#and of course the final prosthesis was great

[maria-aegyptiaca2]

The substance was Not Good and maybe even Bad…

[mind-intheclouds342]

A new ladder - Reader x Curly

Previous - Part 5 - Next

"This looks like a funeral home!"

You said, clapping, alarming Curly who had barely woken up about ten minutes ago. 

You started to open the curtains to let some light in and turned on the television, looking for a channel that plays music instead of news. 

You smiled when you found one with music you like and were ready to go prepare breakfast, but you almost fell from the shock when you saw Curly. 

"Hey-!... You got up on your own..." you mentioned, holding your chest. 

Curly: "Ah... Yes, I made coffee but... I couldn't serve it, it's still in the coffee maker... Do you do that every day?"

"...You have a very, very deep sleep, in case you didn't know..." 

You kept staring at him, not taking your eyes off him as you slowly walked to grab the coffee pot to pour the coffee into two cups. 

Curly: "What do you want to do today?"

You raised an eyebrow as you thought of a response. 

"There's an amusement park in the city, how does that sound?"

Curly: "Sounds good" he nodded. 

You gave him a smile and pushed him a little, making him lose his balance and have to hold onto the table to avoid falling. 

"Impossible, you're going to fall apart if we go there. We need to practice your walking and how to use your new limbs."

Curly: "What do you recommend then?" he asked, finally standing up with some difficulty. 

"Let's go for a jog!" She patted his back, ready to prepare something to add to breakfast. 

After eating, they both changed into clothes, some for training. 

Curly noticed how loose his clothes had become due to the loss of muscle. 

"Later I can adjust it if you like, is it very uncomfortable for you?" 

You approached him to check it. 

Curly: "I'm worried that my pants will fall down."

"Look how easy that is to fix" 

You went to get thread and a needle to make a hem on the waistband of the pants and you put a few stitches in the hem to make it snug. 

"Done, I'll adjust it properly another day, now let's go, let's go"

First, you took a drive to a less busy area; you didn't want him to feel uncomfortable with the attention of people passing by on the road. 

"It's great that you can stand up and walk, do you think it's okay to try climbing up to that sign?" 

Curly: "Or course. I can do it" 

"Oh, someone is enthusiastic?" 

You laughed and got ready next to him to start jogging, he lagged behind for a few seconds but then took a few steps. 

You quickly returned when you heard he had fallen to help him get back on his feet. 

You repeated that action several times, but you got worried when he fell and his face hit the ground directly. 

"Hey, maybe jogging was too ambitious, we can walk through the forest here." 

He stood up with your help, head down, annoyed for not being able to do something he used to do every day a while ago. 

"You didn't hurt yourself, did you? "Let me see" 

You slowly removed the mask he was wearing to check it, and they were startled by the scream of a child, just as a mother with her child was passing by. 

Curly immediately turned to the other side so the child wouldn't have to see it while the woman gestured apologetically, carrying her son and quickly leaving the place. 

"They're gone now" you said, patting his shoulder. 

Curly: "I know... That i must look really bad... "

"Hey, don't think too much about it, come on, let's take a walk to clear your mind, okay?"

You took the sleeve of his jacket to pull him with you, delving into the forest and walking along the already marked path. 

He stood there watching as you held onto his clothes, and saw the prosthesis, how crude it was in shape, being made only to be functional and not aesthetic. 

I would like to hold her hand... 

He thought while still focused on your hand, and you turned to look at him when his prosthetic touched your forearm, strangely it felt like a caress. 

When he realized what he had done, he got nervous. 

Curly: "I'm sorry—I didn't mean to scare you." 

"No, no, no problem, I should have let you go. You must have felt really bad being pulled."

You said, smiling as you let go of his clothes, but that made him even more depressed. 

You continued walking until you felt a tug on your jacket, looking at the man in confusion. 

Curly: "...I have better balance if I hold onto you"

"Mm? Do you think you can keep up with me?"

You smiled with a hint of mischief as you walked slowly at first, and with each step, you increased your speed, making Curly follow you at the same pace, without letting go of your jacket. 

And within a few minutes, both were jogging in sync, your legs even moving in perfect harmony. 

You ran the entire forest trail until you returned to the starting point, both laughing, very excited about Curly's rapid progress. 

They took a break to drink some water and rest a bit, sitting on the hood of the car. 

Curly: "I missed this..." 

"Did you use to exercise a lot?"

