him is a wary glance and a moment of hesitation, but he takes it with a grin anyhow. He’s certain she’ll eventually come around—the extent of their friendship isn’t something so miniscule that a few words of indoctrination would ever be enough to turn her.

It’s a nice notion to have, but he unfortunately doesn’t get much time to dwell on it—suddenly, his watch buzzes with an alert.

Hobie checks the device. “Someone’s ringing me, gotta bounce.” A few taps of an orange screen and a twist of a dial, then a portal opens up just shy of his left arm. “Been fun, Gwendy. Don’t blame me if I come back late.”

No matter how hard she rolls her eyes, Gwen can’t help but give into the smile that creeps onto her lips. “Stay safe, loser,” she responds, bumping her fist against his.

“Safe is practically my middle name.” With that, Hobie ducks into the gateway, and disappears.

How the fuck do you accuse someone of having spider powers without sounding like you’ve gone insane? Since morning you’ve been stuck in a cycle of decision-making for a seemingly hopeless situation. You thought the hard part was over after seeing the guy in the costume swing away on white silly string, but the mostly sleepless night and brainstorming the resolution to be had was another beast altogether. What doesn’t help much either is the fact your favorite pair of jeans are now stained to shit because an idiot thought it would be a good idea to trickshot a half-full Starbucks drink into a trashcan you were standing right next to.

Oh, New York, how it surprises you each day. You swear you’ve never had bad luck like this in your life—and now you’re twenty minutes late, punching in your timecard and hurrying to tie on an apron.

Even through your shift the anxiety doesn’t go away, despite how you try to ignore it. Nervous energy bleeds into your work, shaking hands spilling and dropping drinks; your preoccupied mind is nowhere near as focused as you need to be for the rush—you remake a drink three times in a row before being on the receiving end of a tired lecture from an angry customer.

“Something on your mind?” one of your coworkers ends up asking after most of the crowd has dissipated. “Or just tired?”

You’re on the verge of bursting into tears actually, but you manage to stifle it with a deep breath in. “A lot of both,” you mumble in response. You can’t tell her about Hobie, and it’d be too winding to describe the entirety of everything. She’s pretty good at giving looks of pity and she’s already shot you one following the complaining customer. Honestly another one is the last thing you want to deal with right now. “Maybe I should’ve just skipped work today.”

“Don’t worry, we all have bad days,” she offers with a consoling pat on the arm. “How about you just calm down for a bit and take your break? I’ll make you your favorite drink and get a bowl started for you.”

The gesture does ease your nerves, even if only by a little. You sigh, shoulders slumping, and give your coworker a grateful smile. Parting ways then, she returns to her station to honor her word and you make your way to the back to punch in the start of your break.

Exhaustion starts to seep in when you catch yourself staring blankly at the time card machine, watching the hands of the clock tick away second by second. There hasn’t been significant progress in terms of settling the whole “Hobie Brown is a superhero” dilemma, you realize, just a lot of pain and aching on your part. Maybe it’s time to put the matter to rest just for a brief half an hour—you’ll pick it up later. There isn’t even a guarantee Hobie will show up to the shop anyhow.

Yeah, you have time.

The chunk sound of the punch machine brings you back to your senses and you put away your slip before making your way back to the front of the house.

“Drink’s ready and bowl’s on the way. You can enjoy that while you wait,” your coworker chirps, sliding a cup to you when you emerge from the back. You’re just about to voice your thanks before she cuts in again, gesturing to a spot just beyond the counter. “Oh, and someone asked for you. He’s right over there.”

Your eye is already twitching before you even look. But you suppose you hate yourself and the world at this point, because you slowly turn to where her hand points regardless and find the one man you just made a pact with yourself to not think about.

Hobie greets you by name and gives you a friendly wave. Out of courtesy, you force yourself to return in, lips pressed together in a tight smile with the short extension of your hand.

“Heard it was your break,” he says, approaching the glass panel between the two of you. “Mind if I intrude?”

Yes! you scream internally. Yes I do mind very much!

“No, it’s alright,” you end up saying to him, staving off a growing impulse to whack yourself upside the head.

“Sick,” is all Hobie replies with before he retreats to a nearby table. “I’ll be waiting here—don’t rush yourself.”

It’s right about now that you’re wishing he wasn’t so nice and you didn’t like him so much so that this process of confrontation would go about smoother. Your gaze lingers on him and you bite in the inside of your cheek as you think about the validity of what you witnessed yesterday.

The option to not tell him and maintain your chances of still potentially becoming friends like normal exists. Dodging the awry reputation that comes with the manic conspiracy theorist persona is always good. You’ll get over it one day, right? Leave the suspicions behind and assume that the image was just a hallucination brought about by stress; convince yourself that Hobie Brown is just your average British punk-rocker.

But you can’t fight the feeling in your gut, how it burns, and suddenly you’re leaning over the counter, over the glass.

This is a bad idea. “Hobie,” you call in his direction.

He looks up. “Yeah?”

Shit, this is a bad idea. “I have something to tell you.”

“Wah’gawn?”

“It’s… I think it’s a matter best told in just our own company.” You look around apprehensively, a slight crease in your brow. “Mind going somewhere more private?”

Trying your best to ignore the suggestive look your coworker shoots at you from your peripheral, you beckon Hobie to come into the back. Walking through the kitchen, you usher him into the storage pantry and shut the door behind you when you join him.

“I’m guessing we’re not just here to kotch?” Hobie teases with the sideways tilt of his head.

“Unfortunately.” Your gaze lowers to the ground at the admission, fingers finding one another and squeezing. “Been thinking about something for a while.”

Hobie lets the change in the air stew until it thickens before responding. “Ready when you are.” His voice is softer, malleable, lost of all its previous playfulness and replaced with a certain kind of sincerity.

The slightest incline of your chin brings your stare back to him. You wish it served the simple purpose of just admiring the slopes and angles of his face, but your lips part and your curled hand trembles, and it all reminds you of the gnawing insecurity.

“I need you to tell me the truth.” You say it slowly, sincerely, keeping your voice as steady as you can despite the way your heart rate thunders. “Please.”

In your supplication, you aren’t certain how to appraise the extent of your desperation, but Hobie’s gaze does not leave yours. He nods wordlessly, a glint of something in his eye and it looks a lot like deference.

You take it as permission to continue. “When you brought up Parker”—you swallow thickly—“you were talking about something real, weren’t you?”

A beat of silence. There isn’t any external reaction from Hobie, standing as still as he had the moment he stopped in front of you, face lax and hands tucked away in his pockets.

“Ain’t got a Scooby-Doo what you’re talking about,” he says plainly, unfaltering in every word. Even then he doesn’t move, fortress-like in his disposition.

Perhaps he truly doesn’t know what you mean, you think. The chance is present, albeit slim, though present nonetheless—and how tightly you clutch this sliver of hope. But for a moment, in your hesitancy and under Hobie’s untelling stare, doubt creeps in—your palms grow clammy against the material of your pants, sweat assisting the glide of your fingers against one another. Your eyes search those of the man in front of you, wishing his look could change so you could find the courage to ground yourself.

What if you’re wrong? What if it’s all a fallacy, some trick of the light? New York is no stranger to oddities but even this seems too extreme. Coincidental talk of Spider-People leading to an impossible accusation. Fucking Spider-People don’t—shouldn’t—exist. The idea grows more absurd the longer you question it. Peter Parker got the short end of the stick, if there was even a long end in the first place, so what the hell are you doing?

But what if you’re right?

A breath rattles through you. “Hobie.” With a new waver in your voice and a tremble to your hands, you stand unsure of how your conviction bleeds through what you say but you try anyhow. “I know you’re gonna think I’m crazy, but I saw a masked man walking on the side of a building yesterday.” The admission comes quickly, riddled with cracks, but you’re entirely too focused on the followup to care. “After the conversation we had about Spider-People, after the whole thing about superheroes, tell me that it wasn’t you up there. Because I saw your— your fucking pins and I’ve never— God, I don’t even know! I’ve never seen something like this.”

Your fists clench, fingers digging crescent-shaped craters into the flesh of your palms. The marks bite, angry red and stinging—perhaps aching even more the absence of Hobie’s response, the seconds you give him to reply.

“Who are you?” Dry—your throat is so dry. Your voice can’t be anything above a whisper with how hoarse the question comes, flaking away with every shallow breath you take.

Silence blankets the both of you then, soundless space a limbo between comfort and unease. Unsure of what to do with it, what to make of the situation you stand in now, you let it hang listlessly, drawing upon an empty room and an even emptier conversation.

It takes a handful of moments for Hobie to even look like he’s processed all that you’ve said. Under your scrutiny, the smallest movement of his eye is the only discernible change to the testament. Whatever goes on inside his head is a complete mystery to you for the few minutes that elapse before he speaks.

Finally, he shifts in his stance. “You want me to just come out with it, yeah?” he asks, not sounding terribly happy, but not as nonplussed as you expected. He sighs when you nod slowly. “Alright. I’ll start from the top, then.”

He tells you his name is still in fact Hobie Brown, and he was bitten by a radioactive spider three years ago. Formerly a runway model, though not a role model, he’s been protecting the streets of his hometown against the PM. When he’s not playing shows, antagonizing fascists, or staging unpermitted political “action-slash-performance art pieces,” he’s out partying with his friends.

“And don’t call me a hero,” he ends with a frown. “Hate the label. Calling yourself a hero makes you a self-mythologizing, narcissistic autocrat.”

When he stops, you have both hands to your temples, pressing down hard. You can deal with his anti-authority spiel just fine—some part of you even agrees with the sentiment—but there is so much to unpack prior to the statement.

“So you— you have actual spider powers? Oh my God?” you sputter, eyes blown wide in an expression of surprise you’re sure looks exaggeratedly dreadful. “What even— that’s— what even are spider powers?”

“Dunno really.” Hobie gives a shrug. “Enhanced hearing, speed, vision, and sticking to walls are the main perks. Also links up to my—”

“Can you shoot webs out of your butt?” you blurt in a sudden horrible realization.

There’s a few seconds of tense silence before Hobie bursts into laughter, arms crossed around his torso to hold himself, shoulders bunched to his ears. The ring of his joy through the air lifts a weight from it and suddenly the atmosphere doesn’t feel as crushing as before.

Witnessing his state, it doesn’t take long for unease to fade away and for you to start softly chuckling with him.

“You’re so jokes,” Hobie cackles, a hand over his eyes as he leans back. A long, shuddering breath tears through him in his attempt to calm down. “But to answer your question, no I can’t shoot webs out of my arse.”

“Thank God,” you breathe, clutching your heart. “Wouldn’t have looked at you the same if you said you could.”

“I don’t think I can look at you the same after you just asked that.”

“Hey, in my defense it was just to get to know you better.”

“I’m sure that’s all it was.” Hobie gives you a pointed look, but is quick to smile after. “Speaking of which, I came in to ask you something as well.”

“Oh?” You blink. The sudden shift in conversation is unprecedented, taking you slightly by surprise, but suspicion is quick to replace your wonderment when you notice a change in Hobie’s features. A squint narrows your eyes. “What are you plotting?”

“Nothing, it’s just I have an excuse now that you know me better.” He pauses briefly, staring at you for a moment. “I wanted to ask if I could know you a little better.”

Your lips purse in confusion at the phrase, forehead pinching. “But you already know me?” you ask, brow raised. “Don’t tell me you forgot everything already.”

“I didn’t,” Hobie reassures gently. “I was just thinking instead of talking over a counter we could do it over dinner? Maybe a movie, if you have the time?”

A beat passes and suddenly realization sets in, drawing all the air out of you. The smallest groan escapes you as you bury your face in your palms, the skin of your neck and cheeks burning hot. Every inch of you seems more sensitive in your mortification—were you always this close to Hobie, and was his cologne always that strong?

“I’m an idiot,” you whisper from between the gap in your hands. “God, I’m such an idiot.”

Hobie supplies a soft chuckle to ease your embarrassment. “You’re not. It came out pretty corny anyways.”

“I can’t believe I’m getting asked out by a guy with spider powers.”

“Is that a yes or a no?”

You groan again, a tight breath pressed against your fingers. “You are so lucky you’re cute, Hobie Brown.”

It is as endearing as it is exasperating that you can practically hear how big his smile is. “You free tomorrow?”

“Anytime past five,” you reply softly, slowly inching your hands away from your face to peer at him. “Where should I meet you?”

Hobie’s grin tilts sideways at the query, a new sparkle of mischief brightening his eye. “I’ll come pick you up.”

Dates aren’t exactly a new concept to you—you’ve been on a handful, and they all go about the same. The first time, someone shows up with flowers or a small gift to start the evening right, then you’re whisked away for three hours to some place to hang around and have fun. It’s conventional, it’s safe—sometimes you enjoy the company more than the actual activity, leading to a second or third outing, but there’s nothing too special about the dance you do with routine.

Along this line of reasoning, Hobie crash-landing on your balcony with one of the most ridiculous offers of transportation isn’t exactly the way you imagined your date would start.

“You are not web-swinging me to Manhattan,” you tell him, still inside your apartment, arms crossed and shaking your head vigorously. “I don’t care what you have set up, I’m not gonna risk going splat on the damn concrete.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Hobie pushes playfully. “Promise I won’t drop you.”

You frown, brows furrowing and lips pursing as you glare at him. He returns the look as calm as ever, a slight smile edging the corners of his mouth and stance open in invitation. The way he holds himself has uncertainty creeping to you, forcing out your fervent disagreement in favor of consideration in a rather slick way of persuasion.

Perhaps you should’ve known you wouldn’t win, with the sheer difference in your demeanors. Your staredown continues for a couple of minutes before you sigh, breaking eye contact with a reluctant drop of your chin and a gentle moan of diffidence.

“Can I at least close my eyes?” you mumble, walking out and shutting the balcony door behind you.

“You can do whatever you want,” Hobie replies, sliding on his mask and gloves. “Just hold on tight.”

Stifling a breath when his arm wraps around the small of your back and under your thighs, you cling to his shoulders as he lifts you up and climbs on the railing.

“You ready?” His chest rumbles under your touch when he speaks, and you can only give a small nod in your position, heart pounding against your ribs and face buried deep in the nape of his neck.

Hobie laughs—a deep, warm sound—and then launches off your balcony.

There are no words to truly describe the feeling that swallows you while in freefall. Wind blasts past your ears in violent howls, gravity pulls your figure down but your insides up, and the only thing you have to ground yourself is the feel of Hobie as you clutch him with every bit of strength you possess. Adrenaline thrums through every vein, lighting your nerves on fire and prickling your skin with gooseflesh; even your energy to scream depletes into fueling the rush that floods your senses.

Upon the first pull up, Hobie’s web catching a surface to swing from, your gut lurches and a serrated gasp shudders through you. Your arms pull you impossibly closer to him, fingers clawing to dig deeper into the back of his vest.

“Easy now,” he chuckles, sounding miles away with how loud your heart beats in your ears. “I promised I wasn’t gonna drop you, didn’t I?”

“D-Doesn’t make it better,” you gasp, shivering now that the breeze whips against your back.

“Try to relax—we’ll be there soon.” Though he says it like it’s the easiest thing in the world, it proves contrary to the way his grip tightens around you with the next swing.

Despite how comforting the gesture is, you find that you can’t relax much while still flying through New York a hundred feet in the air.

After what seems like days of travel, Hobie finally lands on solid ground, giving you a moment to catch your breath before setting you down gently. His arms are threaded underneath yours as you try to balance on shaky legs, knees bent and feeling all too much like jelly for your own comfort.

“I feel like a newborn deer,” you sigh, voice trembling from the withdrawal of adrenaline. Jitters quiver your fingers, lightly chatter your teeth, and shake the thin chamber of your chest. “My God, how do you even get used to this?”

“Gotta learn to trust yourself,” Hobie hums smoothly. “First time’s always a tad tricky.”

You only nod, gaze now pinned to the ground as he gradually guides you forward, step by step, until you’re stable enough to slowly walk on your own. From there, the slightest incline of your head brings your attention to a small spread of food and flowers laid out nicely on a patterned blanket. A warmth comes to settle in your core at the sight, softening your eyes and easing the tenseness in your limbs—contentment reaches you and the stress gained from the ride here begins to fade, if only by a little.

“Hobie, this is so sweet,” you coo, pleasure lightening the tone of your voice.

His rings just as sweetly through the evening air. “Good to hear—would’ve been gutted if you didn’t like it.”

You laugh at the response, casting an affectionate glance at him that just grows fonder upon meeting his charming reciprocation. The bend of his brow, the part and curve of his lips, the crinkle of his eye—all of it has you transfixed for a generous moment, barely able to notice the way your navel aches with longing in your stupor.

The feeling persists throughout the evening, present in every winding conversation and instance of quiet shared between the two of you. It’s rather freeing to be unconstrained by the formalities usually held by the label of a first date and to sense such endearment for the whole of it. There is no talking to only talk—every sentiment has meaning, every word punctuated by some semblance of tenderness; there is no awkward atmosphere brought about by nervous tension—you rest comfortably, leaning back on your hands, as does Hobie, elbows on crossed legs, positioned towards you.

Hours pass by easily in the space, kissing the sky with hues of orange and gold and violet as they bid a teary farewell, trails of light following in the wake of their departure. Yawning clouds push to the east, unlined shapes dissipating with the fleeting luster. Soon, the New York city skyline is only a bleak, black horizon that cradles a half-yolked sun just shy of its surface.

Golden rays grace your skin, full and temperate and real. You’re just about to gush to Hobie about how this is your favorite time of the day when you’re stopped by the shallow movement of his arm.

He shifts to pick the carnation laid closest to your hand, snaps off the longer part of its stem, then tucks it delicately behind your ear. Wordlessly, he adjusts the petals, and grins when they seem to his liking.

You’re practically bursting at the seams when he retracts his hand, fingers ghosting the curve of your cheek on their path back. Heat rushes to your neck, white-hot on a quick shot up to heat every inch of your face. The sensation catches your breath, widens your eye, tucks the tip of your bottom lip between your teeth, and all you can do is sit and watch Hobie as he admires you.

There’s a look in his eye that you hope is reflected in yours, how beautiful he is. The warm vermillion hue of the sun hits his complexion and it’s like there’s nothing else in the world to behold but him.

Suddenly you find yourself reaching for the flowers on the blanket, clasping multiple in one hand and halving the stems with the other.

Leaning forward, palms stained with sap, you place the carnations in each of Hobie’s wicks, uncaring of the smell of chlorophyll or the tremble of your fingers. You only return to your seat and wipe your hands when you finish, the expanse of his head dotted in small blooms, all that’s left of the original bouquet messily cut stems and loose leaves.

A breathy laugh escapes you at the sight, light and happy and bright. “You are so pretty, Hobie,” you whisper, your heart swelling with adoration. “And I wanna kiss you so bad right now.”

He smiles. “I’m not going to stop you,” he says, then wraps his arms around you when you crush your lips to his.

You feel you must be drunk on something, but are entirely too far gone to care the slightest bit. Hobie is every bit as soft and warm as you imagined, his hold homely, his scent familiar. Breathing him in, bergamot, plum, and sandalwood filling your lungs, a dreamy sigh stutters out of your nose before you start to move.

The kiss takes on a steady rhythm then, perhaps the easiest thing you’ve had to follow. Each press of your lips against his finds just the right amount of resistance, the feel of his piercing snug as it nudges you in every shift. Your hands find purchase in cupping his face, fingertips smoothing the silver studs that line his ears and thumbs stroking his cheeks.

Hobie’s touch rests just shy of your waist, the bend of his elbows against your ribs, palms flat against your scapula. His chest rises and falls with every breath, a slight hitch in the motion when you crawl to his lap, sitting in the space between his legs.

The two of you share your own pocket of heaven for a minute longer, then with one last kiss, you part. As your eyes flutter open, Hobie slides a hand off your back to thumb your lip, swiping a finger across your bottom one.