Curly: "Yes, it was one of my hobbies, exercising, lifting weights, jogging, I had my own routine, it was nice."

"You were athletic too, mm, you sounded like the perfect man," you stretched before getting up.

He remained thinking about your words, sighing as he remembered that he would never be that man again.

Curly: "Yeah... someone cool, right?"

"Not for me. Routines aren't bad, but ugh they make me sick, perfect people, they seem like robots programmed to do the same thing until they die. Everything they do seems so good, they eat healthy, exercise, work, study, but it just ends up being a cycle because... they don't aspire to anything else, you know?" 

You shrugged as you opened the door of your car. 

"Because... what's the point of reaching the top if you're not going to keep climbing something higher?"

He felt that for a moment, his entire world had stopped; he could only hear the beating of his heart, and everything else was just silence. 

He opened his mouth to say something, but only a sigh escaped, lost in your silhouette before him, who only hoped you would get in the car so you could go home together. 

When you honked the horn, you brought him out of his trance. 

"Are you going to get in or are you going to run to home?" you asked, smiling. 

I knew well that you were capable of leaving it there, so he quickly climbed up next to your seat.

[enavstars]

Cyberpunk au characters (Part 2)

Details:

Jay

He lives in the city junkyard with his parents Ed and Edna, who work as tinkers and scrap sellers; he got his passion for engineering from them.

When he was a kid, he got extremely sick with a deadly disease that was very difficult to treat. In the shitty society that is the city, his parents could not afford the safest medicines to cure him, so they were forced to risk it and buy a cheaper version from a not so reliable seller.

Unfortunately, even though he did survive and recovered, the medicine was mixed with a drug that had an unexpected side effect: he began to lose feeling on one of his legs until eventually he lost control over it entirely.

Rather than having him to deal with an unresponsive leg, to help their son deal with his disability Ed and Edna decided to spend all the resources they could spare to build him a prosthesis and amputate the flesh, and, after a few months of tireless work, the family’s joint efforts were able to get him walking again.

As a silver lining to this traumatic incident, though, he discovered his passion for technology and realized his aspiration: he wanted to make bionic prosthesis to help other people forced to go through the same kind of situation as his. But his family did not have the proper technique nor the resources to teach him (it had been hard enough just to make a single rudimentary leg), so it was after meeting Nya and eventually telling her about his goal that he finally got the opportunity to learn from an expert. Although he was intimidated by Ronin at first, the two of them grew fond of each other almost like an uncle and his nephew (yes he's become a literal wine uncle).

To this day, the man is (secretly) very proud of his boy and thankful he got him doing something useful again after his retirement.

The anecdotes with these gangs happen when they are older:

Morro

He’s the leader (alive and in flesh) of one of the many, many city gangs; particularly one known for their violent tendencies. For the area’s criminal standards, they are in fact relatively tame, because at least they do not ever mess with other arguably more serious criminal activities like drug dealing or pimping. They do like, however, beating the shit out of people for barely any reason at all (most of the time, just to “assert dominance” lmao).

One time, this habit came back to bite them in the ass when Morro decided it would be a good idea to mess with Lloyd. Obviously, underestimating him and the RGB as a whole just for being weird Outsiders was a terrible mistake, because as soon his brother caught wind of the situation, the fool got to taste Kai’s vengeful fury :).

As a result of that encounter, both Morro and Kai got VERY badly beaten, but finally the RGB got famous for being Those People You Don’t Mess With.

Harumi

The leader of THE most dangerous of the city gangs, known as the Sons of Garmadon (le wink), a cult-like criminal organization whose ideology is basically “survival of the fittest”. In fact, she is so obsessed about demons that she even wears pointy ear accessories to mimic their ears.

The organization itself is almost like a mafia, being at the center of most of the worst shit that goes on in the city. Of course, she loves being the head of all this attention, and she prides herself in being the deadliest and most cunning gang leader of them all.

On one occasion, after learning about the RGB’s (aka the outsiders) reputation of being tough as shit and hard to get advantage of, she figured it would be best to form an alliance with them to expand her contacts and (secretly) keep them in check. However, upon arranging a meeting with their leader, Kai, he is able to discern her true intentions. For this reason, when she eventually oversteps their agreement to try to manipulate the group, he is ready to confront her, and the siblings end up beating the shit out of her, marking the first time the great boss Harumi has ever been beaten up badly (by our queen Nya) and defeated in her scheming :).

Brad (le Greenflawa cuz why not)

Since back when he was a kid, he's been part of a little group of orphans named the Darklys, who like to pull pranks and cause trouble in general.

However, back then it used to be a lot more harmful than it is today, as the children were not completely aware of the damage they were causing. In fact, Brad himself was still an entitled brat, so much so that the first time he met little Lloyd ("Green"), the first thing that came out of his mouth was "Outsider, bow before me!". But it was due to Lloyd's deadpan response (he's used to his brothers being crazy stupid) and the awkward relationship that grew from it that Brad eventually realized that his bratty attitude was not getting him anywhere, and that little gangs' pranks were actually harmful.

So by the time he gets older, his gang is reformed to a more tame biker gang who only really pull harmless pranks from time to time. Brad himself is a far calmer person, but he still holds on to some problematic aspirations:

At one point he became fixated on the idea of him and his gang to join the Sons of Garmadon out of oblivious admiration. It was so bad that only Green was able to convince him, and only after having a pretty serious argument with him about how vicious and deadly they could be and how wild their insane leader's influence had become. But the stubborn Brad was not completely convinced, until in the end, Green managed to get through to him by emphasizing how his life would be in constant danger if he joined the literal most dangerous criminals in town. Most importantly, he confessed just how important of a friend he was to him, to which Brad, insecure and doubting his words, quietly replied that he didn't even know his true name. Right before leaving, though, Green offhandedly revealed his name to him, and Brad, left speechless, became the first person in years to learn his real name.

Long story short, he realized he was being stupid and was rewarded with massive gay panic :)

[ghost-likes-drawing]

Just wish I knew what caused it

(Fitpac Exs to Lovers)

Ch.2 (to be named later)

Translations done with assistance from: @caracolast (Portuguese and Beta reader) @keezers and @iridescentpull (Spanish)

Previous chapter Next Chapter

This one is much shorter

Okay maybe things would not just be okay. But things were still pretty okay...

The first night got even more akward because Cellbit insisted that since the Guest house wasn't even ready like it was meant to be that Fit and Ramon should have meals with the family. Fit wanted to refuse but he also wasn't sure what else they were going to do for food and so he accepted the invitation.

Pepito was the one who collected them for dinner. He was quiet but looked at Fit and Ramon with a wide eyed excitement.

“Do you want to sit next to me? Apa usually does but he can't tonight” Pepito smiled up at Ramon.

Ramon who had always had a soft spot for young kids nodded “Of course.”

Fit hummed and ruffled Ramon's hair “looks like you're already making friends”

When they got down to the table Pepito pulled Ramon to where Pepito’s chair was set up so he could reach the table better.

On Pepito’s other side was Cellbit. On Cellbit's Other side was Richarlyson. On Richarlyson's other side was Pac. Finally between Pac and Ramon was the only chair left… great.

Fit sat down and avoided looking at Pac and hoped he did the same.

A lot of dinner was quiet. Cellbit seemed comfortable and the kids were just enjoying the food so Fit felt assured that was just how this family ate.

"Ah é, Pac, precisamos trazer mais cadeiras pra casa antes que Roier e Bobby voltem" Cellbit said almost as a reminder to himself

Pac hummed "Vou pegar emprestado da casa de hóspedes"

"Richas, você pode ajudar ele. Só pra terminar mais rápido."

Richarlyson groaned

¡Yo puedo ayudar! Si es para apa y bubba. ¿Por favor?" Pepito piped up looking at Celbit with big eyes.

“I dunno Pepitinho, the chairs can be kinda heavy” Cellbit said cautiously

“Oh let him. He’s tough enough. He's seven after all.”

“eight soon!” Pepito reminded excitedly

“oh yes eight soon” Pac nodded

Cellbit hummed "Tá bom, mas se ele se machucar-"

“Não vai. Não comigo tomando conta dele." Pac said Confidently “right Pepit?”

Pepito nodded confidently

Fit felt his heart ache a bit but pushed it down. He shouldn't care about Pac. Pac clearly moved on, he had two kids who liked him, and a husband. Fit should be moved on to. If he'd been asked about it just a few days ago he'd probably say he had moved on. It was 12 years ago and he had Ramon to look out for since then. He was over it.

But Richas was talking to Pac in Portuguese and he heard Pac laugh and Fit ached. He'd push through. He was over it.