You make a questioning noise but remain unmoving as he works, sliding his digit across sensitive skin.

“My lipstick got on you,” he explains when he finishes, showing you black makeup smeared on his thumb. “I liked the look of it, but didn’t know if you did.”

A gentle laugh spouts from you at his kindness. “I’m all for you giving me a makeover next time,” you say with a grin.

Hobie gives a small chuckle back, delight sparkling in his eye. “Good.”

The afterbuzz of the date still tingles the back of Hobie’s neck even hours later. It’s ten o’clock, the moon at highrise and not a single star in sight in the muddy violet pool that overhangs New York. He’s in the middle of a stakeout, monitoring an energy station reopened as bait for whatever, whoever, might come out in response. The task of fully focusing proves rather hard in the wake of remembering the warmth of you as you held him, the brush of your lips against his, and your small gasps of breath, but he tries anyhow.

Hobie’s just finished shaking off the image of your face in the light of dusk when his watch buzzes. He looks down with a frown, noting the peculiarity of receiving a call this late.

“Gwendy,” he greets, an orange hologram of Stacy appearing with the twist of a dial. “What are you ringing me for?”

“Hey Hobie,” she returns flatly, not providing much else before quickly casting her gaze askance.

From her projection, Hobie can gather that something seems off—Gwen’s stance is completely closed, arms crossed and feet together. What looks like nervousness twists her features, pinches her forehead, pulls her lips tight together. She’s never been good at hiding her emotions, but even this seems exaggerated.

Sobriety seeps into Hobie then, the high of hours ago eroding. “Something wrong?” he asks, voice dropping low.

Gwen pauses, hesitating. “Miguel wants you back at HQ,” is what comes from her after a few seconds. “Now.”

“What about the mission?”

“He just says to leave. There’s been some new intel. That’s all I know.” Gwen swallows thickly, her eyes flickering back to Hobie. “See you soon.”

“Alright, see ya.” The hologram blinks twice, then disappears. Hobie taps on his watch to open a portal back to Earth-928, dubiety sinking its teeth into his thoughts. Miguel was ever the autocrat, so he was never quite fond of the guy, but the way Gwen had come to him—with a fresh feeling that extended beyond terror etched in her expression—that doesn’t sit well. He doesn’t need a spider-sense to recognize that something is amiss.

Somehow, he can’t elude the feeling of dread that creeps to him when he’s swallowed by the vortex.

[the-nysh]

Hi there!! I just saw your tags on the Vash marksman appreciation post and I really REALLY gotta know your thoughts on the fight choreography bc while I did martial arts as a kid I don’t remember everything and just extremely curious!! Wanna appreciate the thoughts put behind making this boyo!!

👀👀!!! Yes, hello! (Note: I'm also about 10yrs rusty out of practice in hapkido--a Korean defensive art that combines many styles from judo/aikido/etc, so while I may not remember all the formal terms and stuff, I can still SEE the very real and very sexy close combat choreography + randori/grapples/ground work they're smoothly throwing in there!) I've briefly tag-ranted on some former gifs I've reblogged here & here but OK, I can indulge into a little more detail! :D

Let's start with this gif, which is such a nice introductory tease!

The point-blank bullet dodging is some of that sick looking 'rule of cool' inhuman spice, but oh what's this?? 👀 The other dude is dumbly holding his arm out (non-defensively, since if that guy were smart about close fighting, he'd have his other hand up at the ready too) right in Vash's personal space, ripe for the taking - to which OH YES he easily blocks with the prosthetic arm and transitions right into a throw for the takedown. Where he shoves the fool over his shoulder with a lot more power (which is hard to do, esp from a standing position without a solid grip on any lapels either; woo he just goes right in for it), rather than using the dude's own momentum against him, since the guy's literally just standing there (as a stationary weight) rather than trying to punch him in a brawl. But LOOK what else Vash does!!! His block with the prosthetic becomes a grip that both holds/pulls onto the guy's arm during the throw and disarms the guy - by tossing his gun away, in one swift movement! :O Not only that, but there!! We see the first quick tease of him reverse-griping his own heavy brick of a gun into a tonfa position to strike the guy at the back of the neck for a non-lethal stun!!! That is SO cool!!! ;o; Some galaxy-brained application of his no-killing fighting style (using both arms + his revolver in his repertoire...oh wait, that already makes up the title's literal 3 guns *gets shot*) where it looks so fresh and seamlessly smooth af. Great stuff.

Then the Livio fight, despite him being double-armed with long-range weapons, is full of close-range gold from the way Vash tackles him, straddles him, and pins him to the floor with a (forceful!) choke to the throat (like whoa excuse me hello), but ALSO from the self-aware way Vash always has his guard up to keep both of Livio's guns out of the way at all times. D: Whether parrying bullets with his prosthetic, blocking/holding the guns away with that arm too (as shown), or even using his own gun defensively as a tonfa-shield to reinforce his blocks as well.

So then we get to THIS GIF, the same sequence that drove you insane for his smooth marksmanship tracking, drives ME insane for his immediate close-quarters holywhattheflyingshit did he just DO!?!?!?! 👀👀

LOOK AT HIM!!! Honestly it's kinda hard to see everything from how fast he goes, but I love the way he zips in there to grapple Livio off-balance, and ahh!! Look at the way Vash ducks and defensively keeps both arms up (this is SO important, because once you've trained you'll notice how in so many movies/comics' 'rule of cool' martial arts moves, they'll often have a character wildly swing their arms out to the sides to counter-balance kicks and stuff, but no--that's bad/unsafe form; bc if you're in a real fight you need to keep both arms up and ready at all times if you want to protect your core/face from getting blown off! Which just as you've noted, is something that needs to be practiced! The fact Vash has kept his unblemished pretty face for 150yrs is testament to that~) Vash knows how to simultaneously use his prosthetic AND his gun as needed--cause look at that, he swiftly holds it reversed as a tonfa again to block Livio's gun swing, which is a really cool way to use a gun as a shield to protect his own flesh arm from the incoming blows.

But that's not all, because ahaaa~ Fighting defensively is not all he's got up his sleeve! The little boxing jab he throws to Livio's face with his prosthetic arm makes me giggle, because OH YEAH that's a real thing! A type of distraction strike you pull - the same as stomping on a foot or kicking someone in the balls, to disorient your opponent off-guard first before you serve your real (offensive) move. Which in Vash's case leads up to a....O___O;;!?!? TF is THAT.

Here's where they're teasing in more of that inhuman spice again, because Vash holds Livio's guns out of the way (as usual) and revs up for a....fucking one-punch to the solar plexus at point-blank?!? D8 Whatwhatwhatwhat!!! Because that wasn't his gun's doing at all; he was still holding it defensively in that arm as a tonfa! That was his real arm's natural brute strength bitch!!! aaaahaha!!! wow I love it. The guy modestly says he's not much of a fighter but that's not trueeee at all, is it~ ;) I can SEE real proof of that otherwise and I can't wait for what else studio orange will show us to blow our minds.

*Ahem* So anyway did I ever mention how much I like the way he reverses the grip on his gun to use as a tonfa? (both defensively as a shield to protect himself and offensively to stun/strike his opponents with) For thematically how much it seamlessly works for his fighting style to never kill, for how the improvised (but practiced!) close-range practicality and versatility of it looks crazy awesome, and because damn, that shit's hot.

[laundrybiscuits]

(young man what do you wanna be tag | Ch1-2 on AO3)

“Hey, did you and Jonathan tell Will to ask me about—” Steve glances around like the world’s worst spy, and leans close even though they’re the only living souls in the trailer. “About gay things?”

“Uh,” Eddie says. “No? Wait, Jonathan might’ve.”

Steve pushes both his hands through his hair. “Why would you do that! Shit!”

“Again, I did nothing in this scenario,” says Eddie. “I’m pretty sure this one specific thing is not my fault.”

“He asked me about our relationship,” says Steve. “He wanted gay advice.”

Eddie swallows down his first impulse, which is to demand to know whether Eddie’s advice isn’t good enough for Will all of a sudden. “Okay,” he says instead. “What did you tell him?”

“I don’t know! I quit giving Dustin advice on girls, like, years ago! By the time I was Will’s age, I was pretty busy fucking up the only serious relationship I ever had.”

“Sure, maybe, but you can’t think about age that way. It’s like…” Eddie tilts his head. “For a lot of us, there’s a—a late start, right? It’s like a whole different time scale, because we gotta figure ourselves out first. We don’t get the manual to all this shit, so we either waste our time chasing some kind of picket fence life that we don’t actually want, or we just make it up from scratch.”

“Right, cool, okay,” says Steve. “I didn’t say anything like that. I told him to keep his chin up. I—think I called him slugger.”

Eddie pats him on the shoulder sympathetically, definitely not feeling at all vindicated about the fact that he’s clearly winning at gay mentorship. “Could be worse. What did the littlest Byers say?”

“He’s taller than Jonathan now,” says Steve.

“So not the point, sweetheart.” Eddie rolls his eyes. “C’mon, how’d it go?”

“Shit, I don’t know.” Steve huffs out a breath and pushes his hand through his hair. “Not good, I don’t think. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing with that kid. He just wanted to know how I figured stuff out, and like—why I wouldn’t just go with girls.”

“Yeah, uh, on that note,” says Eddie. “Is this a new development? Like.”

He pauses, trying to figure out the exact right arrangement of words.

“Like…” he says, slowly. “I’m just wondering, you know, why it hasn’t come up before. I mean, you already know about me, everybody knows about me. Is it—”

Did you not want me to think—

Did you not want—

“Pretty new, I guess,” says Steve. He lies back, arms folded behind his head, taking up more than his fair share of Eddie’s bed. Eddie climbs over him and takes his usual place tucked up against the wall, keeping a careful distance.

Steve’s parents are leaving again tomorrow, so this might be the last time for a while. It’s not like they won’t be seeing each other all the time; at this point, they’re so tangled up in each other’s lives that it’s not so unusual for them to hang out every day for weeks without even trying.

But it might be the last time for a while that they lie here like this, in a shadowy space where the line between thoughts and words gets slippery enough to cross. Eddie tries real hard not to think of it as anything special; it’s just his stupid fucking heart running away with him, the way it always does.

“Okay,” says Eddie.

After a while, he says, “Goodnight.” Steve doesn’t answer.

———

“Eddie!” Robin hollers from across the store. “We’re enemies now!”

“Okay!” he yells back. “Why?”

“Why do you think, asshole!”

This is getting unsustainable, so Eddie wanders over to the counter where Robin’s cashing out.

“Is it because I’m giving you a ride home out of the goodness of my heart? Unconventional, but I respect that.”

She chucks a balled-up receipt at his head. “Steve, dumbass.”

“Whoa, whoa,” he says, ducking out of the way and holding up his hands like he’s trying to soothe a spooked horse. “I dunno what he told you, but I didn’t do anything to him.”

“Exactly,” snaps Robin.

“Robin,” he whines, switching tactics. “C’mon, don’t be pissed at me. You know you’re my favorite lesbian in the whole wide world. You’re the cheese in my burger, the fries in my shake. My wretched soul cannot bear the weight of your scorn.”

He can tell she’s still trying to be mad, but the corner of her mouth is twitching, so he drapes himself over the counter and wails, “Milady Robin! Say only that you can forgive my dark and unworthy deeds, whatever they may be, or I shall perish right here in this fine establishment.”

“You really don’t know what you did, huh,” she sighs. “God, you’re the worst.”

Eddie peeks up at her through his hair. “Planning to enlighten me any time soon? Or are we going straight to pistols at dawn?”

“We are going to be driving me home,” says Robin. “And we’re going through Taco Bell on the way. We’re still gonna be enemies, but you can purchase a temporary peace treaty for the low, low price of two chalupas and a large Sprite.”

———

“Hey, Harrington, why’s Robin mad at me?”

“Mad at—? Oh. Uh, I think she misunderstood some stuff.”

Eddie groans. “Is this about the fake dating thing again?”

Steve looks a little pained. “Maybe?”

“Byers needs to go his own way! Call it another—lonely day, or—you know what I mean. Buckley can’t take in every wounded baby bunny that stumbles across her path.”

“I don’t think that’s what’s happening.”

“Sure, okay. So, do I need to defend my honor by finding Will a boyfriend or something?” Eddie pauses. “I realize that sounds like an insane scheme, but consider this: it’s still better than Operation Happy Ending, so I’m standing by it.”

“Not cool, man,” calls Argyle from the floor. Eddie has a theory that Argyle likes lying down on the floor because he’s tall. It’s not a very well-developed theory.

“No, no, I’m fully on board with the name,” Eddie assures him. “Baller name. You hit it out of the park on that one, dude.”

“Righteous,” says Argyle. “Appreciate the support.”

“The idea still sucks,” says Eddie. “But that is one hundred percent the fault of Jonathan Byers, and you remain the utterly blameless light of my life.”

A sudden thought strikes him, and he sits up, dislodging Steve’s hand in his hair.

“Hang on, Steve—did you ever actually tell Will that we’re not dating?”

“What? Yeah, of course.” Steve frowns. “Uh, probably? Man, I don’t really remember.”

Eddie shoots him a squinty look, and Steve holds his hands up. “Dude, I don’t know! I wasn’t trying to lie to the kid, there was a lot going on. Don’t know why he didn’t go ask Argyle instead.”

“Oh, he totally did, my bro,” says Argyle. “I think he’s, like, doing the rounds. I just told him not to worry about a thing and let the Lady Fate lead the way. I dunno if he was ready to embrace the Lady, though. He didn't really seem to get it.”

“Fucking great.” Steve leans back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. “Between the three of us, maybe he’ll get some kind of actual goddamn life lesson or whatever.”

“Fuck you, I am an amazing Gandalf. I mean mentor,” says Eddie. "Wait, shit. Does that mean Byers has been getting most of his actual gay advice from me? Holy shit, we can't let that happen. I'm like—the worst possible future for that kid. Steve, you gotta go back and try again."

He smacks Steve's shoulder. "Go back and tell him some real stuff! And tell him we're not dating, or he'll think he has to settle for the first loser that threatens him with a broken bottle!"

"Wait, is that—you don't actually think that, do you?"

"I mean, I'd like to say nobody will ever threaten him with a broken bottle, but Lady Fate works in mysterious ways. And frankly, given his whole…" Eddie waves a diffident hand. "Penchant for sniffing out trouble like a bloodhound after a T-bone, he's definitely going to wind up on the wrong end of a bar fight at least once or twice."

He pauses. "Don't tell Jon I said that, he'll wig out."

"Okay, but like—you know you're not—a loser, right?"

Steve touches Eddie’s back, a warm brush of fingers, and Eddie shrugs uncomfortably. "Just a figure of speech, Harrington. Don't worry your pretty little head about my ego, I'm doing great."

"Hell yeah you are," says Argyle. "Great as Gandalf."

Eddie is like 90% sure Argyle doesn't actually know who Gandalf is, but he appreciates the gesture.

"Thanks, dude," he says, poking Argyle’s head with his foot affectionately. "You're a great Gandalf too. The most Gandalferous."

"Can everyone stop saying Gandalf please," says Steve, so obviously Eddie has to bellow "Gandalf Gandalf Gandalf" right in his ear until Steve puts him in a headlock.

It's a pretty good afternoon.

[mangoisms]

i'll be the dangerous ledge (you be the parachute)

━ chapter seven: you be the parachute | read chapter six

━ pairing: tim drake x f!reader

━ word count: 4.2k

━ warnings: none

━ masterlist

After making a hearty dinner — tomato soup and grilled cheese like he did when you were hurt — you change out of your work clothes into something you’re more willing to get dirtied and you advise Tim to do the same. 

You have a specific pair of jeans that have several paint stains on them, as well as one streak of dark clay that refuses to leave. The same goes for your shirt, though with less stains and more just ratty and old, something you don’t mind getting dirty. Tim does the same, changing into an older pair of jeans and an old t-shirt from his time in high school. Though the both of you need to don windbreakers for the biting winds and drizzles of rain, you shed them when you enter the class, hanging them up along with your belongings and pulling aprons over your clothes.

Hana, the one who oversees the class, waves at you. “I don’t think we’ll be getting many people, so just help yourselves. You know where everything is and what to do.”

You give her a thumbs up and lead Tim towards the back of the class. A few other people are here but they are already working on their own things, talking softly to each other, voices drowned out by the spin of the wheels.

His eyes take in the class curiously. Several wheels are near you, along with some modeling stands and other desks for glazing and painting. You go over to the shelving unit at the back, where in-progress projects are kept. 

You have a little figurine of a duck that you made for him that needs to be painted and fired again after that. You aren’t sure if you can do it without him suspecting who it’s for, though. It’s a joke gift, really, after talking to one of the science aides about the lethal geese that hang around the Reservoir at Robinson Park and the considerably calmer ducks. It’s a birthday gift, though you’ve been thinking you want to do something else in addition to it, something a little more meaningful. You just haven’t found out what yet.

“So?” you prompt.

“What are you going to do?” 

“Not sure, to be honest. But for you… I think just to be safe, we should start you off with the molding stuff.”

He narrows his eyes slightly at the wheel, then the molding table. 

You smile. “Or, let me guess, you want to try your hand at throwing?”

“It can’t be that hard,” he says. 

This is a not-so-familiar side to him but one you’ve noticed regardless. Tim can be a bit… arrogant. Or at least, come into things assuming he can do it without issue. This, you guess, is a byproduct of the rich boy upbringing, which makes sense. Truthfully, it is not so bad compared to some of the other breeds of rich boy in this city but still. 

“I know you were reading how-to guides while we had dinner —” he opens his mouth to protest but a raise of your brow silences him, a slightly sheepish look coming over his face “— but it really isn’t as easy as it may seem.”

“Well, I have you,” he says, which flusters you — the intended effect, you think, by the small, satisfied smile that tugs at his lips.

“Alright, fine,” you mumble. You don’t try to get him to just sit down and wait for you to collect things, spying the curious look in his eyes, so you let him shadow you as you collect everything you — he — needs to get started.

“I want to make a mug,” he tells you when you ask, since you need to wedge and weigh out the clay. 

“Alright —”

“For you,” he adds, and you jolt. 

“You don’t need to —”

He says your name softly, stopping you. You two are close, with him hovering right near your elbow, body heat palpable in the scant few inches between your bodies. 

“I know I don’t need to,” he says. “But I want to. When are you going to understand?”

“After you make me a wonky mug, maybe,” you say, lips twitching to fight off a grin, face heating again.

Tim smiles, too, the lightest you’ve seen him today, like a weight physically taken off his shoulders — for the most part. 

Your heart skips a beat and you look back at the clay, weighing out a chunk for a mug. 

At the wheel with a bowl of water, towels, and the clay, you walk him through everything. You pull up a stool on his right side, to give you control of the pedal and thus, the speed. You run through sealing the clay to the bat — the actual surface of the wheel that spins — then centering it. After you make a divot in the center with your thumbs, you are ready to push into it, to start creating the walls.

Well, he is ready. Under your watchful eye and careful instructions, of course. And inserted reminders about his stance. 

“Elbows on your thighs.”

“You didn’t do it like that,” he complains but does as you say, anyway.

“I’ve been doing this longer than you,” you remind him, grinning. “Okay, come on. We can start making the walls now. Use your index and middle finger to slowly push down.”

Your foot finds the pedal again, the wheel humming as you press it, making it spin once more. 

Tim, hands now covered with wet clay, hesitates.

Your foot eases off. “I promise you, this clay is more scared of you than you are of it.”

“I’m not scared,” he mutters, but you know him. Tim Drake is a perfectionist. There is little that escapes his sharp eyes. You would wager a guess that he doesn’t want to mess up. And how can you mess up if you just… don’t touch the clay anymore?

Yeah, you get it. 

“Think of our ancestors. We’ve been making pottery for thousands of years. They made mistakes, too. Those mistakes are treasured now, you know.”