Dinner finished and Fit insisted he do the dishes as a thank you for their hospitality and despite Cellbit’s insistence it wasn't necessary Fit won out and Ramon stayed back at the table to let Pepito keep talking.

Richarlyson ran off do do something Fit didn't pay enough attention to remember what.

Cellbit and Pac stepped outside to talk and when they came back in Pac went upstairs claiming his prosthesis was bothering him.

Cellbit walked next to Fit and spoke quietly “Thank you again for the dishes you didn't have to”

Fit shrugged “never was one to be waited on”

Cellbit nods “I uh Spoke with Pac and if Ramon’s interested he'd love to have help and teach him what he knows. He’ll be payed for his help too.”

Fit looked to Cellbit almost suprised “oh thank you-”

Cellbit interrupted “He did tell me though-” Fit’s heart fell into his stomach “-about your history. Pac says he can keep what's happened out of the now, be professional. It's been long enough. He says he's over it. I'm just here to make sure it'll be the same for you”

“of course!” Fit confirmed quickly “I would never want to psych him out or something and it was forever ago so I'm not trying to-”

Cellbit gave him a look of intrigue and Fit stoped talking.

“I'll be keeping it professional. I won't step out of line with Pac.”

“Good good” Cellbit hummed “just… if you do… I can help you get a matching set of arms” Cellbit’s face went deadly serious and as a veteran Fit knew that look meant it was the threat it sounded like. "... so be professional, queridinho"

“Understood.” Fit nodded “I will.”

Cellbit’s face lightened up “great. I'll see you tomorrow at breakfast! 6 am.”

Fit nodded and gave a small salute with his hand before Cellbit turned and walked away going upstairs taking Pepito up with him for a shower.

Okay so Cellbit was a very protective husband. That's fine. Fit wouldn't give him any reason to go for the throat.

Ramon hoped on to the counter meant to seperate the kitchen from the dining room and threw his legs over the counter to dangle them in the kitchen “okay so I'm attached. Pepito is just the sweetest ever. And his Spanish is fantastic”

“Portuguese” Fit corrected “They’re Brazilian.. or Pac is anyway and Cellbit clearly is fluent in Portuguese as well, seems more confident in it then English. So I'm assuming he's Brazilian.”

Ramon paused “no Pepito was definitely speaking Spanish. Mexican Spanish at that.” Ramon stretched “I couldn't really understand Pac and Cellbit but Pepito I understood very well.”

Fit hummed. That is weird “I see. How do you know it's Mexican Spanish?”

“Spreen had taught me the differences.” Ramon had to bite his lip at the look Fit gave him to not laugh “Okay And my Spanish teacher in middle school. But Spreen did talk a lot about this Mexican guy he used to date and Pepito kinda has a similar speach pattern to the impression Spreen did.”

Fit shrugged and dropped it. If it meant not talking about Spreen he'd save this mystery for later... or never

“Alright I'm done. Get off their counter” Fit said drying off his hands “we have an early morning so let's try and get ready as quick as we can so we can rest.”

Ramon nods agreeing and hops off the counter. Ramon walks up the stairs followed by Fit after checking the house was in order. They got ready, showering, brushing teeth and such the like. When they were shuffling into bed Fit finally piped back up

“Pac says he'd take the help. Cellbit will pay for your time too.” Fit recounted while getting his arm off and putting it away safely

“Really?” Ramon sat up smiling. Although the look quickly turned calculating as he hummed

Fit nodded and saw the look “ayyyy no. No you're not going to try and get Pac to tell you what happened” Fit grabbed his son by the middle with his right arm before wrestling him down as Ramon giggled trying to escape “Cellbit already warned about what’ll happen if I get on Pac’s nerves or if I make a move. Those rules are applying to you too” Fit poked Ramon's shoulder with his nub

Ramon giggled and groaned dramatically “fine fine. I won't let me go.” Ramon started to squirm to get out of Fit’s grasp.

Fit shrugged and let go “I think I made myself clear. It's NYFB-”

“Don't shout there's still a seven year old down the hall.” Ramon reminded

“I wasn't going to do that.” Fit Sneered playfully before getting himself comfy “I'm taking out my hearing aids alright?”

“Alright Fit. Rest well.” Ramon yawned getting himself comfortable

“Goodnight Ramon.” Fit hummed taking out his hearing aids and plugging them in to charge.

Fit turned off the lights and closed his eyes glad to find that sleep came quick. He want sure he was in a place to process any of his emotions right now.

A note: My Spanish translators may not be from Mexico. So if it's wrong... oops

[anistarrose]

📙

(ask meme: send me a 📙 and i'll explain the plot of a fic i haven't written but still daydream about!)

okay, so. a very particular TAZ Balance AU idea, which is near and dear to me, is also one that I may never write, because it would just be such an undertaking — due, in part, to it kind of being told in non-chronological fashion.

it starts with Lucretia's pov, immediately post-Phandalin, welcoming a group of new recruits to the Bureau. however, two very important things are different from canon: Julia is alive and with the boys, and Magnus has a very energetic, very clearly magical dog familiar.

and like. Lucretia's thrilled to finally meet Julia, even if she can't show it; that's not the problem. the dog (I'm thinking like, a biiig reddish-brown St. Bernard) is a surprise, for sure (Lucretia can't believe she missed the years Magnus finally started learning magic!), and the situation totally going to warrant some new fencing around the edge of the moon, but the dog itself, technically, is still not the biggest problem.

the problem is that when Lucretia tells them about the Grand Relics and Red Robes, Magnus is like "but... surely not everyone who wears a red robe is a Red Robe, right?" and then, only then, does everything click together for Lucretia.

because long story short, this is a "Magnus and Barry made a warlock pact as during the Stolen Century as a joke, and (ironically) both forgot about it until Magnus accidentally summoned a familiar decades later in Raven's Roost" AU!

after the initial reveal, we get a series of flashbacks jumping back and forward in time, slowly fleshing out details of how much Magnus knows, how much Julia knows, and just the general vibes of their relationship with Barry, plus, eventually, their relationship with a Lucretia who needs their help to gather the Relics, but is paranoid about Barry's influence at basically all times to great comical effect lmao. highlights include:

Magnus manifesting magical powers and getting visited in a dream by a scary ghost, except the ghost's voice sounds like Literally Just Some Guy and he explains, seemingly honestly and kind of sheepishly, that he doesn't know how to undo the warlock pact because they made it For The Bit when they were slightly drunk

Magnus trusts the Red Robe because he doesn't want to lose his new puppy friend; Julia trusts the Red Robe because once they meet in person, she decides he's too anxious to be an effectual evil mastermind

Barry helps out the Raven's Roost rebellion, scaring Kalen so shitless that he doesn't even try to bomb the support pillars and that's why Julia lives

Magnus knows his patron sometimes goes unresponsive for months at a time, but doesn't know why, just that he always warns him in advace and it's never forever

when Phandalin comes along, Magnus knows Alive-Barry is familiar but he absolutely cannot place it, and Alive-Barry is equally as confused, and as unhelpful as humanly possible

the main focus of this AU is on Magnus and Barry as found family, and Julia and Barry as found family by proxy, with of course Magnulia running in parallel — but my absolute favorite underutilized dynamic (Lucretia and Barry oscillating between being serious archnemeses versus just being siblings with a hilarious petty rivalry) is baked into the core of the whole premise, too

idk about the details but I like the idea of Magnus getting in big trouble with Kravitz and, much like Merle, losing a hand or a limb or something — which Barry angsts about a little bit, convinced that it was all his fault for dragging Magnus into this, but it turns out Julia is a super competent artificer and Magnus winds up really loving the prosthesis she rigs up for him

Barry does not change the "show up and monologue ominously to the Reclaimers" strategy at all but there's a lot more goofy banter with Magnus sprinkled in now

Lucretia is constantly paranoid that Barry is spying on her through the eyes of a dog (except she's correct, he absolutely is)

OH and Magnus was asked by his patron to keep an eye out for the Umbra Staff, so he recognizes it when Taako finds it in the vault (he asks if Barry wants him to steal it, but Barry is weirdly insistent that no, it should stay with Taako)...

and I want to say that it's still not an immediate realization, but he does therefore give Barry a head start on figuring out that mystery, and once he tells Barry what Angus told him about that time it burnt "LUP" in the wall, it also becomes a Lup freed early AU :')

I guess lastly, and based off the "Undead Patron" warlock subclass, there's like a spectral red robe that appears around Magnus's shoulders whenever he's kicking ass

[starlightrows]

8 — Frozen

Hiding In Plain Sight

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Pairing: Commander Wolffe x reader

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: Medical fears and anxieties (associated with eyes and prosthesis), frostbite (non graphic), leering, majorly creepy vibes

Summary: Now recovered for his injuries and once again cleared for duty, it’s back into the thick of it, rescuing an Admiral from a planet who’s temperature has never been warmer than negative 10

Despite being told that the 104th would be moving onto General Plo’s battlecruiser immediately, the launch date has been pushed back several weeks for reasons the higher ups refuse to share with you. Not that you mind, this base has become home for you and the Wolf Pack, if truth be told you’re a little sad to be leaving it. This is where the team painted their armor together, where you’ve trained with them and treated their wounds. On this base you and Wolffe’s quarters are just steps away from each other. You have no idea what things will look like for the team when you move aboard the ship.