“But I don’t want to make a mistake. This isn’t for future anthropologists and archaeologists,” he says, a little petulant. “It’s for you.”

Oh, wow.

Your breath hitches in your throat. You clear it. 

“Well, perfection is a false ideal, anyway. The nice thing about things like this is that it’s handmade and that it’s not perfect. So, here.”

You lean forward, inserting yourself into his space (for the sake of this clay, that’s it) and pressing your hands over his. Your hands are covered in wet clay by now but because it’s still wet, it’s not too unpleasant. His hand is warm, too, which is… not what you should be focusing on.

“Like this,” you say, folding your index and middle finger over his, tilting your head sharply to get a good look at the clay. Your foot finds the pedal again and the wheel hums, abiding by your wishes for more speed. 

You instruct his other hand to hold against the outside, to help shape it more. But he hesitates again, so you scoot further into his space, until your knee is pressed to his, your arms brushing, and you can place your left hand over his. 

“Sorry,” you mutter. “I know I’m in your space.”

“I don’t mind,” he says quietly, breath ghosting over your ear and you have to suppress a flinch at how close he is. Everything about it makes your pulse jump to unhealthy heights but you force yourself not to let it carry you away. Trembling hands won’t help anyone right now. 

“Alright,” you say, and together, you slowly, slowly pull the walls to dimension. Every motion flows into the next. Two fingers to lower the bottom inside with his left hand. Three on the outside from his right hand. Tim is pliant under your instruction, when ordinarily you might expect some pushback.  

But you can’t do everything.

“Three fingers inside, one thumb outside. Gotta keep going while I grab the sponge.”

He grunts quietly in acknowledgement, seeming to focus more now as he does as you say. Your hands are only away from each other for a short few seconds as you grab the sponge, lightly pressing it to the bottom, pulling excess water to prepare to pull up the walls even further. 

“Here,” you say, and he takes the sponge from you, holding it still against the bottom of the clay. “Good. Keep it there. We’re in the home stretch now.”

He lets out a slow breath. You can feel the exhale against your cheek and resist a wild shiver. His breath smells like spearmint, the gum he’d chewed on the drive here. 

You swallow, staring at his hands, which doesn’t really help your pounding heart, just cause… Tim has really nice hands. Long, slender fingers, surprisingly calloused but still soft, somehow. The knuckle of his left pinky is a tiny bit wonky and he says he accidentally broke it playing football with a friend when he was a teenager and it didn’t heal quite right. 

You should stop thinking about his hands. Too bad that’s kind of a thing with pottery.

“Four fingers inside. Keep your thumb out.”

He says your name. “Help me out a little.”

“You’re doing good.”

“But I can do better if you’re guiding me,” he says, a little beseeching, breath warm against your cheek in a way that has your heart skipping a beat.

Jesus. 

You think you might spontaneously combust. It’s not the weirdest thing to ever happen in Gotham. And no one could blame you, either. Frankly, you’d like for anyone to be in close quarters with Tim Drake when he asks you to do something for him and try to say no. Or retain full function of their brain. Impossible. 

“You’re doing good, way better than I did on my first try throwing a mug, but alright,” you mutter, sliding your left hand over his, forcing you once more into close proximity with him. His right hand holds the sponge as you instructed. 

With his left hand, four fingers press to the inside and a thumb on the outside, helping further lengthen the walls slowly. 

You feel the fingers of his left land part just a little, yours nearly slipping through the gaps, and you knock your knee against his. Doesn’t affect him, either, since, ignoring your earlier reminder, his elbows aren’t sitting there anymore. 

“Don’t start.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You don’t need to,” you grumble, face heating. 

You know what he’s thinking about. That stupid scene from that movie from the, like, eighties. You know the one — the one with the… weirdly sensual pottery scene. Hana told you all about it on your first day of class. That that wasn’t how things went and if anyone did want to do it, they could do it in the privacy of their own home. Not, you know, in class with all of you.

And, to be clear, that isn’t what is happening here, either. He knows better than that.

(You think.

Probably.)

“I’m sorry,” he says, in a tone that tells you he is not very sorry at all; it’s teasing, if anything, in a way that makes you want to catapult yourself across the classroom to get a little space between you. 

That is the unbearable part of this. 

You kind of want to shove your stools back, put your hands on his cheeks, and kiss him for, you don’t know, a really long time. Forever, maybe. Of course, that’s not biologically possible but it’d probably be a nice way to die and in Gotham, crime capital of the United States and of horrible, miserable deaths, that’s, like, gold, right?

 The thought shrivels something inside of you, reminding you sharply of what did happen today. That six people are dead. 

You shove the train of thought away immediately. Now isn’t the time to think about that and you don’t want to set him off, either. This is about him and you would hate for him to notice the shift and start comforting you.

It’s a two-way street, you know that, and it’s fine for you both to be equally comforted but thus far, you haven’t been able to do much for him. You want to, though. He seems to be handling everything that happened today worse than you, for reasons you aren’t sure of, and you want to be there for him. 

Luckily, it seems like he didn’t notice. 

“Have you seen it? Ghost?”

“No, and I am not interested in seeing it,” you say matter-of-factly. “I’d like to keep my experiences with pottery untainted, thank you very much.”

Tim laughs and the sound goes straight to your head. Literally. He’s still close to you, so you feel the warm exhale from his lips, spearmint tickling your nose and making you want to do inappropriate things. To him, preferably. 

Anddd you don’t need to be thinking of that right now. Okay. Alright. You’re chill. You’re cool. 

“Look,” you say. “We’re nearly there. Just a little bit more length…”

He focuses again, actually concentrating on lengthening the walls of the mug now. A minute passes before you nod and pull your hands back. He does the same. Your foot eases off the pedal. 

You grab a ruler, recalling the measurements you two had agreed upon, and measure the height of the walls and the width of the cup itself. It’s bigger than a normal mug, but since he insisted on it being a mug you didn’t have to baby, it’ll have to be high fired to get that durability, which will make the clay shrink. 

Tim waits as you work, seemingly bracing himself.

“Looks good,” you say, pulling it back and setting it to the side, sending him a small smile. It does look good. The walls need to be smoothed with a rib and there’s one part of the rim that looks… a little wonky but it’s not bad. Not bad at all.

When Tim scrutinizes it, reaching forward, you gently push his hands away. “It’s fine.”

“But —”

“It’s cute.”

“Not the word I’d use.”

“And supposed to be mine, so, I think I get the final call.”

“You know what you are?”

“The soon-to-be proud owner of this mug?”

He doesn’t expect that and you know he doesn’t expect that because he flushes, pink rising in his cheeks in a… decidedly tempting manner. 

But of course, Tim Drake is not one to let himself be overtaken so easily. 

“No,” he says slowly, leaning forward, into your space, holy hell, you think you might actually spontaneously combust now as he gets close enough for you to see the silver flecked in blue irises, thick dark lashes framing them, the sharp but not unpleasant scent of eucalyptus clouding your senses and, huh, you know, this isn’t very platonic of him, not very platonic at all but the thought of Tim Drake flirting with you is a laughable one —

And naturally, as you think that and promptly freak out internally because it unfortunately makes logical sense, you are an adult, you’ve never been in a relationship but people have flirted with you before, thank you very much — well… Tim takes advantage of your brief moment of shock. So, you don’t see his hand dip into the bowl of water, softening the clay on his fingers and then —

“You’re bossy,” he finishes, eyes twinkling in a way that tells you he doesn’t seem to actually mind and then you’re gasping, jerking away as he smears some of wet clay on your cheek, facade breaking as he grins, the force of it making his eyes crinkle.

“What are you?!” you hiss. “Twelve?!”

You would know. 

He laughs, of course, and you can’t truly be mad at him, no, not at all, even if it’s the kind of messing around that Hana would side-eye you for, but fortunately she has her back to you two, deep in conversation with the few pairs of people who came to class today. 

Absolutely no one is paying attention to you, so, you think it’s only fair that you return the favor and he lets you, well-aware of you dipping your hand back into the water and then smearing an even bigger streak over his cheek. (While you also ignore the feeling of the soft skin, warm to the touch, warmer than usual, his flush having not left quite yet.)

And the fact that he lets you, watching you with a gaze full of affection and a mischievous grin, has the rapidly-unspooling warmth in your chest become too much. Like you are a star about to go supernova. 

But with that comes relief. To see him back to himself, no longer looking so… haunted. You can’t tell the full extent of what you would do to protect it, to protect a small bit of happiness for him to have whenever he needs, but you think it’s a lot. Anything short of murder, maybe.

(Even that depended, though.)

“Here,” you say, shoving the rib into his hand. “Smooth it out. You’re on your own now.”

Tim doesn’t protest, still smiling faintly as he does as you say. You scrunch up the side of your face, feeling the clay on your cheek. 

He does an okay job — not the worst, anyhow — and then you guide him through taking it off the bat and centering it upside down for trimming the bottom. After doing so, you work on pulling the handle just using the molding stand; instead of waiting for it to dry, you apply a little bit of heat, then you apply it to the mug. 

“That’s it?” he asks, going to the sink to wash his hands. 

“That’s it,” you affirm, putting the mug in the shelving unit right beside it. “It needs to be fired once before you can glaze it. Then again after that. You can come in whenever, just tell them you were with me.”

“Are you going to work on anything?” 

You hum thoughtfully, glancing at the clock. You got here at seven and it’s about to be eight. The center doesn’t close until ten but if he has places to be…

“I was just wondering,” he adds, stepping away from the sink to let you take his place, drying his hands on a paper towel. Clay is still smeared on his cheek, grey standing out against the pale skin. “That way I can help. Or watch if you’re tired of my… amateur efforts. Either way. This is… nice.”

You soften considerably at that, glancing down at your hands, watching the clay fall away under the warm water and soap. After everything… you think you finally have an idea about what you want to do. 

“You can help me, then. Think I’d like to make a mug as well.”

Tim nods and tears another piece of paper towel, running it briefly under the water, presumably to clean the clay from his cheek. 

You finish washing your hands just as he finishes cleaning the clay off his cheek. Your hands will get dirty again but the clean feel is a nice break before you do. 

You dry your hands, then, still using the damp paper towel, attempt to clean the clay off your cheek. 

Tim snorts quietly. 

“Am I close?”

“No.”

“Aw.” 

He smiles and holds out a hand. You relinquish the paper towel to him and he dampens it under the water, then reaches up to press it to your cheek. 

You resist letting tension take hold of you as his eyes focus on your face. Like always, you are unused to the sharp attention he gives you but part of you is endeared, too, seeing him dedicate himself to the task. Tim doesn’t do things in halves. Only absolutes. It’s not great for your heart.

To distract yourself, your eyes stray to where his streak was once. The skin is clean, but this close, you spot a few leftover flakes of grey clay. 

“There,” Tim says, gently patting your cheek with the dry end of the paper towel.

“You’ve still got some,” you mumble, taking the paper towel from him and switching to a cleaner patch on the damp side, then gently dabbing his cheek. 

“Thanks,” he says, his eyes on your face, the look there making your heart pound out of rhythm. 

You pull back, not as gentle as he was about patting the spot dry — his cheeks are still warmer than usual; the thought of it being because of you is a dizzying one — then toss the towel. 

“Ready?” you ask, fixing your apron.

Tim clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck when you glance at him, his gaze elsewhere. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s do it.”

“Right.”

You two spend another hour there throwing the mug. Tim is the one sitting adjacent to you this time, helping in the beginning but seeming to settle as you go on, apparently happy to just watch you do your thing. 

You… try to prod about any preferred glazes or designs, mostly by asking what he thinks would look good, and you get some useful bits of information that you’ll be able to use the next time you come here. Or, well, sometime after that. This mug requires a bit more work than usual. At least for what you have in mind for it. 

But it should be ready by the time July rolls around. 

The sun has set when you two step out. The rain isn’t coming down as hard as earlier but it’s still drizzling, making streets and sidewalks glisten under street lamps and traffic lights. 

In a considerably better mood than earlier, the two of you stop at O’Shaughnessy’s for a shake and fries, then return to Rose Oaks. You keep the food at your place while he heads up to change and you do the same. You check on the boys while you wait for him to return, finding Manny and Diego climbing into the little shelf on the side, while Sid dips in the saltwater pond.

You smile faintly and go back to the couch. On the coffee table, for once clear of schoolwork as you are officially caught up before finals, the bag of fries sits next to the drink carrier, holding two medium chocolate shakes.

Tim returns a few minutes later, letting himself in with the spare key he has, now dressed in sweats and a black t-shirt that stretches flatteringly over his shoulders. 

In the mood for something light and nostalgic, you switch on Ice Age, the two of you relaxing on the couch and eating your dessert. Sleepiness weighs down on you with more time that passes. 

Tim finishes his shake and fries after you, leaning forward to set them on the coffee table. When he sits back, he is closer to you, your arms pressed together. The warmth of his body and the faint scent of eucalyptus lulls you. It doesn’t help that you shut off the lights, the only light coming from the TV, showing the white snowscapes from the movie.

The sound of your name is a surprise but not unwelcome. Especially not from him and how he says it, syllables wrapped in a sleepy kind of warmth. He’s tired, too. You understand. Even if he may have been at his place for most of the day, it must’ve been emotionally draining to deal with everything else.

You lean your head on his shoulder, eyelids heavy with sleep. “Yeah, Timmy?”

His hand finds yours in your lap, slightly calloused fingers gliding against yours, a softer palm following. 

You feel his head lean against yours. “Thank you. For today.”

“Thank you for letting me do it for you.”

Tim squeezes your hand and you think he’ll pull back.

He doesn’t.

Instead, with some movement, you find the blanket thrown over the back of the couch now draped over your laps. 

With his hand in yours, the comforting scent of eucalyptus surrounding you in tandem with his body heat, you surrender too easily to the pull of sleep.

(Later, in the early morning when the sun hasn’t risen but is just about to break the horizon, you stir, not finding yourself in your bed like last time but instead held tightly in his arms, your legs tangled beneath the blanket which isn’t really necessary, with the body heat he emanates. In his sleep, Tim breathes slow and soft, warm exhales of air tickling the skin of your forehead as you two share a pillow. And too sleepy and warm to care, you burrow into his arms, which tighten around you in his sleep, close your eyes, and drift back to off to dreamland.

A few hours later, you’ll wake again, but alone this time, disappointment gnawing at you at the realization. 

At least until the bathroom door opens and Tim steps out, his hair mussed, pillow creases still on his cheek, and he bids you a sleepy smile and asks what you want for breakfast.

And this is when you will realize you are past the point of no return. But you don’t care that the chances of him returning your affections are so laughably low that it actually isn’t funny. You don’t care about any of that. You just care to keep him around. For as long as you possibly can.)

reblogs are appreciated!

[tempest-ghoulette]

Out of Luck

You'd done runs like this hundreds of times before but of course this was the one time where everything went to shit.

Warnings: mentions of injury, character death, suicide, hurt no comfort, angst

Wordcount: 1.2k

A/N: Literally wrote this at like 12 at night because I was in an angsty mood and was having trouble with my other fics so if I suffer you all must suffer with me.

It was supposed to be like any other run. Sneak out, make a little trek to the pickup spot, get the goods, sneak back in and sell the product. You, Tess, and Joel had done this type of run at least a hundred times, but of course this was the day everything went to shit.

You’d run into another smuggler and his crew while sneaking out. Which inevitably led to a scuffle, your group managing to scare them off, but not without suffering some cuts and bruises plus your now sprained ankle.

Tess and Joel debated whether or not to turn back, and although you would’ve loved to turn around there was important supplies in this drop and who knows when you’d have another chance to sneak out.

So off you went, for a little while everything was fine, sure it was going a little slower than usual with you trying your best to not to let your ankle slow you down, but other than that everything was going fine.

It started to sprinkle not even halfway to the drop and sure that was fine, until the sky practically opened up and unleashed a torrent of rain down upon you all. Which caused your group to duck into a building you weren’t familiar with to escape the downpour.

Now drenching wet you had to sit and wait out the storm and figure out what to do. Your supply drop had probably already been washed away or was water logged to shit so that was no longer an option. So it was decided to at least explore the building to possibly find some things to sell.

It was dark and musty and you swear a rat ran over your foot at some point during your exploration but you at least managed to find some stuff. You thought that your guy’s luck must finally be changing for the better but of course it wasn’t. Thunder shook the building so hard you swear the whole thing was going to come crashing down, and that would’ve been preferable compared to the resounding screeches and cries that followed.

The three of you froze where you stood, guns raising as you looked around trying to pinpoint where exactly the noises were coming from. Joel motioned his head back to the entrance of the building, signaling that it was more than likely clear. You hadn’t even taken more than a couple steps when another rumble of thunder permeated the air. This time though the screeching that followed was much closer, right in front of the fucking entrance. Any other time you probably could’ve ducked for cover before the runner saw you, but today it seemed all your luck ran out.

The runner let out a cry as it ran towards your group, Tess sinking three bullets into the thing before it dropped. 

When more runners and a clicker rounded the corner. You had no choice but to run, Tess dragging you by your pack and pushing you in front of her to get moving. It hurt to run, your injured ankle slamming into the ground with every running step you took. You were so concentrated on making sure that your ankle wouldn’t give out when an infected burst out from a side hallway, barely having enough time to dodge from its outstretched hands, scrambling away. 

Casting a quick glimpse behind you, you see Tess disappear around a corner with the infected not far behind. She can take care of herself but you can’t help the pit of worry that forms in your stomach. Making your way through the twists and turns of hallways, you start recognizing the way towards the entrance. You’re almost there when you feel your injured foot get caught in something, a snapping sounding as you fall to the ground. You don’t even register the pain at first, only seeing your foot stuck in the floor. It’s only when you glance towards your shin that the pain starts to register in your brain. Your pant leg covers most of the damage, but it’s not hard to distinguish that whatever pokes up at the fabric is more than likely a bone.

Trying your best to stifle the noises of pain coming from your throat you carefully try to extract your foot from the hole it broke through, a clicking noise halts your movements. Freezing where you are, trying not to alert the clicker as you try and find something to throw so you can distract it but it’s to no avail as it starts charging at you. It hurts like a bitch as you try and yank your foot free, desperate to get away from the clicker but of course your foot won’t come free. Trying to drag yourself away as the clicker falls onto your back, your pack acting as a protective barrier as it claws at you. It doesn’t last long though as you feel claws dig into the flesh of your back, only one word leaving your mouth in a blood curdling scream as you feel the clicker bite into your shoulder.

“TESSSSS!”

You must’ve passed out from the pain at some point because when you woke up, Tess had you half propped up on her lap. Your back felt like it was on fire but you could only focus on the tears streaming down her face. Tess never cried. In all your time together you had never seen her shed any type of tears. You so badly wanted to make her stop crying but everything hurt so damn much. She was saying something to you, her lips moving but you couldn’t make out any sound over the rushing in your ears.

She was speaking over her shoulder then, Joel appearing a second later in your field of vision. You could tell by the look on his face that it wasn’t good, hell you knew that yourself, but seeing that look on his face just solidified everything.

Tess wasn’t looking at you, still talking to Joel trying to get him to help, but he was still looking at you. 

He gently eased you from Tess’s lap, and it hurt seeing the hopeful look on her face that they might get you out, only for a look of shock to replace it when Joel hefted her over his shoulder. Tess was kicking and beating at his back as they made their way towards the entrance, you could tell she was screaming, glad that you still couldn’t hear a thing, not wanting to hear her pleas that they could save you, that they could still get you out.

More infected appeared chasing the duo. With all your might you pushed yourself into a sitting position, noticing a gun right next to you, Joel must’ve placed down one of his guns without you noticing. Five rounds in the chamber, and you were damn well sure going to make every shot count.

5 

a shot in a runners head

4

another lucky shot to the side of a runners neck

3,2

two shots to take down a clicker

Tess and Joel were out. The pain becoming to much as you let your body drop back to the floor. You still hear infected lurking around, no doubt hearing the gunfire, making their way to your location. 