On the bright side Wolffe has made a remarkable recovery. He complains about it, but still does all of his physical therapy exercises each day. The prosthetic eye seems to have integrated so seamlessly that he really can’t tell the difference. The pain has subsided significantly and his scar has healed enough to have full range of motion of his head, neck and jaw with no irritation.

“You are cleared to be back on active duty sir.” You smile brightly, signing off the last form to officially discharge him from physical therapy.

“Good, I’m ready to get out of this office. Need some fresh air” he huffs “If they ever let us off this base again.”

“They will. The ship will be ready soon and then we’ll be back to missions. You’ll be missing all this down time when we’re setting up tents in a mud hole somewhere.” you chuckle.

He makes a cringing groan “Nothing worse than sleeping with mud in your boots.”

“I don’t know, I’ll take a nap in a mud puddle before going back to another dust ball planet and getting sunburned.”

“Yeah alright” he laughs “I’d take mud in my tent over a sunburn too”

“Besides, we won’t be out on mission forever. I’m sure the ship will be great, and we’re bound to get approved for our shore leave eventually”

“Doc, we submitted that shore leave request months ago. If we hear back before the war ends I’ll be impressed”

Days of waiting for the go ahead to make the final transfer turn into weeks of spending endless hours completing no real work and wasting an inordinate amount of time. The team has taken it upon themselves to use this time wisely. Slush has been giving Jag piloting lessons every day. Cinder has been tinkering in the engineering labs to increase the effectiveness of some of his heavy artillery weapons. Cricket has been obsessed with trying to make musical instruments out of whatever he can find around the base, tapping on empty fuel barrels, plucking at strings to see what kind of sound it makes, flicking the rim of water glasses with varying amounts of water in them. Comet, Sinker and Boost have been competing with each other the last few weeks. Who can run the fastest mile? Who can do the most press ups? Who can hold a handstand the longest? Now they’re building obstacle courses in the training room and distracting other battalions stationed on the base.

“But Doc, we fall from heights bigger than this all the time” Boost attempts to convince you “And we aren’t falling, we’re jumping into a barrel roll”

“Boost please don’t make me use my Captain voice” you warn him

“Too late, you’re already doing it” Comet calls out from behind him “Come on, you used to be fun!”

“I’m serious, you guys. I know you’re bored, we’re all bored. But boredom is not a good reason to jump off the rafters” you scold them

Just then all of your coms beep at the same time. You answer the call as the others gather around to see the message clearly intended for all of them.

“Assemble the battalion and prepare to leave” Wolffe’s hologram appears in miniature on your com device “Captain, join me on the bridge for the full briefing.”

“Yes sir” you nod before shutting off the com device “You heard him, get the lads and be ready to leave”

“Yes sir” They address you respectfully and run off to get the others and the ship ready for departure.

You head off in the other direction towards the command center. On the way you run into Wolffe heading up there as well.

“Anything?” You ask falling in step beside him

“No idea” he says shortly as you both reach the door to the Command center. Inside General Plo is waiting for you.

“Greetings” he welcomes you both. General Plo projects a holo image of a man wearing republic command dress uniforms for all to see, “This is Admiral Sarkany. He is the Admiral that will be commanding the fleet our new ship will be leading. His shuttle got shot down on the planet Belsavis, we have received a distress signal and located the remnants of his ship, we believe at this time that he is still alive. Your mission is to find Admiral Sarkany and the data pad that was on his person at the time of the crash”

“Any extraneous risk factors sir” you ask

“Belsavis is a frigid planet, typical temperatures this time of their planetary rotation are well into the negatives” Master Plo explains “Take the winter gear and extra layers”

“Does Belsavis have a known population?” Wolffe asks

“No, current reports from the planet indicate there are not enough resources on that planet to sustain intelligent life. Therefore, there is no expectation for this to be a combat mission” General Plo says “But nevertheless, watch each other’s backs, and prepare yourselves for whatever circumstances may arise”

It sounds like your biggest enemy on this mission will be exposure to the elements. You only hope that your heavy winter gear to protect you from the cold, will still allow you to move to perform well in combat and in doing your job as medic should it be necessary.