God this day fucking sucked. Out of all the days that you had lived post outbreak, this was at the fucking bottom. Fuckin infected.

1

[maximura]

Ad Astra: The Theory Of Relativity | An Interstellar Ateez story Part I | Part II | Part III | Park IV | Part V | Part VI (Words 1442, Warnings: swearing)

It’s dusk by the time most of Yunho’s friends have wished him a ‘Happy Birthday’ and headed off home. It left two figures alone near the corn fields, drinking what’s left of Hongjoong’s maize beer stash. 

Wooyoung is watching them through the back window, neither subtle or as hidden as he thinks he is. 

“Hongjoong, it’s The Guy!” 

“What guy?”

“The tall one Yunho has a crush on! The one who rides the motorbike!” Wooyoung hisses, beckoning his older brother over to spy on the scene unfolding in their backyard. “They’re talking!”

Hongjoong puts the rest of the dishes away before coming over to peer out the window. 

Sure enough, there was Yunho, sitting on one of the fence posts that surrounds the corn fields. He’s smiling and laughing at something a tall guy is saying. He looks happy. They’re a bit too far away to hear the whole conversation but even if they could, Hongjoong knows he should probably give his brother some privacy at a time like this. 

“Come on, leave him alone.” He says, dragging Wooyoung away by the scruff of his sweater. “Help me tidy the rest of this stuff.”

“What? No, wait!” Wooyoung protests, resisting the request by ducking out of his sweater entirely until Hongjoong is just holding the limp piece of clothing in his hand. 

“Wooyoung, stop watching them-“

“Oh no……he’s frowning, he looks sad, Hongjoong something’s wrong….”

It’s then that Hongjoong leans to look out the window again, curiosity getting the better of him. There’s a wide distance between Yunho and the other Guy now, and judging from the way Yunho is frowning and staring at the ground while the other Guy is awkwardly shuffling his feet, it wasn’t going well at all. 

“Do you think he got rejected?” Wooyoung asks, “Who does that? On a birthday?!”

Before Hongjoong can form an answer, the Guy is turning around to walk back into the house, no doubt to say his goodbyes. Wooyoung is yanked away from the window at the last minute and they both pretend to clean the kitchen table when the Guy shuffles in. 

“Um, thanks for inviting me, um Mr Kim, I’ll get going now.”

Hongjoong ignores the overly formal address and does his best to put on a polite civil face and ask if this punk ass kid who just broke his brother’s fragile heart would be okay to ride home. 

“Yeah, I’ll be okay. My new girlfriend would kill me if I drank too much anyway.”

Oh. 

It’s a pointed remark, too specific to be casual, but casual enough to masquerade as some kind of explanation without having to do any of the hard work. 

They wish him goodnight and thank him for coming to what would be a day that Yunho probably just wants to forget. 

As soon as the front door closes and they can hear a bike tear down the dirt track of their driveway, Wooyoung throws his tea towel down in defeat. 

“He’s going to hate us for throwing this party isn’t he?” The teenager asks miserably. “He didn’t even want to have it and now he’s sad. Should I go out there and cheer him up or something?”

Hongjoong shakes his head, planning to go comfort his brother himself, but before either of them could move, they notice there was still one more kid here. 

***

“Hey, you okay?”

Yunho is relieved when he recognises the voice and knows it isn’t attached to any harm but he just doesn’t want to talk. The heavy silence stretches on for too long and it's only out of courtesy that he finally makes a noise to acknowledge the question, stopping short of elaborating with an actual answer because he doesn’t have one. 

Wooyoung and Hongjoong had insisted on throwing him a small 18th birthday party at the house and spent the day rigging up fairy lights near the back cornfields. They told Yunho to invite his classmates and friends, and he did so obediently, but now he wishes he just said no like he had wanted to.

It wasn’t all bad, he got some cool gifts and it was nice to see his friends before they all parted ways on their journey into adulthood. Hongjoong had somehow gotten a crate of maize beer and their Uncles sent over vintage snacks that nobody had seen in about five years. 

As the sun set rusty orange and the music slowed down into something more comfortable, the initially chaos faded away into a mellow buzz. Or maybe that was just because most of the maize beer was gone by then. 

His place in the world was beautiful at that exact moment; warm and sugar cozy, surrounded by familiar friends, comfortable in his familiar environment with the reassuring rustle of corn stalks in the background. He could see his two brothers inside the kitchen, no doubt bickering about whether or not Wooyoung was allowed to drink any maize beer when it wasn’t even his birthday. 

Yunho could be forgiven for feeling optimistic and hopeful. 

A fool’s hope, it turned out to be. 

He had never been friends with Yugyeom. They weren’t even that close. But the tall classmate had helped Yunho in woodworking and home economics class enough times for a deep-seated-one-sided crush to develop. In hindsight the friendliness was just a misinterpretation after all. 

When all the other boys and girls started going on dates, he had wondered why he wasn’t doing the same. Rumours and gossip of who-was-dating-who barely registered on his radar, partly because he was busy grieving his parents, but mostly because he ate lunch with Mingi and Wooyoung most days, and those two nerds were always talking about anime and video games. 

Maybe if he had paid some attention, he’d have known that Yugyeom had a new girlfriend and maybe he would’ve stopped himself from asking and maybe he wouldn’t have completely humiliated himself at his own birthday party. 

But he did. 

It was small mercy by the grace of the Universe that no-one else was around to see it. 

But here he was again, in the exact same place with the same people. Somehow always feeling like an outsider looking at other people living the life he wishes he could live too. 

There’s a slight creak on the wooden fence post as another body sits down next to him, facing the other way, towards the vastness of the cornfield that seemed to stretch on forever in the evening dusk.

The sky was a deep blue now, it was still too hazy to see many stars yet and the thought makes Yunho feel lonelier than ever but at least the fairy lights were still on and provided just enough to illuminate the familiar angles of the presence beside him.

“You want to talk about it?”

Yunho shakes his head. “How much did you see?”

“Not much. I just came out to say goodnight but he was already talking to you and the next thing I know, he left and you’re still out here.”

“I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t tell anyone.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Okay.”

There’s a long pause where they just sit in silence. It's not completely uncomfortable but Yunho wishes the day would just end already.

“Since you’re already depressed, it won't matter if I make it worse right?”

“I guess...”

“Okay, so I found that limited edition Batman comic you wanted-“

"What-"

“-but your brother opened it by accident. So he already read it. Sorry.”

Maybe because his thoughts were shaken up so violently inside him, maybe because he was so confused by the emotional whiplash, maybe because he just doesn’t really give a shit anymore, maybe Wooyoung being a menace was so reassuring in its predictability that Yunho lets the laughter bubble out of him all ugly and loud and cathartic. 

The release felt good. 

“That little shit.”

“At least he had a good birthday, even if it was meant to be yours.” 

Yunho chuckles sadly. “One of us should have a good one I guess.”

There’s hesitation before he hears the clink of glass. “Well, you can still have a good one if you want. Do you know how hard it was to smuggle this past your brother?”

‘This’ turns out to be a small bottle of maize whiskey. Yunho stares at it in disbelief. 

“How the hell did you get this?”

“You really don’t wanna know.”

A gentle breeze ruffles by them and when Yunho finally looks up, for the first time since they started talking, Mingi is grinning mischievously at him, so bright and sparkling in energy, despite the blue darkness that surrounds them, that Yunho can’t help but smile back. 

"...thanks."

“Happy birthday, loser.”

[crystalninjaphoenix]

Awakening

Switch AU

A JSE Fanfic

WHO'S READY FOR A DOUBLE-LENGTH SPECIAL?! :D This fic is around 11,100 words, so it's extra long. As you can expect, so much stuff happens that it's gonna be hard for me to simply summarize it all. But it boils down to two things. The group enacts their plan to wake Anti up. While Schneep and Stacy try to distract Distorter, Jackie uses that new IRIS technology to venture into Anti's mind to see what he's seeing, and hopefully snap him out of this trance. No more talk. This is The Moment. Let's get to it.

More of This AU | | First Chapter | Previous Chapter

Everyone arrived at the hospital at around nine o’clock. They all came separately, with Jackie and Rama arriving first. “Are you sure you don’t want to, uh, see this?” Jackie asked them.

“I’m sure.” Rama nodded. “Honestly, I’m not sure how much help I’d be. I’m a writer, not a magician or a super-enhanced guy.”

“I’m neither of those things, either.”

“You’re the only one who knows how to use this MR thing. They need you.”

Jackie sighed. He knew this. And he knew that it would be safer for Rama if they stayed home. He didn’t want them in danger. Not to mention he was a bit nervous about leaving Michelle and Will alone. Sure, they could hire a babysitter, but it would be easier to have Rama watch them. “This won’t take long. I-if I don’t call you in an hour, maybe drive on over.”

“Got it.” Rama nodded, then leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” They were going to need it.

Jack arrived after that, then JJ and Marvin, then Stacy, then Schneep. They didn’t talk much, the task weighing heavily on their thoughts. They might only have one chance for this. If they failed, Distorter would no doubt guard Anti zealously. Even Stacy showing up might not distract him for much longer. Jackie pressed a hand to his hoodie pocket, where the MR Headsets were awkwardly tucked away. He really hoped this would work.

Jackie couldn’t help but gasp when the group walked into Anti’s hospital room. “O-oh my god,” he breathed, and rushed over to the side of the bed. His eyes darted around, taking it all in. The bandages, the tubes, the monitors, the restraints. “This... oh my god.”

The others walked over slowly—though Marvin stayed back, moving his wheelchair to the corner of the room by the door. Jack crouched down close to the ground, and a green glowing orb shot out and into his outstretched hand. “Hey, Sam,” he said. “How’s he doing?” He listened intently to Sam’s mental voice. “They say that he hasn’t changed. They... also say they have a feeling like something big is gonna happen.”

Smart eyeball, JJ commented.

Stacy swallowed a lump in her throat. “Well... you guys should have your moment,” she said carefully, turning around. “I’ll wait outside.” And with her lines recited, she turned and left the room.”

Schneep was supposed to say that he was going to check on her and follow, but... he found his throat had closed up. When they walked into the room, no one else in the group had seen the figure standing in the corner of the room. The gray man who had noticed the way Schneep was staring at him, then gave a little wave and ducked behind the bed, out of sight. Distorter was here. Distorter had probably been here the whole time. And nobody else could see him. “I-I... I, ah... w-will go,” Schneep finally said, trying to hide how disturbed he was by quickly turning and hurrying after Stacy.

She was waiting just out of sight for him. The moment he walked out, she jerked her head down the hallway then turned and headed in that direction, asking him to follow. He did, quietly. Once they were out of sight, she whispered, “Jack told me there’s this room at the end of the hallway that’ll work. We’ll be able to see him coming. Or... you will.”

Schneep nodded. The two of them found a room at the very end of the hallway. A room without a patient staying in it. The blinds were drawn, but the door was unlocked. Schneep made sure to prop it open so they would have a good view of the hall.

Stacy paced nervously back and forth. Schneep glanced around. He didn’t like that they’d be distracting Distorter while in a hospital. He would’ve preferred that they take this outside altogether. But he wasn’t sure if Distorter would follow them, or if his commitment to torturing Anti would overwhelm that. Maybe Distorter wouldn’t even fall for this trap at all. Maybe he would realize what they were planning.

But then he saw the movement coming from down the hall. Schneep’s head snapped towards it. Distorter was walking calmly towards them. If Schneep didn’t know better, he might be tempted to think that this was just some guy in a spooky costume. But he did know better. And he knew to recognize the strange featureless features of Distorter’s face. “He’s coming,” he whispered.

Stacy stopped pacing, tensing up. She gave a little laugh. “You know... I wasn’t scared up until this moment,” she whispered back.

“It will be fine,” Schneep reassured her. “I will make sure nothing happens to you.”

Distorter stopped in the doorway. He stood there, hands loose at his sides, smiling as wide as ever. Stacy didn’t look directly at him—not avoiding him, but... she must not have seen him. But Schneep could. “So... that wasn’t a fluke, then, was it?” Distorter said, looking straight at him. “You can see me.”

Schneep stared directly at him and nodded.

Stacy jumped, going pale as she finally looked right at Distorter. “Y-you.”

“Me.” Distorter gave a little wave. “So... let me guess. You two are here to give your friends back there time to work. Time to try and break Anti out of my hold. Is that it? Because it’s a really stupid plan, you know. So obvious.”

“And yet, you’re here anyway, aren’t you?” Schneep pointed out.

Distorter giggled. “Because it doesn’t make a difference. I don’t care what magic you think you’ve found, it won’t be strong enough.” He stepped farther into the room. “Why not see what this was all about?”

———————

“I t’ink they’ve got it,” Marvin muttered, staring down the hallway. “I t’ink he’s left.”

“Are you sure?” Jackie whispered.

Marvin shook his head. “Can never be sure with Distorter. But... I’m almost sure. As close as I can be. It’s been enough time for him t’get curious.”

Jack let out a long breath. “You’re sure this will work, Jackie?”

“No.” Jackie reached into his pocket and took out the MR Headsets. “But we have to try.” He handed the white Headset to JJ, who carefully removed the bandages over Anti’s eyes and put the Headset in their place. Anti didn’t respond. He stayed lying where he was.

“Sam has a good feeling about it,” Jack said. Sam, curled up on Anti’s chest, waved their optic nerve slightly. “So... that’s a good sign. They’re going to try and help you as best they can.”

If something goes wrong, we’ll be here, JJ said. I’ll defend you.

“Thanks,” Jackie breathed. He held the black Headset for a moment, staring at it. No time to waste. He took off his glasses and put on the Headset, making sure it was secured. He couldn’t see a thing. And from what he remembered about this technology, he probably wouldn’t be able to hear or feel anything soon, either. “Press the power button on Anti’s headset. It’s right here, on the left—from the wearer’s perspective.”

“It’s on,” Jack reported. “There’s a little green light showing that it is.”

“Great.” Jackie nodded. His own finger hesitated over the power button. “Once I push this, I won’t be able to respond to you guys until you either power it off, or I wake up on my own,” he said. “And... that’s happening. On three. Take care of everything, okay?”

“We got it, I promise,” Jack said.

“Great.” He took a deep breath. “One... two... three.” And he pressed the button.

———————

“So... what’s your plan, then?” Distorter asked. “Do you think the power of friendship will be able to pull him back now that you have Jackie with you?” He laughed. “If ‘love’ didn’t work when his son was here, it won’t work with a mere friend.”

“Do you honestly think that we will tell you?” Schneep asked.

Distorter tilted his head. “No. But I expected you to think about it when I brought it up. And yet... whatever IRIS did to you, it made it harder to reach your thoughts. So I can’t see if you did.”

Schneep felt the breath knocked out of him. “Wh-what...? You... you know about...”

“About IRIS fucking your head into oblivion? Not at first. But it just makes sense. I’ve learned a lot about IRIS since they showed up here. And that seems just like the thing they’d do.” Distorter wiggled his blackened fingers. “They’re into that freaky shit, and choose their lab rats from people no one will miss.”

Schneep couldn’t help but stumble backwards. The fact that Distorter knew about it—knew about what they’d done to him—

“Why don’t you read my mind, then?” Stacy asked.

Distorter looked at her. “What?”

“You—you were trying to get us to think about our plan to free Anti so you could read our minds to find it,” Stacy said. “But you’ve only brought up Henrik’s mind and thoughts. Not mine. Why didn’t you look at me? I-I don’t have any of that IRIS stuff, surely you’d have an easier time there.”

Distorter kept staring at her. Stacy shivered, but didn’t look away or back down. “I told you to go home,” he whispered.

“I can’t,” Stacy said. “Not until all this is settled. This has been fucking haunting me for years—because of course it would! My family died! And you’re—you’re here. You’re still walking around, a-a living reminder of that, s-something that is still unsettled. Like a ghost.”

“So, like a ghost, you want to put me to rest?” Distorter asked in a low voice.

“...if it’s possible,” Stacy whispered.

He laughed. “It’s not, Stacy.” She flinched; he had never said her name before. “Something like me will never die. Will never be satisfied. Not until you give this up.”

Stacy kept staring at him. “I can’t do that.”

Distorter kept staring at her with those empty black eyes. That pasted-on smile, wide and unchanging, gave his face a mask-like quality. Was... that what it had always been? A mask?

Long moments passed. Stacy didn’t look away from Distorter, though she twitched slightly, an anxious expression on her face. Was Distorter trying to intimidate her with illusions that Schneep couldn’t see? Was he speaking into her mind? He had no way of knowing. He could only stare, tensed, waiting for Distorter to finally make a move.

And then he did.

Distorter lunged towards Stacy, and Schneep lunged towards him in turn, tackling him to the side before he could reach her. Distorter let out a loud shriek and twisted around, long nails scraping at Schneep’s throat. He hurriedly backed up before they could do too much damage, leaving Distorter to scramble to his feet in a flurry of limbs. “Ohhhohoh, so you want to be like that do you?” he growled.

“As opposed to letting you attack her? Yes.” Schneep raised his hands, getting into a defensive position.

“Fine. I’ll be like that too.” Distorter leaped for Schneep, animalistic in his movements, and the two of them went tumbling across the floor until they hit the wall. Stacy gasped and instinctively ran to the side, putting a chair between her and the conflict.

Schneep and Distorter struggled on the floor. Distorter lashed out at him, clawing and scratching and biting and kicking. Luckily his nails, sharp as they were, were not enough to get through the thick shirt Schneep was wearing. But that didn’t mean the blows didn’t hurt all the same. Schneep tried pinning Distorter to the floor, but he always yanked free of his grip, often with an unpleasant cracking or popping sound. So Schneep had to get more violent. He slammed Distorter’s head against the walls and floor, punching him in the ribs and stomach, stomping on his legs when they got too close to him. And, of course, he shocked Distorter. Over and over, causing Distorter’s limbs and body to spasm uncontrollably when the electricity ran through them.

The fight shifted tides often. One second, Schneep had Distorter cornered. The next, Distorter had leapt onto him and was trying to claw his eyes out. Schneep threw Distorter across the room and into the wall, but Distorter recovered and ran back, diving at Schneep’s legs and knocking him down into another on-the-floor struggle. Stacy watched it all with wide eyes, wanting to help but knowing she would just be putting herself in danger. “Wake him up soon,” she whispered under her breath. “Please.”

———————

It happened in an instant. One second, Jackie was sitting in an uncomfortable hospital room chair. The next, he was falling forward, rushing, bright lights flying past his face as he got closer and closer to the ground—and then he landed. He looked around. This was... a schoolyard. He would recognize one of those anywhere, though this was a lot smaller than the one at Michelle’s school, or even at the school he went to as a kid. There was a chain link fence around the edge of the yard, and in the far corner was an old playground with rope courses and swings and metal slides. The sky above was gray, cloudy, and generally gloomy. Kids ran around, climbing the playground structures and kicking up woodchips on the swings. They were all wearing school uniforms, red jumpers with gray pants or a skirt for girls. None of them could have been older than twelve years old.

Jackie stared at all this. It didn’t feel quite... real. Sure, the colors were vivid and the sounds were loud, and he could feel the ground beneath his feet. But there was something off... It was the details. On a cloudy day like this, he should’ve felt chilly, if not cold, but he felt fine. And he couldn’t quite make out what the children were saying. It all sounded like babbling gibberish. And beyond the chain link fence, it all sort of got blurry. He could see houses and a street, but it was like looking at them through slightly frosted glass.

Suddenly, one of the kids screamed. Not in joy, like they usually do, but in anger. Jackie’s head snapped towards the sound as he saw one small boy suddenly throw himself at a bigger boy, knocking him over. The other kids all immediately crowded around, and Jackie hurried over as well. He tried not to get too close, but he didn’t need to worry about that. The kids didn’t look at him. One even ran right through him. Clearly, he couldn’t interact with them... but he remembered from his research into MR that he should be able to interact with Anti. He just needed to find him. Maybe one of the fighting kids was him?

He easily peered over the heads of the smaller kids who were gathering around—some shouting for the fighting to stop, most yelling encouragement—to look at the fighting boys. The smaller one, the one who had provoked the attack, was hitting the bigger one at first. But then the bigger boy got the advantage and pushed the smaller one over, hitting him in the face repeatedly. “Hey!” Jackie shouted. “Hey! Stop that!”

But nothing happened. Jackie started pushing his way through the crowd of children, but saw that someone else was doing the same thing. An adult man, yelling “Break it up, break it up!” Immediately, the bigger boy stopped fighting and backed off. The smaller boy scrambled up. The man looked between the two of them. “Alright, who started it?”

“He did, professor!” the bigger boy pointed at the smaller. “He attacked me!”

“That’s not fackin’ fair you motherfacker!” the smaller boy immediately protested. “You started it! You called Mam a bitch!”

“░░░░░░, we dunnae use language like t’at!” the man—a professor, apparently—snapped.

“He did it first!” the smaller boy shrieked. “He called my mam a bitch and me a two-eyed freak!”

Jackie frowned. He leaned closer... and his eyes widened. The small boy had messy brown hair and two different-colored eyes. Blue on the left, green on the right. “...Anti?” he whispered.

He was far enough that he shouldn’t have been heard, but the smaller boy looked in his direction anyway. He blinked, looking... confused. No recognition in his gaze. 

“Well, ev’ryone?” the professor looked around. “Who t’rew the first punch?”

The kids all muttered things. Many of them pointed at the smaller boy—at Anti.

“Very well. ░░░░░░, we’ll be talkin’ to your mother after school.”

Anti clenched his tiny fists. “She’s not gonna show up,” he muttered darkly.

The bigger boy from before leaned a bit closer, whispering something barely audible. “Because she can’ bother for you.”

Anti screamed and whirled around on him, punching again. The kids surged away, looking afraid. The professor stepped in, grabbing Anti from behind and pulling him off the bigger boy. “That’s enough, ░░░░░░!” He snapped. “We’re goin’ to the dean’s office! Now!”

“What?! Hang on! Didn’t you hear that?!” Jackie protested. Anti, fighting against the professor, paused for a second to stare at him.

Jackie tried running forward, reaching for him. “Anti, do you know who I am?” he called, but—

All of a sudden, he fell forward. Bright lights surrounded him once more, and the schoolyard disappeared.

———————

Sounds echoed down the hallway. Slamming, thumping, various sounds of things hitting other things. JJ glanced nervously towards the open doorway of the hospital room. Then he glanced back at Jackie, slumped in his chair, and Anti, still unresponsive in the bed with Sam curled up on his chest and Jack hovering nervously next to him.

“If we can hear t’at, ev’ryone else in the hallway can, too,” Marvin muttered. “Really hope t’at people don’t go check it out.”

“Of course they will,” Jack mumbled. “They’re people. People get curious, especially when it’s something like that.”

We can’t have anyone walking in and getting hurt, JJ said. He took his stage mask out of his bag and pulled it on; it usually helped him focus his magic. Hold on, I’m going to ward all the other rooms on the floor.

“You can do t’at?” Marvin said, surprised.

In theory. JJ walked over to the doorway. He pointed at the nearest door and whispered something under his breath. A small sphere of blue light shot from his fingertip and bounced on the door, splashing and rippling across its surface. The sphere leaped across to the next door over, causing a ripple of blue magic there, too, and also spawning a copy. The spheres of blue light kept bouncing to every door, until each one was covered in an almost-imperceptible blue film.

“And t’at’s the whole floor?” Marvin asked.

In theory, JJ said. But they’re not the strongest wards. I don’t want to prevent doctors from reaching an emergency. It should be enough to prevent people from checking out the sounds, though. They’ll walk up to the door and think better of going out. But if there’s something really important, they’ll be able to power through.

“Sam, can you... tell me how they’re doing?” Jack asked. “Can you sense that somehow?” Sam swished their tail. “No, no, i-it’s okay, I know you can’t read minds.” Jack sighed. “Just keep trying to reach Anti.”

Suddenly, a scream rang out. The three guys’ heads snapped down the hall. “Was that Schneep?” Jack gasped.

JJ immediately started running out of the room, but Marvin caught him, stopping him. “Don’! You’re our las’ line of defense for t’ese two, remember?” He gestured back to Jackie and Anti. “You can’ be the las’ line of defense if you get yourself hurt.”

But Henrik! JJ protested.

“I know.” Marvin hesitated. “I’ll go.”

“But Marvin, your leg!” Jack gasped.

“Come wit’ me, t’en!” Marvin snapped.

JJ stared at Marvin for a moment. Then nodded. You brought the cards, didn’t you?

“O’course.”

Then go. Be careful.

Marvin nodded. “Actually, Jack, you shoul’ definitely come—at least push me down t’ere faster t’an I can wheel.”

Jack nodded. He hurried over, grabbing the back of Marvin’s wheelchair, hesitated a moment wondering if that was okay, then rushed down the hallway once Marvin seemed fine with it.

JJ turned back to the room, watching Jackie and Anti. His eyes glowed blue as he drew more of his magic out, prepared to protect them both if need be.

———————

Jackie found himself somewhere else. Unlike with the schoolyard, this place was mostly empty. It was a pub or bar of some sort. And not a nice one. The table surfaces were scraped up, as well as the surface of the bar. Small graffiti was written just about everywhere, on the walls, on the chairs, around the door frames leading in and out. The floor looked like it hadn’t been swept in ages. Grimy windows showed a view of a city at night.

Jackie looked around, and his eyes immediately landed on a man sitting at the bar. He was younger than expected—probably barely of-age to be in here—wearing an old black jacket and ragged jeans. Anti was the only patron in this shabby bar. Quickly, Jackie hurried over next to him. “Anti.”

Anti doesn’t respond at first, still leaning heavily on the bar. Then he slowly turned to look at Jackie. There was something in his hand. A lit cigarette. Though, it looked a bit strange to Jackie. He never smoked, was never even tempted, but he’d seen discarded ones all around and... there was something off about that one. Maybe it was just something weird with the MR. “And you are?” Anti asked.

“I-I’m Jackie,” Jackie stammered. “Jackie Parker. Don’t you—Do you remember me?”

“Hmm.” Anti blinked slowly. “Should I...?”

“Well... I-I don’t know, I’m not fully sure on how this works,” Jackie said quietly. “But yeah, y-you should! I think. Even if this is just a memory.”

“Hmm.” Anti blinked again. His eyes seemed a bit cloudy.

Jackie stared at him. “You... you need to wake up.”

“Heh.” Anti gave him a wry smile. “Why?”

Jackie was taken aback. “Because—because we’re all so worried. W-we miss you, you know. W-we don’t want you to have to keep going through this.”

“You don’t have to lie for me.” Anti took a drag of the strange cigarette.

“...what?” Jackie breathed.

“You don’t have to lie for me,” Anti repeated. “I know the truth. I’ve never even told you guys my name. Why would you care about some guy you don’t know the name of?”

“I-it’s not just your name, Anti!” Jackie insisted. “You’re our friend even without that! We know you! We—we know that you’re a good man—”

Anti barked out a laugh. “I’ve really managed to fool you all, haven’t I?”

“No! I mean—it’s the truth!” Jackie stepped closer. “We know you, A-Anti. You’re smart, really able to think out of the box with things, a-and you’re really creative too, though you would insist that hacking games isn’t a creative thing at all. And you’re fun to be around, you have this really sharp sense of humor that’s really great, a-and if anything goes wrong you’re really willing to go to bat for your friends. A-and you’re really good with kids. No matter how snappy you are with adults, you’re never that way with kids, and they all love talking with you. That’s why—that’s why Will got along with you, isn’t it? When you guys first met at the agency.”

“...Will,” Anti whispered. He looked down at the bar counter. “...They never should’ve let me take care of him,” he says quietly. “The only reason they did was because I fooled the background check. Not sure how. I guess they really weren’t all that thorough. Or maybe they didn’t care. That was a shitty agency, I wouldn’t put it past them.”

Jackie shook his head slowly, in shock. “You’ve... you’ve never said anything like this before...”

“That’s not the sort of shit you say out loud.” Anti closed his eyes and took another drag. “Go away. Leave me alone. I just wanna get rid of these thoughts. They’re... hot. They make my brain heat up. It’s from how fast they go, y’know. Not a lot makes them quiet. Listening to them does, but that gets me in trouble. Well... this gets me in trouble too.” He laughed, shaking the cigarette. “But at least it’s just me.”

“I... didn’t know you smoked,” Jackie said slowly.

“Well I do.”

Jackie stared at him. Then he shook his head. “No. You don’t. That would be hard to hide from us. You’re good at hiding things, but not that good. You... you must’ve quit. In the past couple years.”

Anti stared at him. “Why would I do that? This is the only thing that helps.”

“No, that can’t be true.” Jackie shook his head again. “You wouldn’t do that. You wouldn’t expose Will to that. So you must have quit. You must have figured something out.”

Anti stared some more. He gives a little laugh. “I... I think you think too highly of me.”

“No, I just know you,” Jackie insisted.

“...no, you don’t.” Anti whispered. “No one does.”

And before Jackie could retort, he found himself falling again.

———————

The battle was turning. Distorter managed to slash his nails across Schneep’s face, making three shallow cuts that nonetheless bled quite a lot, making it hard for him to see. They’d been fighting for fifteen minutes, and that felt like hours when you were enduring constant pain and exertion. Schneep was mildly surprised to find he wasn’t running out of energy—but his body still ached where Distorter had clawed and bit and kicked. Not to mention how he would sometimes throw his whole body at Schneep, slamming Schneep to the ground with a breathtaking impact. Everything was starting to add up. It was hard to keep going when movement hurt.

But Distorter wasn’t slowing down at all. Distorter wasn’t tired, and he wasn’t feeling the pain of Schneep’s punches and shocks the way Schneep was feeling the pain of his attacks. “Oh, someone’s hurting!” he laughed. “Someone’s slow!”

Schneep growled and sent another shock through Distorter’s body. Distorter jittered for a while, then recovered—faster than he had the previous times. Schneep felt Distorter’s wrist slip from his grasp—the sensation of bones grinding under his skin made him want to throw up—and Distorter punched him in the side of the head. Schneep managed to shake off the blow but it left his brain rattling in his skull.

“And I think you’re running out of juice, too,” Distorter whispered, smile widening. “Like a battery! Do you think you have some inside you?”

“Shut up!” Schneep shouted, grabbing Distorter by the shoulders and throwing him into the wall. Distorter just laughed and instantly jumped back, using the bounce of hitting the wall to give him more power as he tackled Schneep to the ground.

“Wonder if they’ll be disappointed in you,” Distorter whispered directly into Schneep’s ear. “Their great weapon can’t even take down one guy after five minutes.”

Schneep shrieked in frustration and jerked his head to the side, knocking it against Distorter’s. Distorter jerked back from the impact, giving Schneep just enough space to scramble out from under him.

Suddenly, Stacy gasped. “What are you guys doing?!” she shouted. “Get out of here!”

Schneep looked to the side, and saw Jack and Marvin in the room’s doorway. His eyes widened in horror, and he started to shout at them to get away before Distorter suddenly lunged at him again, nails digging into his skin.

“H-hey!” Jack shouted. He glanced around the room, then ran to the side and grabbed one of the hospital chairs that had been knocked over by the fight. He started to swing it towards Distorter—

“No don’t—!” Stacy protested.

—And Distorter leapt backwards, leaving Schneep to take the full force of the blow. “Oh my god!” Jack immediately let go of the chair. “I-I’m so sorry!”

“He’s too fast for us!” Stacy shouted. “I-I don’t know how Henrik is keeping up—”

Schneep pushed the chair back and scrambled to his feet, grabbing the chair as he went and bashing it into Distorter’s side. “Stronger than you two, I think,” Schneep gasped. “The chair just slows you down—” He suddenly yelped as Distorter grabbed his ankle and pulled, making him fall.

“H-hang on, Schneep, w-we’re here t’help!” Marvin said, taking his cards out of the bag attached to his chair and looking through them.

“Are you, now?!” Distorter laughed. “Why don’t you sit tight there? And you two—” His head snapped back and forth between Stacy and Jack. “Leave this to us!”

Suddenly, both of them collapsed, ragdolls losing all strength. Marvin gasped as he saw a drop of blood slip from Jack’s right eye. Distorter had done that! He’d controlled their bodies for a brief moment, just enough to make them fall like that. Hurriedly, Marvin looked through his cards.

“It’s just us now,” Distorter hissed to Schneep. He swiped his hands towards his face, but Schneep jerked his head back in time to avoid more scratches. But that was just to throw him off guard. Quickly, while Schneep was still reeling from that dodge, Distorter lunged forward, grabbing Schneep’s wrist. The two of them went tumbling, and Marvin couldn’t exactly make out what happened, but somehow it ended with Distorter pinning Schneep to the floor, holding both his wrists in one hand, knees pinning his legs. “Say goodbye.” Distorter’s free hand reached for Schneep’s neck, digging his nails into his flesh. Schneep thrashed against his grip but couldn’t break free, he gasped, starting to choke—

“No!” Marvin got up, dropping the cards in the process, and grabbed Distorter’s arm, pulling it back from Schneep’s neck.

Distorter looked up at him in surprise. “What? You—but—That shouldn’t be healed yet!”

Marvin blinked, and looked down at his broken leg. Or... formerly broken? He should have been in agony from standing on it, but it felt fine. Actually, it had felt fine for a while. He assumed the pain was fading naturally, but—but it still should have hurt when he put weight on it.

What happened?

In any case, Schneep was able to take advantage of Distorter’s surprise to pull a hand free and grab Distorter by the throat. There was an electric SNAP! and Distorter was thrown backwards with such force that Marvin couldn’t keep hold of his arm. Stacy gasped and scrambled to her feet. Jack did the same. That shock must have broken Distorter’s concentration. Stacy immediately rushed to Schneep’s side, helping him up. “I’m fine,” Schneep gasped. “I’m fine. It must look worse than it is.”

“Looks fucking terrible, yeah!” Jack said. Blood was dripping down Schneep’s throat in a steady river—or, actually, five small rivers, from five small wounds.

Distorter got to his feet, bones cracking. “Oh, does it?” he growled. Then he looked at Marvin and his grin widened. “Well, if you’re feeling better, you should make yourself useful, shouldn’t you? For your friend.”

Marvin blinked. Friend...?

Friend.

His vision seemed to waver, everything becoming blurry as his eyes lost focus. Friend. Friend.

Schneep went pale. “Marvin... don’t listen to him.”

“Smile for me,” Distorter whispered.

Marvin’s body moved without his mind, lurching for Schneep. Jack got there first, blocking him. Marvin tried to push past but Jack grabbed him, wrapping his arms tight around him and pinning his own arms in turn. “Marvin, snap out of it!” he shouted, but his voice sounded so far away... Muffled... Yeah... That’s the word for it...

“Schneep, watch out!” Stacy shouted, warning Schneep just in time for him to dodge Distorter suddenly attacking him.

“Schiesse!” Schneep cursed. “Y-you two take care of Marvin, I can handle this!”

“Can you?” Distorter grinned, and attacked again.

———————

For the third time, Jackie found himself somewhere else. But at least he recognized this place. It was Anti’s apartment, with the window outside showing the night sky, but it looked so different. There was hardly any furniture in the living room, pretty much just a sofa—not the sleeper sofa he had now—and a coffee table with a small TV on top of it—again, not the furniture he had now. The kitchenette didn’t have its counter stools... or anything else. It was pretty much just the furniture that was attached to the floor. Clothes were scattered around the floor, along with dishes, some of which were broken, most of which had old half-eaten food on them. Everything looked dirty. Jackie was glad that he couldn’t smell anything while in MR.

Anti was sitting on the floor between the sofa and coffee table, staring at the TV. It was on, but it displayed nothing but static. He wore an oversized T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. Jackie hadn’t seen him wear an outfit like that in forever. Anti was alway proud of his style. But... he did vaguely remember a time like that. And he did remember seeing the apartment in a state similar to this... though he didn’t remember it being this bad. “Anti?” Jackie called.

He didn’t answer. He just kept staring at the TV screen, rocking back and forth. One hand absentmindedly scratched his wrist—in fact, it looked like it had been doing that for a while, judging by how red and raw the skin was there.

“Anti!” Jackie hurried over, waving his hand in front of the TV screen to get his attention. “I know you can see me!”

Anti’s eye twitched. “Shut up,” he mumbled. “Leave me alone.”

“No! I will not leave you alone!” Jackie looked over the TV, found the power button, and pressed it.

Anti suddenly shrieked. “No! No no no no—” He reached for the power, but Jackie grabbed his wrist, finding that he could touch some things while in MR. “Stop it! I need it!”

“You need to stare at TV static? What the fuck?”

“The noise, I-I need the noise,” Anti said in a hushed voice. He reached forward with his other hand, but Jackie grabbed that one, too. “I need the shapes in the screen!” Anti’s voice cracked. “I need—I need—i-it goes fast, I need—I need—I-I need—”

“Anti, please.” Jackie knelt on the ground next to him. They were pretty close together. He could feel Anti’s whole body trembling slightly. “That’s not... something you need. You’ll just hurt your eyes. H-how long have you been sitting here? Did you eat anything?”

“I—” Anti blinked, eyes still fixed on the screen like he could make the static reappear just by waiting. “I—I—I—M-my brain—is stuck,” he gasped. “I—I—I h-have to—I can’t—think of a-a-anything else—”

“Does this happen often?” Jackie whispered. “Or... did it? I know this is a memory. It has to be. I’ve never... seen you do anything like this these days.”

Anti laughed. His eyes rolled back to look at Jackie. “Just because you’ve never seen it—just because it hasn’t happened in a while—” He laughed again. “Wh-why are you here? Why are you here?”

“I’m here to help you wake up,” Jackie said quietly.

Anti shook his head. “Wh-what if I don’t want to wake up? Wh-what if—what if you’re making a mistake—What if y-you’ll all be better if I stay like this—”

“There’s no way we’ll be ‘better’ with you like this!” Jackie said firmly. “You think we’d be happy to hear that you’re—you’re stuck in memories like this?!” He gestured around at the horrid state of the room. “This is fucking awful! I-I can’t believe this was—this was how things were for you! Anti, why didn’t you ever tell us? I mean, I remember you not having a lot in your apartment when we first met, but it was at least clean. A-and at least Volt and I were able to help you out. Even if you grumbled the whole time.” He laughed. “This... why didn’t you say anything?”

Anti looked at him. “...doesn’t matter, does it?” he whispered.

“Why?” Jackie asked. “Why doesn’t it matter?”

“Because it’s just me... nothing important.”

Jackie stared at him, shocked. Then—he couldn’t help it. He shook Anti by the shoulders. “What are you saying?!” he shouted. “You—nothing important?!”

Anti laughed darkly. “Besides... no telling what you’d say.” His head lolled back. “Better to be nothing. Better to be angry. Better than... being hurt.”

Jackie shook him again, then realized that this probably wasn’t the best method for getting through to him and stopped. “Th-that does explain some stuff about you, I guess,” he said slowly. “But—but Anti. I promise you. We would never hurt you. I-I think... I think you’ve been hurt a lot. Is that it? Is that why?”

“Why what?” Anti mumbled.

“Why... e-everything, really.” Jackie shook his head. “Like I said, it would explain some stuff about you.”

Anti shrugged wordlessly.

“Anti, we would never hurt you,” Jackie insisted. “We care about you. We’ve always cared about you, a-and we’re not gonna stop any time soon.” Anti started to shake his head. “No, don’t do that. Don’t do that, Anti.” Jackie hesitated, thoughts scrambling. If he remembered correctly, he should be able to have some influence over the MR world. Not as much as Anti—or Distorter, who had created this illusion—but some would be enough, maybe. “Don’t you remember? H-here. I think—I think I can show you.” He held onto Anti tight, closing his eyes as he concentrated. Maybe—maybe if he thought hard enough about it—

He felt that falling sensation again. And this time, Anti came with him.

When they landed, Jackie immediately heard Anti inhale sharply. “Wh-what?” he breathed. Jackie opened his eyes... and saw that they had landed right where he wanted them to. In a hospital room. Another Anti was lying in a hospital bed, bandages around his neck, fidgeting absentmindedly with the edge of the blanket. On the table next to him was a small whiteboard and a dry erase marker. “This... place...” The Anti beside him whispered.

As the two of them watched, a man walked past the open door to the hospital room. Then stopped, turned around, and walked into the room. Now it was Jackie’s turn to gasp. He didn’t realize how much younger he would look. It wasn’t that long ago that he’d met Anti, was it? Or... maybe it was. “Um... hi.” The past Jackie gave a little wave. “You, uh... you’re new in here. I’m Dr. Parker. This is sort of, my area. Nice to meet you. What’s your name?”

The past Anti glared at him. He picked up the whiteboard, and wrote down Fuck off.

“Oh.” The past Jackie blinked in surprise. “Well, uh, I don’t want to bother you. Just wanted to introduce myself. You, uh... it’s funny, maybe we’re related? We kind of look alike, don’t we?”

The past Anti wrote over the Fuck off from before, making it bigger.

“Huh. Um... I’m guessing you can’t talk, then? That’s okay.”

The past Anti underlined the Fuck off.

“I wasn’t very nice to you...” Anti whispered. “I don’t know why you came back. I wasn’t expecting you to.”

“But I did, didn’t I?” Jackie said.

The scene before them fast-forwarded a bit. The past Jackie kept trying to talk to Anti but eventually left... and then returned with something. A milkshake. “I hope you like vanilla,” he said. “I thought it was the safest bet, but I can always go get another if you want. They have chocolate and strawberry down in the cafeteria.”

The past Anti stared at him. And, slowly, he picked up the whiteboard and wrote, Why? 

Shrugging, the past Jackie said, “It looked like you needed one.” He set the milkshake down on the table and sat down in the one chair in the room. Anti stared at him. Then stared at the milkshake. Then, slowly, reached over and picked it up, carefully sipping through a straw. Jackie smiled. 

Anti shook his head. “This... this isn’t the same,” he muttered. “You didn’t know me. I-I was just some—some random fucker with a hurt neck.”

“You know...” Jackie hesitated. “I... saw the report on your injury later. A-and all this time, I thought you’d gotten in a fight, you seemed the type. But lately... I’ve been thinking... You... don’t have to talk about it, of course. But... Anti, did... did you—”

“Yes,” Anti whispered. “But it wasn’t like what you’re thinking. The goal wasn’t... I wasn’t going to... I-I wasn’t thinking straight. I knew that... sometimes, if I got hurt, m-my thoughts would calm down. So I... But like I said, I wasn’t thinking straight... I didn’t... think of the consequences...” He trailed off. Then he turned away from Jackie, away from the memory of the two of them. “Don’t give me pity. I don’t need it.”

Jackie shook his head. “It’s not pity, Anti,” he whispered. “It’s empathy. It’s compassion. Because you’re my friend.” Tears welled in his eyes. “Knowing that all this happened to you... I-I can’t... it hurts me, to think about it.”

“Sorry to hurt you, then,” Anti muttered.

“No, not like that. It’s because I care about you, Anti. A-and because I care about you, I want to know this. I want to know, so that I can be there for you, so that I can help if something like it happens again. I-I’d rather know than suddenly get blindsided by this one day.”

“You don’t know me,” Anti whispered.

Jackie reached out. He didn’t touch Anti. He simply offered a hand. “Then help me know you.”

Anti stared at his hand. He hesitated, a nervous expression on his face... No. It wasn’t mere nervousness. It was fear. “You... won’t like what you see. A-and then you’ll...”

“I’ll what?” Jackie prompted. “Leave? Not want to be friends with you anymore?” He shook his head. “You’re already convinced that I think it’s better for you to stay asleep, in this fucking hellscape of bad memories. I don’t think it’ll get worse than that, will it?”

“Hearing it will be worse,” Anti said.

“Okay. But you might not hear it at all. You might find that I don’t care about whatever you’re hiding from me. You’ll never know.”

Anti was quiet for a moment. Then, slowly, as if expecting Jackie to pull his hand back at any moment, he reached out... and took it. Around them, the memory faded, a dull gray color taking everything over.

“Tell me about yourself,” Jackie whispered gently.

Anti nodded. “My... my mother was Ciara McLoughlin,” he said, forcing the words out. “She... lived in a town called Tragóige, i-in Longford County in Ireland.”

Around them, vague shapes started to form out of the grayness. Jackie saw a woman with long brown hair and dark eyes. She was checking her makeup in a wall mirror that hung on nothing.

“I—I d-didn’t know my father. She didn’t either, sh-she saw a lot of guys during that time. N-never checked, I think. Maybe she did, but she couldn’t reach him. I don’t know. All I know is... it was just the two of us.”

A small boy appeared next to the woman, tugging on the hem of her shirt. Jackie recognized Anti as a child. A room started to form around them. Dull brown-yellow walls with a faded wallpaper pattern. A TV on the floor and a saggy sofa. An overflowing trash bin. End tables with dirty dishes and bottles.

“We didn’t actually own the house. I-I knew that even when I was little. She rented it. It was on some farmer’s land, Donovan was his name, I-I think. He never seemed to like Ciara that much, I don’t know why he let us stay there. But we did stay there. My room was in the attic.” The room around them shifted, the woman disappearing, leaving just the child Anti, in a room with wooden walls and a slanted ceiling and a big circular window. “It was always up there. She got really upset when it was late at night and I showed up in her room. Which I did, sometimes. When I was littler. I stopped going down there when I got older. I figured out she wouldn’t do anything about the nightmares, or about me crying because I was alone.”

The scene shifted again. A classroom, filled with children. The young Anti sat in the back. For the first time, Jackie noticed how his uniform was a bit different than the others. The jumper was a slightly different shade of red, the pants had patches on the knees. “I didn’t really think anything was weird about all this until I went to school. I heard the other kids talking about their families and their parents and these things called birthday gifts. And... I realized I was different. They realized it, too. And kids don’t like kids who are different.”

Rapid-fire memories surrounded them. Anti being tripped in the hall by other kids, Anti having his things stolen by the kids around him, Anti being shouted at about how his eyes were weird, Anti getting his things back with insults written on them, Anti being taunted by the kids about how his mother didn’t care for him. Jackie’s heart swelled just seeing it.

“So, if they weren’t going to leave me alone, I was going to be too much trouble for them to deal with. I-I started fighting back, shouting back. I carried around a knife so that if anyone tried to hit me, they’d think better of it. That scared people. I... I think I liked that. I-it was better than being the one who was scared. So then I started doing things that would get around. Destroying school stuff, taking small things from shops, generally causing mayhem around town. I-it got me in trouble. A lot. I-I think I was just barely able to keep from being expelled, really. But... it worked. People stopped bothering me. But... some started getting really on my case. Which I don’t think I minded. I think... I think some part of me was thinking... that if I caused enough trouble, maybe she would finally do something about it. Ground me, shout at me, I don’t know. Something.”

The memories shifted. Anti grew older. A teenager. He waved a switchblade in other teenagers’ faces. He started fiddling with computers, using what he learned to break into other people’s machines. He threw bricks through windows and flipped off the police who started chasing after him. Rarely a sentence came out of his mouth that didn’t include at least one curse word.

“But... everything just got worse, too. I mean, of fucking course it did. I was the trouble kid, and soon, I’d be an actual criminal. So... before I turned eighteen, before I would have to start worrying about going to prison, I left town. I-it was really easy to, actually.” A memory of Anti at a bus stop appeared, a single backpack by his side. “I didn’t have much to tie me down there. But... I didn’t know where I would be going. Just that it wouldn’t be there. So I started wandering.”

Snapshots. Rural roads became suburb roads became city streets.

“I think... it’s around that time th-that I started... changing. I-I don’t know what it is. I studied psychology later, but I’ve never looked up what could’ve caused all this. I don’t... even really know how to describe it. Maybe I’m too scared to. I-it’s like... Some of it is intrusive thoughts, but it’s not just that. It’s... a state of mind. A disconnectedness. Disassociation, maybe? I’m not sure. Thoughts that keep going down the same path over and over, thoughts that I don’t want to keep going or get hooked on, but that I can’t stop.” Anti’s voice hitched. “F-for a while, I got... I got into some stuff, trying to muffle them. I-I knew it was bad, but I couldn’t help it. I-it was a short period of time, but I-I managed to get past it. But... that doesn’t mean things were better.”

More snapshots. Anti wandering city streets, Anti getting in fistfights, Anti causing more destruction and vandalism.

“I-I did some bad stuff. Stole things. Broke things. Attacked people for no reason, I-I might’ve even... k-killed someone.” His eyes welled with tears. “I didn’t want to. I didn’t mean to. I-I don’t know if it’s true, but... it might be. I-I don’t know. But eventually, I wound up in this city. Mirygale. I-I had some cash, so I started renting a place to stay. Bought a couple pieces of furniture. E-even found an old TV on the side of the road and a rebuilt computer. I didn’t expect to be able to stay there long, but it was... better than being out in the elements. But things wouldn’t stop. M-my thoughts... they... they weren’t being muffled anymore. I tried... other things. Distraction. Pain. Until... you know how that ended.”

The hospital room faded back into view. Jackie wasn’t there yet. It was just Anti in the past. Staring up at the ceiling. Eyes glazed. Completely still.

Anti took a deep breath. That scene faded away again, and they were surrounded by more of that gray nothingness. “So... now you know. Th-that’s my whole life.” He wiped at his eyes. “Jack’s my cousin, you know. Did you know that? I didn’t. Ciara never told me she had a brother, much fucking less that her brother had a family.” He laughed drily. “Maybe that’s where she got some of her money from. I don’t think she made a lot on her own.”

“I...” Jackie was left speechless. His brain struggled to process everything he heard... to understand all the misery that had plagued his friend’s life. “Anti, that’s... I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry that you had to go through all that.”

“Heh.” Anti gave him a small, wan smile. “Knew you’d say that.”

“You did? Then what was all that about being afraid to tell me?”

“Things will be different now,” Anti muttered. “You’ll look at me differently. You feel sorry for me, and every time you look at me, I’ll see that in your eyes. Just... something to feel sorry for. Maybe be a little afraid of. It won’t be normal.”

“Anti... that’s not true.”

“You say that but—”

“No, Anti, let me talk,” Jackie interrupted. “I’m sorry, but let me talk.” He put his hands on Anti’s shoulders, looking him straight in the eyes. “I feel sorry for you, yes. But that’s not all you are to me. You’re not an—an object for me to project feelings onto. You are my friend. You are the man I chose to be Michelle’s godfather.”

“You really shouldn’t have done that, by the—”

“Anti, please. Listen.” Jackie paused for a moment, making sure Anti’s full attention was on him. “You’re my friend. You’re my daughter’s godfather. You’re an excellent self-taught programmer—which is fucking amazing, by the way. And to get a minor in psych while doing that, fucking incredible. You’re a role model to tons of people online. You’re a great father. No matter what you think of yourself and your ability as a parent, you’re good at it, Anti. You’re good at all of this. Anti, I... I think I always knew there was something dark in your past. Someone who shows up in the hospital with a slit throat could not have had an easy life. And I saw your flat when you first lived there, remember? I knew you were struggling with something. But you know what? You managed to get past all that. You picked up your life. You got yourself a degree in fucking record time—and fuck anyone who says it doesn’t count because it was online—and managed to make yourself a career out of doing something that you love. Because I know you love games. Playing them and breaking their code, hah. And, after all that, you found a boy who was also struggling, and you gave him a home and someone who cares about him. The fact that you could do all this despite everything you went through? Anti, I think that’s the strongest thing I’ve ever heard a person do.”

Anti stared at him, completely and utterly shocked. “I... but... I-I’m not—I-I don’t really make a difference—”

“How could you say that after everything I just said?” Jackie asked. “All the people who love your videos aside—they’re all strangers really—what about the rest of us? You think we’d be the same without you? You think our lives would be better? Anti, that’s simply not true. Every day, I’m so happy to have met you. I’m so happy that you’re my friend. I-I always want to do everything I can to help you... sometimes to my own detriment.” He laughed weakly. “Because you’re my friend. Because you matter to me, because my life is so much better having met you. And it’s the same for everyone else, too. Especially Will.”

Anti swallowed a lump in his throat. “Maybe... maybe Will could’ve had a better family, if he hadn’t met me,” he whispered weakly.

“No, he couldn’t have. Because you care about him so much, Anti. You care so much that you’re worried you’re not good enough. But you are. There’s no one Will would rather have as a dad than you.” Jackie smiled. “And there’s no one we’d rather have as a friend. Anti, I love you. You’re my best friend. Don’t tell the others that, especially Schneep. But... I think it’s true. And you’ll still be my friend after this.”

Anti was quiet for a long time. He was blinking back tears. “Do... you promise?” he asked in a hoarse voice.”

Jackie gently grabbed his hand, wrapping their fingers together. “I promise, Anti.”

Anti closed his eyes. He leaned his head forward until it rested on Jackie’s shoulder. “Aodhán.”

“Huh?”

“My name,” he whispered. “I’m Aodhán McLoughlin.”

Jackie stood there, stunned for a moment. Then he smiled. “Nice to meet you, Aodhán.”

Anti let out a breath. And then, he started to sob. Quietly at first, and then louder and louder, great heaving breaths. He wrapped his arms around Jackie, squeezing tight, clutching at his clothes. Jackie hugged him back. Around them, the gray nothingness began to change. A green glow was piercing through the fog.

After a while, Anti stopped crying, but he didn’t let go of Jackie.

“Is it time to wake up?” Jackie asked.

“...yeah,” Anti whispered. “I’m ready.”

———————

“Marvin, I swear, we’re your friends!” Jack shouted desperately.

Marvin didn’t seem to answer. He kept struggling against Jack with that glassy look in his eyes, blood dripping from his sockets. Jack kept him pushed to the floor, and meanwhile, Schneep and Distorter were still fighting. And it was becoming increasingly clear that the fight was one-sided. Schneep stumbled, and Distorter pushed him against the empty hospital bed, his head hitting the railings with an unpleasant CLANG!

“Stacy?” Jack glanced over at her. “Do you have them?”

“Y-yeah, I think I got all of them!” Stacy pushed all the cards she’d gathered into a deck. Marvin’s cards, spilled across the floor when he suddenly jumped to Schneep’s aid. She hurried over, kneeling on the ground next to Marvin’s face. “Look! Marvin, these are yours! Do you remember these?!” She glanced at Jack, unsure. Jack nodded back. Surely the cards will jog Marvin’s mind or something. But his eyes were still glassy. “Uh... h-here, you can look at them.” She spread the deck out, showing the different designs on their backs.

And at that... something finally flickered in Marvin’s eyes. Jack felt his struggles still for a moment, and then one arm pushed against his hold. Jack hesitated, then let up for a moment. Marvin slowly reached for the cards, picking out two with the same symbol. Three lines forming a rough, wide U shape, with two dots in the middle.

“These? Uh, okay, what do we do with these?” Stacy wondered. “Uh—” she started putting random cards near those two, in hopes of getting more of a response from Marvin. It wasn’t working. Marvin’s eyes were glazing over again and he started to struggle again against Jack.

“I can’t hold him forever!” Jack said.

“I know I know! Uh—” With increasing panic, Stacy kept showing Marvin cards. Nearby, Schneep cried out in pain as Distorter bit into his arm. He lashed out and punched him back, but the cloth of his shirt ripped as Distorter pulled it away. “Marvin, please! You know this, we don’t! We need you! H-he’s playing mind tricks on you, please remember!”

“...mind,” Marvin whispered. He stopped struggling for a moment, reaching out and grabbing another one of the cards, this one with a pointed shape in the middle and two lines next to it. He pulled that forward, into the middle of the two cards from before—

A faint golden light rippled out from the three-card formation. Suddenly, Jack leaned back, blinking and shaking his head as he felt it suddenly clear. He hadn’t realized how foggy he’d felt until just then. Stacy’s expression was similar. And, suddenly, Marvin gasped. “H-holy fucking hell!” he shouted. “What the—wh-what’s happening?!”

Distorter looked towards him. “What? No! No, you’re supposed to be—” Schneep came out of nowhere, punching him in the face so hard it knocked him to the ground.

“The cards,” Marvin whispered. “Mind and safety—I-I knew. I knew e-even like t’at, I knew what they—Jack, can ye get off me?”

“Right.” Jack hurriedly moved away, allowing Marvin to sit up.

Distorter scrambled to his feet. “Fine! But that won’t work on your ‘friend’ Ant—”

A blue burst of light came flying into the room and hit Distorter in the chest, pushing him back against the far wall. Ice formed along his torso, pinning him there.

Marvin gasped. “Jems!”

JJ stood in the doorway, hand outstretched and eyes glowing bright. Don’t talk about Anti, he said. He’s not under your power anymore.

Schneep blinked. “You—you mean—”

Jameson smiled, nodding. The glow in his eyes faded, revealing the tears lining them.

“Forget abou’ t’at guy!” Marvin said, gesturing back at Distorter, struggling against the ice keeping him attached to the wall. “Let’s go!”

Everyone scrambled to their feet. Marvin made sure to get his cards but left the wheelchair behind; he could come back for that later. JJ looked confused about how Marvin was walking fine again, but shrugged it off. This was more important! They all rushed down the hall.

Distorter paused, assessing his connection to Anti—and found it gone. He screeched with frustration and broke away from the ice, tumbling to the ground. He quickly got up again, ready to rush after them... but then stopped. His head tilted to the side. What... was that? He... was sensing something strange. Slowly, he turned around, peering through the blinds on the window and down at the ground below. Oh. Oh. No, he didn’t want to be here for that. Quickly, he turned and ran, trying to find the easiest exit out of the hospital.

The group burst into Anti’s room. Marvin and Schneep weren’t sure what they would see. JJ said Anti was awake, but it didn’t seem real. Not until they all rushed into the room and saw Anti, unrestrained and sitting up, with Jackie sitting on the bed beside him, the two of them hugging each other tight and crying.

“...Anti?” Schneep whispered.

Anti looked up. His eyes were bloodshot, but clear, not glazed over. He gave him a small smile. “H-hi.”

Schneep relaxed. He laughed. “Hi? You are under a monster’s control for days, maybe weeks, a-and you just say hi?”

Anti shrugged. “Yeah? Fuck you. Is that better?”

Schneep laughed harder. “Oh. Oh, it is so much better. Anti. Anti. I-I am... so... so, relieved.”

Marvin covered his mouth, too overwhelmed by emotion to say anything. He hurried forward, reaching out but stopping. Anti stared at his hand, then took it, holding it in his. Tears filled Marvin’s eyes. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I-I know what it’s like. Maybe... not... exactly all t’is, but...” He took a deep breath. “Y-you’re back. T’at’s what matters.”

JJ wiped his eyes on his sleeve. He nodded, choking back a sob.

“W-we should all give him space,” Schneep said, hiding the tears in his eyes as well.

“No, i-it’s fine right now,” Anti said. “I get it.” He looked past everyone else to Stacy and Jack, hovering near the doorway. “You two are here too, huh? Uh... good to see you, Jack. Stacy.”

Stacy looked a bit surprised, but nodded back. Jack gave him a tired smile. “I’m so glad you’re awake,” he said.

“Me too... fucking hell.” Anti shook his head. “I don’t ever want to relive that.”

“You won’t have to,” Jackie promised. “You’re back now. And we’re gonna make sure Distorter doesn’t fucking try anything like that again.”

Anti laughed. “Yeah.” He looked around the room. “Man... this place fucking sucks. Glad I wasn’t able to see most of it. Can I get out of here?”

“You cannae jus’ walk out of a hospital,” Marvin said.

“Yeah, there’s paperwork and stuff,” Jackie says. “We have to get a doctor to check you over.”

“We can go do that,” Stacy said. “Me and Jack.”

“Yeah, if you guys want a moment, we’ll just go look around for whoever’s in charge to tell them this,” Jack said. He glanced around and frowned. “And I’ll go look for Sam, too. Where did they go?”

“Yeah, you two can clear off,” Anti said. He paused. “Not that... it’s not good to see you,” he added awkwardly. “It... is. I-I think you guys helped wake me up? So... thank you. But... can I... Th-these guys are...”

Jack nodded. “We get it.”

Anti sighed. “Yeah.” He hesitated, then said, “Besides, as my family, you’re probably gonna be the one filling out paperwork.”

Jack’s eyes widened. He glanced around at everyone else.

“Wait, you’re related?!” Marvin gasped.

“We’re cousins,” Anti said. “It’s a... long story.”

I suppose that would explain some things, JJ signed, looking thoughtful.

“Finally, two of our group who look alike turn out to actually be related,” Schneep chuckled.

Jack smiled. He nodded at Anti. “Yeah. I’ll do all that paperwork and stuff. C’mon, Stacy. Let’s find a doctor.” The two of them headed off.

You’re really okay, Anti? JJ asked.

“I feel shitty, actually.” Anti pushed Jackie away a little and looked down at himself. “Fuck... hospital clothes don’t suit me at all. But yeah, my head’s all fucky a-and I feel... weak? I guess?” He looked back up. “How’s Will?”

“He’s alrigh’,” Marvin said. “Rama has been lookin’ after him. He’s missed you.”

Anti crumpled, tears coming back to his eyes. “I’ve missed him too,” he whispered. “F-for a moment... I-I was stuck in this facility, for a while, kept there by these guys called IRIS. And while in there, they said something, a-and... for a moment... I-I wondered if he was even real. N-nothing has ever scared me so much.”

“He is real,” Schneep said firmly. “And he is still your son.”

“And we know about IRIS,” Jackie added. “You don’t have to explain anything.”

Anti nodded, taking a deep breath. He raised his head higher, looking at Schneep, then Marvin, then JJ. “My real name is Aodhán McLoughlin.”

“Wha—” Schneep choked. JJ looked at Anti in surprise. Marvin leaned back, processing that. “Y-you just—just—”

“I told Jackie while in that freaky dream shit,” Anti said. “It’s only fair that you guys know, too.”

JJ laughed hoarsely. Well, it’s good to know, but it doesn’t change anything. Especially for me. It still starts with an A, so my name sign for you doesn’t have to change.

“You’ll still be Anti to us,” Marvin said. “Unless you want us to start usin’ Aodhán.”

“Uhhh no that’s too much too fast,” Anti said.

Schneep sighed. “Well... I suppose all this is settled. Finally.” He paused. “There is still much we have to do, though. But we can take a moment to rest. Get Anti out of the hospital. And—”

AAIIEEEAAIIEEEAAIIEEE!

Schneep suddenly screamed, clapping his hands to his ears and collapsing.

“Volt?!” Jackie gasped, scrambling to his feet. “What is it?!”

“What the fuck?!” Marvin stared. JJ crouched down and started shaking Schneep.

A man appeared in the doorway to the room. They all looked up at him in unison. Like all the doctors here, he wore a white coat. But there was a symbol on the arm. It looked like an eye with three irises.

“No!” Anti scrambled backwards, going pale. “F-fuck off!”

The man tossed something into the room and then slammed the door closed. It was a small metal ball, which fell apart into two different halves with a click. White smoke came billowing out from the inside at an alarming rate.

“What is t’at?!” Marvin asked. He grabbed the pillow from the bed and threw it at the metal ball, but the smoke was pouring out in such quantities that the thin pillow did nothing to stop it.

JJ threw his hand out and a blue shield formed a dome around the ball. For a moment, the smoke was trapped inside—but then the shield flickered and died. JJ looked down at his hand in alarm. He tried conjuring another shield but he couldn’t. He shot a bolt of magic at the ball but all he managed to do was rip the pillow in half and send the two parts of the ball skittering in opposite directions, both still emitting smoke.

“I-I don’t know what that is but it can’t be good!” Jackie shouted, running for the room’s window. But the window didn’t open. “Fuck!” He pounded his fists against the glass. He tried grabbing the chair but it slipped out of his grip. Shaking his head, he stumbled. Why did everything feel so heavy right now?

“It’s... i-it’s a drug,” Marvin said, his words slurring together, head drooping.

Anti tried to stand up, but found he couldn’t. So he started shouting. “HELP! HEEELP! HELP! PLEASE!”

But his pleas fell on deaf ears. Or maybe they just fell on ears that weren’t fast enough to do anything. His voice tapered off quickly and he fell back against the bed, eyelids fluttering.

One by one, they all succumbed to it.

And on a turn of a dime, their triumph was overcome by despair.

[scenetocause]

Hi I asked Nadia this too, but if you're still answering the ship asks: who else would you most ship Max F with, other than Lando?

oh this is a good question. maybe logan? him and logan had a whole thing going on as rivals for ages until everything kind of went wrong for max but logan's so easy to ship with oscar it feels kinda sidepiece.

if lando and lando-adjacent stuff like lumax is out then wait wait wait. jake dennis. jake/max is great because they've known each other for a g e s (he was max's driver coach in f4) and also jake is so completely gigantic and max is teenytiny. i've got a fic where max is shagging jake for basically sex education reasons and then going to lando like ok i think i've got the hang of this now do you want to try it that i've never finished but the concept was pretty sound. (the emptyhalf wip graveyard is extensive)

other than that it seems only fair to ship him with clem after the whole CLEM <3 debacle. but i see them more as wine drinking hecklers. max is such an interesting little guy because he's so delicate in almost all situations, without lando. he knows who he is post-racing, with lando but everyone else there's still a little tentativeness, all the dance steps still being worked out and so it can feel clumsy to try and choreograph them together.

jakemax straight from the vault under the cut:

It’s sort of hard to explain how this has started happening, which is basically why Max hasn’t told anyone. He feels a little bit bad, not having told Lando because they kind of, maybe, in the tentative way Lando does anything, might be beginning to have a thing. 

He’s not sure him and Jake are a thing, but this does. It keeps happening.

“Mmmrf-” Max can’t help the noise he makes, shoved up against the wall, even though it’s not even a little bit sexy. Somehow, being lifted onto his tiptoes and then just straight off the floor, pressed between Jake’s body and the wall, extremely is and the way Jake’s tongue is down his throat says he thinks so, too.

Max bends his legs up, wraps them round Jake’s waist and doesn’t fight the way his hips want to buck up, get friction between his cock and Jake’s abs and rub his arse against where Jake’s hard. Fuck, Jake’s so hot - what’s he doing, why’s he turned into a slut about this?

“Careful there,” Jake says, big arms holding Max up, supporting him gently and Max tries not to do anything embarrassing like melt. “Or you’re gunna make me cum before you fuck me.”

Max tries to protest that’s exactly what that kind of thing is going to do to him, for fuck’s sake. But then he’s too busy trying to follow instructions about fingering and trying to get a condom on before Jake pushes him backwards and grins, straddling Max. “You are proper cute, you know that?”

Max just tries not to pass out.

—--

“You ever had a really good blow job?” Jake asks him, one day. Max’s mind feels like it’s collapsing in on itself.

“Uh-” this is pathetic, he has to be able to do better than this. “Yeah, I guess?”

Jake’s expression is very difficult to read, even though it’s playful and open. “Nah you haven’t.”

Max can feel himself blushing, getting offended. “You don’t know that-”

“Yeah I do,” Jake says and he’s sliding to the floor and Max is so confused until suddenly his sweatpants are getting pulled down and ok. Ok, yeah. He had not had a blow job where someone did that with their tongue. Fuck, jesus. 

While he’s trying to work out if he still has a brain, afterwards, Jake flops across Max’s lap and looks up at him, stretching his arms above his head and kind of nodding towards his own crotch. Max can take a hint, pushes Jake’s vest up and his pants down, so Max can wank him off, one hand on the rock-hard muscle on Jake’s stomach.

He ducks his head down, at the last second, to lap at the head of Jake’s dick and try to do some of the stuff Jake just did to him and yeah, he splutters a bit when his mouth gets filled with spunk but he manages, just about. Gets a bit of cuddling after, that feels like a reward for a job well done.

[sneakerguybln]

It's the day after England crashed out of the World Cup. The 19 year old chav lad Dave made a bet that England will win the World Cup after they won their first group match. 'This time it's coming home' he yelled after the final whistle of Englands first match. He watched the game with his five closest friends and his (dizygotic) twin brother. 'If they are fucking losers I'll do a half year without sex... fuck off: one year. You can lock me in a damn fucking chastity device of one year if they lose' he said. His friends said if England win he can send them buying some clothing stuff he wishes. They even wrote it down and signed it.

Obviously he lost his bet. Now he has to pay the price. He had forgotten the bet. As he woke up in the morning he found himself in a WhatsApp group "Virgin Dave". He tried to convince his friends that it was just a joke. But they had his signature. They threatened to post this contract to other friends and to their gym friends and call him "pussy Dave" because he tried to duck out. Finally he consentend. They said that they'll come to his house at noon and they'll do a ceremony. After they sent a picture of the chastity device Dave drank the rest of the Vodka they had the evening before. His brother took this picture and said: 'Drink more maybe it's easier to accept.'

Exactly at noon the doorbell rang and Dave's brother opened the door. Their five friends came in. They escorted Dave into his room and tied him spread-eagled to his bed. After they pulled down his pants his best friend Lewis said: 'This pig isn't shaved.' He took a latex glove and Dave's trimmer and removed his pubic hair. After that he got a clean shave. Dave had a boner since they tied him to his bed and they mocked him for that. Dave didn't say anything. He let them do what they want to do. He was happy that nobody is filming this shit. As they had dried his crotch with a towel they oiled his balls.

Then his brother - this evil freak of brother - opened the box of the device and placed the device on Dave's mouth. 'Next time England is playing you better be more humble bro' he said. Dave refused to react. Then Lewis said imitating a man who unroll a paper in the air: 'Hereby, we, the six wise men of football knowledge found you guilty of the crime of stupidity. We sentence you to a maximum of 12 months in chastity. You can reduce your sentence to a minimum of 9 months by going every second week to the Corporal Punishment party in the gay fetish club two corners away. I don't remember its name.' All laughed - even Dave in his situation - as they know that Lewis is often there. 'Order!' he yelled while his hand made a sweeping gesture. He continued: 'For each Corporal Punishment party his sentence will be reduced by one week. But if he misses one of the parties his sentence will go back to the full 12 months. This installment of the punishment device will be executed by the convict's brother Danny. The convict is entitled to cleaning every 20th day. If it isn't possible he has to beg for an alternative time at least 5 days ahead. If he ever misses one cleaning day he has to wait 10 more days for another chance. Did you understand the sentence, convict, and do you accept it?' - Dave said: 'Yes, you godless bastards.' - 'For unruly behaviour we increase the minimum sentence to 10 months' Lewis said. 'Danny, please execute the sentence!' Dave's boner was rock hard.

Danny put on latex gloves and fumbled the balls through the ring, than the dick. Then he pressed the cage on his brother's cock and locked the device. He gave the keys to Lewis. 'On cleaning day you'll visit one of us. We tell you beforehand who will clean you. You'll bring a pair of handcuffs and fresh latex gloves with you. When you arrive you'll beg to be cleaned. You follow the one of us to the bathroom. You pull down your pants, hand over the keys to the handcuff and cuff yourself on the back. After the procedure your handcuffs will be unlocked. As we'll wear gloves no human skin will touch your dick in entirety for at least 10 months. If you try to trick us we'll embarrass you everywhere as we recorded this day with a hidden camera' Lewis's brother Tom said.

They untied him and went in the living room Dave's family's house. Walking down the stairs Dave felt the heaviness of the chastity device. He decided to accept it and to talk to his friends after two or three months to get his punishment finished immediately. He didn't know that they planned to let him suffer for the entire time. He even went to the fetish club and got the corporal punishments. But the 7th punishment was so heavy he pulled out and said he couldn't stand two more which would have been neccessary to get the last two months of his sentence cancelled. He didn't know that his friends paid a guy who is doing this often and know how to use the cane to inflict as much pain as possible.

Even next summer they were cold-hearted as the seven guys planned to travel to Ibiza. They told him that they'll have a key with them to unlock before security. After they had checked in their checked baggage Lewis told him that the key was accidentally in the checked luggage after he had pretended to have searched it in the hand luggage. Dave had to chose: going home or through security. He did the latter thing. The metal detector set off and he had to undergo a second control in a private room. He told the security staff that he has got some unremovable jewellery attached to his body. He had to show. One security officer laughed: 'That isn't jewellery, mate. That's a chastity device. Who did this to you?' - 'England, mate. It was England crashing out of the World Cup against France.'

They sent him to his friends who already had finished their first pint at Gatwick's Wetherspoon's. As he had found them his brother said: 'I totally forgot something. I had the key.' Dave ordered a Scotch and a pint. He decided for himself that he won't ask them to unlock him for flying home. He won't let them mock him again. Later he realized that this was the moment he accepted chastity. After their vacation he searched a Domme and found one. She took over the keys and started to train him to be her and her husbands sex toy. Shortly after meeting his Domme she started to pressure him to get a vasectomy. After a few months he agreed and had it done on his 21st birthday. After everything was healed she invited his brother and friends to their house. Dave was again spread-eagled on his bed. She told everyone that Dave had undergone s vasectomy to bring a sacrifice for earning permanent slavery - he made it a secret. Danny and the other guys were stunned. But the next thing stunned them more. 'Mistress' Dave said 'please make my chastity permanent.' - 'As you brought a huge sacrifice for me I'll grant you this wish, slave.' She broke one key in the lock and sealed it with industrial glue. 'It will only come off by destroying it' she said. Dave smiled.

[buttdawg]

Collision

I found the show to be enjoyable enough, although the first and last segment were really the only reasons to show up.   It was nice to see Andrade return without some bullshit mindgames involving getting guys to join his team.  And it was nice to see Miro back in action, but it’s going to take a while to see if AEW is actually serious with these guys. 

I thought all the CM Punk stuff was kind of basic, in that he was just covering stuff we already knew.  Then later, I realized that was sort of the point.  He’s been gone for so long that he sort of needs to reintroduce himself to the audience.  This whole thing has been like a big reset.  Punk doesn’t seem to have changed, but the audience has, and they’ve gotten so used to speculating about his return that it’s worth easing into it.  I didn’t understand why his first match was with Samoa Joe and BCG, but it would have been premature to have him get into a feud right off the bat. 

In that respect, having him talking smack about MJF is smart, because it’s an obvious program, but one that doesn’t have to be paid off immediately.  MJF already has business with other challengers, but it makes sense for MJF to duck Punk instead of dropping everything to deal with him.  And just because Punk has a legitimate claim to a title match doesn’t mean he gets to have it right away.  He can gripe about it every week while he does a feud with some other wrestler who thinks he belongs at the front of the line. 

Still, they really kind of need to figure out how to make Punk vs. the Elite happen.  Maybe they already have, but the crowd clearly wanted it, and I think the crowds in other recent shows have wanted it too, but they knew they’d have to wait for Punk to come back before it would be an option.  So every week, the fans are going to ask when Punk vs. Elite happens, and why they’re not getting it now.  Pundits were talking about it being a big money match last year, but now, I think it’s almost evolved beyond that.  Now, it’s like AEW almost has to do the match just to move on from Brawl-Out ‘22.  They don’t have to do it right away, or even this year, but they need a plan to do it eventually, because I think their fanbase expects a plan, and they’ll be pretty disappointed if they ever find out it’s not happening. 

Back when the whole thing went down, I thought Punk was done for good.  Either Tony Khan would cut him on the spot, or Punk would turn back into Bruce Banner and be too horrified by his behavior and resign.  I sort of wondered if the Elite would return, but then they did, and I started to think that meant Punk was really finished, but here we are.  The only thing that bugs me is that-- as far as I can tell-- they still haven’t mended fences from last September.  That just sounds irresponsible. 

Then again, if they really are planning to turn all of this into an angle, then they really wouldn’t want anyone to know they mended fences, would they?  I mean, this is where fans always fall down the rabbit-hole, because why would Punk still be that mad at Colt Cabana?  Or Adam Page, or the rest of them?  I think the fans have this baseline rationality that they want to apply to the wrestlers, where they’re all cool professionals backstage and any real-life animosity is easily sorted out.  I mean, that is how it’s supposed to be, but it doesn’t always work out that way, which is where you get fans taking sides in things like this, because if it’s truly irreconcilable, then there must be a bad guy, or we have to assume that both sides are assholes. 

At the end of the day, I just think dividing the roster in half to keep Punk and the Elite separated is dumb.  If you’re Tony Khan and you want both of them on your payroll and they hate each other’s guts, then you make a hard choice.  You cut one loose or sit both sides down and make them play nice.  But 2022 has shown me that Tony Khan isn’t the 4-D genius promoter everyone wants him to be, so yeah, I can actually see him making a second AEW just for Punk.  This is the guy who thinks Jeff Jarrett belongs on his flagship show in 2023, so there you have it. 

So I’m kind of expecting another backstage fight, because those who do not learn from history, something-something.  But I think I’ve reached a point where I don’t care whose heads roll in all of this.  I like Kenny Omega, the Bucks, Adam Page, and CM Punk, but also, fuck all of those guys.  The show was pretty kickass back when they were all suspended and Moxley was champion.  If they want to ruin their careers over Colt fucking Cabana, they can go right ahead.

[latibvles]

I am once again late to an ask game, but can I humbly request 7 with Liebgott and Rita? I just *clenches fist* I love them your honor

"lexi," I say in the mirror. "you need to stop writing so much postwar stuff." I raise my hand up, defensively. "I see you and I hear you, however .. world hard and cold joerita hurt/comfort soft and warm." warning for the word whore being used once, not from Lieb though

#7 THE THINGS YOU SAID WHERE THE WATER WAS LOUD.

“Fucking shit.”

“Over there!”

Rita rushes down the sidewalk towards the bus stop, ducking under the awning with Joe right behind her. They were  both effectively soaked — if they continued to make their way to Rita’s apartment, they’d probably end up effectively waterlogged. She sighs, reaching up to wring out her hair a little bit, if only to give herself some form of reprieve. Joe whistles lowly, drowned out a little by the drops rattling against the roof.

“S’really coming down, huh?” Rita nods, looking at her pruney fingers.

“Yeah. Summer storms’ll do that. Daisy warned me to take an umbrella.”

He presses his lips into a line at her flippantness. If she was being completely honest — she’d been waiting for him to snap on her since he showed up at the office without warning. And it made sense why Daisy tried to call her, he probably stopped at the apartment first and knowing her friend, she wasn’t going to lie to him about her whereabouts. It wasn’t like it was a secret that they lived together — she just… never picked up the phone, avoided it when she knew he was on the other line.

“So how’ve you been?” he asks, continuously looking out at the shower. “Haven’t heard from you in a while.” She recognizes the tone, the sarcasm laced in it, the tongue in his cheek. She balls her hands into fists.

“Don’t do that.” Rita grits her teeth as he looks at her.

“Do what?” His brows furrow, lips pulling into a proper frown.

“That. Getting all catty. Just call me a bitch and a whore and get it over with so we can go back and play nice for Daisy’s sake.” Joe scoffs, walking to one side of the awning and back as he runs his fingers through his wet hair.

“You really think I crossed the entire goddamn country just to call you fucking names?!” He asks incredulously

 Rita mimics his scoff, folding her arms over her chest.

“Th’hell am I supposed to think?! I didn’t ask you to come all this way, you did that on your own!” She snaps, her voice rising over the pounding of the rain, arms wrapping around herself in a hug to stave off the chill of rainwater running down her back.

“What else was I supposed to do?!” Joe matches her volume, gaping at her statement as though she has three heads.

“Never see me again!”

“Is that it? You never want to see me again, Rita?” She laughs bitterly, looking down but not faltering.

“Of course not.” He leans down to look her in the eye.

“Then why did you leave me?”

“Cause I had nothing to offer you, Joe!” She snaps, whipping her head up to look at him again. His jaw is clenched, his entire body rigid and eyes pleading. Her lip wobbles and she swallows the lump forming in her throat. “The war was one thing — but did you really want to bring home a girl who’s own parents didn’t even want her? I left Europe with nothing. Hell, even living together was Daisy’s idea. She kept me off the streets when I came back.” Her voice trembles in a way that she hates, and she hugs herself a little tighter. He reaches up, a cold hand pressing against her cheek.

“That’s not who I was bringing home,” He argues with a shake of his head. “I wanted to bring home the woman that kept my head screwed on straight in all of Holland. The only one I was thinkin’ about in Bastogne,” his thumb rubs small circles into her cheek, goosebumps rise on her skin. “You never had to give me anything. Ever. I only wanted you. I fuckin’ missed you, Dee.”

In spite of herself, she smiles at his honesty, leaning into the welcomed chill of his hand and sniffling. She isn’t sure if it’s from the emotions threatening to spill over, or if it’s the early onset of a cold. It might very well be the latter.

“You said wanted.” She points out, softly. His lips curl into a smile, a bit wolfish, but also holding the same kind of tender sincerity he looked at her with at several points in Europe. With the rain beating on the awning like a drum, drowning out their conversation from the rest of the world, he says only one thing in reply.

“I crossed the entire fuckin’ country to see you and you think I don’t still want you?”

[alloftimeandspacetosee]

Overprotective Siblings, Part2

probably everyone needs therapy actually but like. yeah

They know they fucked up, but Arlette doesn't really... feel bad about it, she just feels bad about not feeling bad lmao

[1]

~

 They walked along the edge of a crowd, tight-lipped and pale faced as they concentrated on not collapsing. They didn’t speak, just walk and look around for the water ride they had been beside.

 Eventually they find their stuff, Sargeras still guarding it with a ring of water.

 “Thanks, girl.” Arlette stepped over and sat down against the railing, scratching the vaporeon’s head.

 Aurora pulled the mat towards them and picked up the coins, slipping them into a side pocket on her bag.

 “Nice disappearing act you pulled.” Mark was leaning on the railing nearby, grinning. “Get lost on the way back?”

 “Something like that.” Arlette stretched out her hand, examining the cut across the palm.

 Aurora offered her own hand to her sister, revealing a similar cut. “They’ll be fine.”

 Arlette nodded and packed away their stuff, returning all but Xen to their balls.

 “How ‘bout the rest of you?” Mark asked, stepping closer. “You don’t seem so good.”

 “Just tired. Had a… slight altercation.”

 “Come on then.” Mark took their non-injured hands, tugging them after him. “This way.”

 “What?” They exchanged glances as they stumbled after him.

 “Well… you look like you’re annoyed, but too tired to be annoyed. So let’s go do some fun stuff, then you can just be tired. Sound like a plan?” Mark stopped long enough to drop their hands and release an emboar, which picked up the twins’ bags without being asked.

 “Thanks, Mark. It’s – it’s been a hard day.”

 “Hard week.”

 “Long story.”

 Mark held up a hand. “Don’t want to hear it. If you want to talk about it, I’ll pay for a therapist. But you don’t have the money to afford me.” He grinned, winking at Arlette. “My therapy’s better than that, anyway.”

 The twins laughed, smiles not forced but faded. “Ah, but you’re amazing, Mark.”

 “I know, I know.” He pushed his hands into his pockets, sauntering on. “People tell me all the time.”

 “And yet, I still find myself wanting to slap you.”

 “Not still sore over last time, are you?”

 “Hmm…”

 “Dodgems, then?” Mark grinned.

 “Maybe a fast ride first.” Arlette shook her head. “I want to leave some things behind.”

 “Then Sky’s Flight should do the trick.” Mark turned at the next corner and led them towards a huge queue waiting in front of the entrance to a ride, done up in red and green colours with Rayquaza’s mark over the door.

 Aurora nodded, grinning. “Oh yes.”

 They made their way up the VIP queue, Mark casually ducking under the rope at the front.

 “Don’t mind us cutting in, do you?” He grinned at the people in the queue as they passed. “Room enough for all of us, I’m sure.”

 “Right this way, young master.”

 They left their bags in security with Xenos, Mischief and Zillre, and waited to be let onto the ride.

 The three of them get the front row seats, and once everyone’s securely in place, the ride started off – slowly as it left the building, and climbing higher all the while. Arlette shifted and closed her eyes, feeling the faint breeze. Mark glanced at her, and reached for their hands.

 They gripped each other’s hands as the ride reached its first high point and dived for the ground, moving fast. Arlette whooped, laughing maniacally as they swerve above the walkways filled with people, around the rides and through the length of the park.

 Aurora started to laugh as well, blinking as the wind tore water from her eyes. Mark shook his head and grinned, keeping his noise inside.

 When the ride stopped, the three of them were distinctly windswept and breathless. Arlette was still laughing, but it’s far quieter now. Mark shook his head as they unbuckled, leading the way to pick up their bags.

 “Dodgems?” Aurora asked brightly.

 “Well, you’re looking far better.” Mark smiled, examining his hands. “You sure you don’t want those cuts checked out?”

 “They’re no that bad.” Arlette snorted, shaking her head.

 “Yeah, but–” Mark showed them his hands, the lines of blood on them. “They’re still bleeding.”

 “You shouldn’t grip so tight.” Aurora grinned, leading them towards the dodgems. “Broke the scabs.”

 “Still scared of them?”

 “I could’ve sworn it was you that was holding tighter.” Mark laughed. “I can barely feel my hands. Zillre, with us.”

 The emboar lumbered after them, helping to part the crowds. Mischief jumped down from his perch on Zillre’s shoulder, landing on Aurora’s head.

 “Hm.” The twins exchanged a glance. “Maybe it was just so you wouldn’t feel bad about being scared.”

 “Sure, sure.” Mark shook his head. “Whatever you say.”

 The twins smirked and skipped into the queue for the dodgems. “Damn straight.”

 “We waiting for this one?” Mark raised an eyebrow.

 “Only if you don’t feel like flaunting your authority.”

 “Well then…” Mark cracked his knuckles. “Don’t mind me – influential brat, coming through!” Slipping out of the barriers, he led them along the side of the queues to the front, where they still have to wait until there are some carts free.

 It doesn’t take too long, and soon enough the three of them have left their bags with Zillre and are strapped into the carts.

 As Arlette pulled away, she murmured soothingly to Xenos – only to be interrupted by someone thumping into her from the side. Aurora reversed and drove away, cackling. Arlette narrowed her eyes and grinned, pressing her foot down as she turned to shoot after her sister.

 Mark followed them, but was hit off course by another driver. He spun, regained control, and shot after his own attacker.

 Arlette slammed into Aurora’s tail and thudded to a halt, laughing. Aurora glanced back, smirked, and drove away.

 As Arlette started to move again, Mark clipped her back and curved around to catch Aurora as well. He laughed, waving to the two of them as he shot away again. The twins exchanged a glance and nodded. Mischief coiled his tail around Aurora’s head as he balanced on top, pointing the way.

 They turned, driving after Mark and neatly avoiding everyone else in the rink as they sped up.

 Mark raced ahead of them as they closed in, trying to keep out of their way. They work together to force him into a corner with no escape.

 One of the other drivers clipped Aurora’s back and she spun, crashing into Arlette who sped up and kept control just long enough to slam Mark into the side of the rink. Cackling like a maniac – Xenos whistled, clinging tight to her loosening hair – she reversed and let him speed away.

 Behind them, Aurora snarled and turned to chase after the person who’d hit her, closing in on them easily.

 Mark waved to catch Arlette’s eye, driving up to her side, and gestured after her sister. Arlette grinned and nodded, and they split apart to circle around Aurora’s sides.

 Aurora whooped as she crashed into the other cart and turned again, heading for a big knot. Mischief shifted on her head, looking up to see streamers fluttering in the air. He uncoiled his tail to tap Aurora on the shoulder, pointing upwards.

 Aurora looked up and saw them and sighed, slowing down and avoiding the knot as she curved towards the docking bay.

 Arlette, racing towards her, saw her slow down and frowned.

 Aurora pointed towards the sky, and Arlette saw the ribbons. She nodded and waved to Mark, completing a circuit of the track before heading to the side.

 “What’s up?” Mark asked, stepping out of the way of people going to the carts.

 “Our group’s caught up,” Arlette explained.

 “Ah…”

 “You can stick around if you want.” Aurora shrugged.

 “Hm.” Mark tilted his head. “I’ll get Zillre and the bags.”

 “We’ll be outside.” Arlette smiled. “Thanks.”

 Mark nodded and turned away, easily spotting the emboar.

 The twins wandered through the crowds towards the exit, and spotting the dark skinned girl crouching before the young boy.

 “Do it anyway.” He took a coin, examining it.

 “Well…” Soise laughed, showing her sharp teeth in a grin.

 “We don’t have a permit to perform right here, Erris,” Arlette said, stepping up behind her.

 “I see you’re back with us.” Soise twisted to look up at them.

 “Who’re they?” The boy looked up, frowning.

 “Oh, just my assistants. Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum.” Soise shrugged, turning back to him. “Doesn’t matter which is which, since they’re the same person.”

 The twins snorted. “So what did you want us back for?”

 “Why don’t we go and find out?” Soise bounced to her feet, brushing herself off.

 “You were going to show me more magic!”

 “Next time.” Soise pulled a business card from the air and passed it to the boy. “Keep an eye out for us, alright?”

 As they left the pavilion, the twins instantly spotted the group, though it seemed to have grown a little.

 “They’re all here?” Aurora flicked a glance to Soise.

 “Of course they are.” Soise walked on down the steps. “But they’re not too angry with you.”

 “Why would they be angry?” Mark caught up with them, passing their bags.

 “This was part of what you didn’t want to know,” Arlette replied, swinging her bag onto her back and taking her sister’s hand.

 “Ah. Never mind then.” Mark shook his head, continuing to walk with them.

 “Phoe has some admirers.” Soise smirked, watching the group.

 Nyx was in her wolf form again, and surrounded by children. The twins smiled slightly, pausing at the bottom of the stairs to watch. She looked up and barked, wagging her tail.

 The children left, called away by parents, leaving Nyx to run up to the twins and bounce around them like a puppy. Zlata waved from where she was and Arlette waved back, although it was far more of a twitching hand at waist height than a proper wave.

 Aurora clutched harder at Arlette’s hand and offered her other to Nyx, letting her come closer.

 “Who’s this?”

 “Phoenyx,” Soise said. “She’s my daughter’s mightyena.”

 “Your… daughter?” Mark glanced at her, eyeing her up.

 “Or sister. It’s flexible.” Soise shrugged. “Probably sister in this form, huh… otherwise it’s a bit creepy.”

 “Oh… you’re the zoroark.” Mark nodded slowly. “Right.”

 Zlata joined them now, glancing at Mark. “Hello. Where have you been? And who’s your friend?”

 “This is Mark,” Arlette said, glancing at him.

 “Influential brat.” Mark grinned. “Do… should I be making a good impression?”

 “You’re one of our friends, I doubt it.” Arlette snorted.

 “Excellent.” He glanced Zlata over. “They seemed pretty down, so I kidnapped them for a few rides.”

 “Nice to meet you, Mark.” Zlata gave him a shallow bow. “Thank you for making them feel better.”

 Nyx sat down in front of them, whining and jerking her head towards the trees. Aurora nodded and squeezed Arlette’s hand.

 “Ah… Mark?”

 “You need to talk things over?” He shrugged. “I’ll leave you to it.”

 Nyx padded into the trees and the twins followed.

 “Are you alright? You just… disappeared like that, it was worrying.” Zlata followed them over.

 Arlette closed her eyes for a moment and stiffened her jaw, but opened her eyes again. “We’re fine.” She lifted up her left hand, showing them the back of it as she waggled her fingers, forcing her voice to stay light. “And I didn’t break any fingers this time.”

 Nyx glanced back and changed back to human, wincing and clutching at her shoulder as she did so. “Are you ok?” She looked at the twins. “Soise found blood on your sashes. And what did you say to Merwin, exactly?”

 “You need to find a less self-destructive method of dealing with your anger. Even if you didn’t break your fingers, you’re still hurting yourself.” Zlata turned to Nyx and then stopped, looking back towards the twins.

 “We fumbled our knives before Lairisse ‘ported us away.” Aurora examined her right palm. “They’ve stopped bleeding, though.”

 “He’s doesn’t like listening to us, so we resorted to… baser methods. Just wanted to get our point across.” Arlette studied the ground at her feet.

 “He’s left. He won’t be travelling with us anymore,” Nyx sighed, throwing up her hands. “You didn’t have to do that, ok? You shouldn’t have to defend my honour.” She rubbed her shoulder. “But… I suppose he did deserve to be punished for what he did.”

 “Is that all?” Zlata frowned. “It looked like quite a bit more to me… it seemed really traumatic for him. I’m not completely sure if the punishment fit the crime.”

 “We got carried away,” Arlette snapped. “It happens, alright?”

 “Arl…”

 “You don’t have to snap. It’s done, Merwin is gone. There’s nothing more that can really be said,” Zlata sighed. “I am sorry that we didn’t tell you about Merwin, but even I wasn’t really supposed to know. It would have been easier if we had, but it was not because we didn’t trust you.”

 Arlette looked away, pressing the palm of her hand.

 “Yes, but people have annoyed you before.” Nyx shook her head. “Just don’t feel you have to protect me, ok, I don’t want to be responsible for you getting hurt.” She looked over at their hands. “Have you healed them already? Are they still sore?”

 “This… this was different. Harder to laugh off.” Arlette folded her arms, sliding down the trunk of a tree behind her.

 Aurora held her hand out for Nyx to examine, the cut red and sharp across the palm. “Haven’t done anything about them yet, but they don’t hurt that much.”

 Nyx took Aurora’s hand, sitting them down on the grass as she took a balm out of her back. “Why? It shouldn’t bother you what he did to me.” She shook her head, and gently started to apply it to Aurora’s hand. “If I were more gutsy, I might’ve been a bit more punchy.”

 “I don’t think it’s a bad thing that you didn’t punch him, Nyx,” Zlata said.

 “It’s what sisters do, isn’t it?” Aurora said, watching Nyx work.

 Arlette rubbed at her hand, picking at the scab.

 Nyx blinked, putting the balm back into her bag. “You… think I’m your sister?” She shook her head. “But I’m not really…”

 Zlata looked between them, smiling widely. “You’ve known each other for a while, haven’t you? Of course they would think of you as their sister.”

 “Well…” Aurora shrugged and glanced at her hand. “Maybe not genetically, but…” She motioned as if to break the scab on it. “Blood sisters?” She smirked.

 “You’re as good as,” Arlette said, not looking up. “Even if we have got really crap ways of showing it.”

 Nyx sat back, taking it in. “I’d be a terrible sister,” she murmured, glancing at Aurora’s hand. “I can’t believe you think of me like a sister…”

 “Don’t be silly, Nyx, you’d be a fine sister. It’s not assessed and everyone does it in their own way. You look out for each other and help each other, that’s really all siblings have to do.” Zlata shrugged.

 “Don’t worry about trying to live up to anything, alright?” Aurora smiled, pulling her hand back.

 “We’ve set pretty low standards,” Arlette said, nudging a pine cone with her foot.

 “It’s… it’s still really nice of you.” Nyx smiled, moving forward to hug Aurora. “I always wanted a sibling, but all I had was Rem, well… and all the crows, Nameless, and a wolf pack.”

 Aurora grinned, hugging Nyx as Rem appeared on her shoulder.

 “You have not one, but two now, Nyx,” Zlata said, stepping back to give them room.

 “Yeah… buy one get one free week on siblings.” Aurora grinned, sitting back.

 “Not for you. Well, unless you count Rem, though she’s not exactly the best sister.” Nyx smiled at Rem. “Cute, though.”

 Rem started to groom her ears.

 “She does have an off switch though, there is that.”

 Rem squeaked, giving Nyx’s ear a nip.

 “An off switch?” Zlata looked at Rem. “You’ve never told us about this before, Nyx.”

 “Oh, she has a special scratchy spot, if you hit it she’ll fall asleep just like that, and it’s hard to wake her.”

 Rem squeaked, sitting up on Nyx’s shoulder.

 “No you won’t.”

 “Why have you never told us about this special spot before?”

 “Not that we’ve ever cared to know, have we?” Aurora shrugged.

 “It’s useful to know, but I hardly think you’ll get that close, she doesn’t usually like other people stroking her.” Nyx took Rem into her hands, stroking her gently.

 Rem hissed, taking hold of her tail and glaring around at them.

 “Alright Rem, we won’t touch it. As long as you don’t threaten Hohenheim with Cole, understand?”

 Nyx laughed, scratching Rem’s ears. “No threats, understand?”

 “That is my job.” Zlata gave Rem a glare.

 “Rem, hush!” Nyx hissed. “Zlata, don’t rise to it, she likes to argue.”

 Aurora glanced over at Arlette, who was still slumped against the tree rubbing at her hand. She shifted over while Nyx and Zlata continued to talk with Rem.

 “Are you ok?” she asked in an undertone.

 Arlette flicked a glance at her and nodded. “Yeah.”

 “So…”

 “Why am I sitting back here?” Arlette snorted, looking away. “Because I need more time.”

 “You have plenty of time.” Aurora forced a smile and punched her sister lightly on the right shoulder.

 “Do you know where we were sending him?”

 “Yeah… Hoenn.”

 “Do you know when?”

 “That’s… that’s your area.”

 “So it is. Don’t worry about it.”

 “I think I–”

 “Hey… coming for lunch?” Nyx looked over. “Are you ok?”

 “Sure.” Arlette nodded, pushing herself to her feet. “We were paying, right?”

 “Only if you made enough money,” Zlata said.

 “Which we did. Easily.” Aurora offered her hands to her sister, who helped pull her up.

 “Lunch would be nice after all that.” Zlata passed Rem back to Nyx as the rattata woke up in her hands.

 “In the park or somewhere else?”

 “The darumaka lunch boxes are nice. And cheap.” Aurora smiled.

 “Lead the way,” Zlata said.

 “Told the others?”

 “They’re coming.” Zlata nodded. “I hope they’re big enough.”

 “They’re a proper size for lunch.” Aurora shrugged.

 “We can always buy him more than one.” Nyx smiled.

 “Really makes you think, doesn’t it?” Aurora asked softly.

 It was late and the room was dark – everyone else was already sleeping. But Arlette was still sat up on her bed, leaning against the wall with her arms around her knees.

 “What?” She looked towards her sister, eyes glinting in the dim light that filtered through the curtain.

 “Well – Phoe is the NightChild. She’s supposed to be the evil one, the one to bring Giratina back. But…”

 “Still thinking about earlier?”

 Aurora nodded.

 “He’s not dead, or even hurt.”

 “Not physically.”

 “Did you see the way Jade was looking at him? There’ll be nothing permanent.”

 “I guess. But still…”

 Arlette laughed quietly. “We’d have been better for that, huh?”

 Aurora shifted onto her back. “It really says something when the Guardians are worse than the NightChild, doesn’t it?”

 “Well… it’s Unova. We are the Demon Twins, are we not?”

 “I guess…” Aurora nodded against her pillow, staring towards her sister.

 Arlette rested back against the wall. “It’ll be fine. Now go to sleep.”

 Aurora turned over and watched the shifting curtains for a while before eventually settling down to sleep.