“If there are no further questions, finalize all gear and get moving, time is of the essence” General Plo ends the meeting. You and Wolffe leave the command center and join the rest of the Pack. You relay the mission information and instruct them to get moving to put their cold weather gear on. You go with them, putting on your layers too. But you notice something.

While they all have standard issue, military grade thermal layering. Your winter gear seems far less insulating and durable. The material is noticeably thinner and made of cheaper material.

Slush glances over at you. “You alright there doc?”

“I’m gonna freeze my ass off this this stuff” you reply, frustrated with the situation “I know there aren’t a lot of civilian soldiers, but you’d think they might outfit us a little more appropriately”

“Don’t worry doc” Sinker pats your shoulder “Like the General says, this is a quick pick up mission, we’ll be off that frozen rock before your caf stops steaming”

You shake your head with a half hearted laugh, and get the, thankfully, slightly better quality insulated boots laced up. Your gear bag is packed, you’re bundled up as much as you can given what is available to you, and lined up to get on the shuttle with the men.

You stand close to Wolffe in the shuttle. He’s nervous, and you can tell. You turn your head up a bit to look at him, hoping he catches your gaze beneath his helmet. You raise your eyebrows at him in silent question.

You good?

He gives a single nod and turns his helmet away from you. You choose to take it as, I’ll be fine.

You leave it at that for now, you’ll check back in with him after the mission is complete, and keep an eye on him until then.

In truth, he is a bit worried. His physical therapy is complete but this will be the first true test in the field with the new eye. He isn’t concerned about his ability to use the eye, he’s more worried about how the eye will fair with foul weather.

Wolffe has never enjoyed deeply cold places like where you’re heading now. He’d rather sweat his ass off and hide from the sun on Jakku or Tatooine or wade through a jungle swamp on Onderon than trudge through ice and howling wind while his balls freeze solid and his fingers lose feeling. What I wouldn’t give for a mud puddle he thinks

Ever since the moment General Plo said the phrase “frigid planet” he’s been trying to push away thoughts of the liquid that allows his eye to move freely in the socket freezing over. Or the mechanical pieces of his cybernetics failing in the cold, leaving him blind and helpless.

He makes a mental effort to think of more constructive things. Like finding this Admiral, getting off this frozen rock as soon as possible, and making sure you don’t freeze and die. He heard you mention the lackluster quality of your military issued thermal gear, and even he can tell by looking at it, it won’t keep you warm after the sun sets…. So finding shelter and making a fire is likely going to be a priority.

As the shuttle descends down towards the surface of the planet all of you can already feel the chill creeping in. It forces you all to stand closer together, mostly to get away from the durasteel walls.

You can hear the icy cold wind whipping around the ship as it makes its final descent and lands on the crunchy snow. The doors stall to open, already struggling against the thick layer of frost. After a moment of somewhat u settling creaking and mechanical whirring, the doors slide open, blasting you and the rest of the battalion with the subzero temperature air. Even with your layers, it rips through you and steals any hope for warmth you had.

I’m fucked

“Come on then men” Wolffe barks, stepping off the shuttle holding a data pad that’s acting as the receiver for the distress signal “The sooner we find the Admiral, the sooner we get to thaw out”

The men grumble in acknowledgement to their commanders orders and follow him out into the wind. Where you quickly realize that if you don’t move strategically, you’ll all get separated and die wandering aimlessly in the tundra.

“Commander!” You shout over the wind

“What is it Captain?” he calls back

“We need to form rank sir. We’ll never make it, if we don’t stay together” you’re not sure if he can hear you over the wind.

“Give the orders Captain” he yells, turning back to the data pad

You instruct the men to stand, two by two, and never let the man in front of you get farther away from you than the distance between the butt and the barrel of a blaster rifle. It seems to work, you move faster as a group and in a more direct path. Plus knowing you’ve got someone at your back is a comfort when you’ve got limited visibility around you.

With every step you take your numb feet burn. You have to remind yourself that if you stop moving, not only will you get separated from the group but you will surely freeze up and die. And you’re almost entirely sure that the men around you are just as miserable, even if their winter gear is better quality than yours.

“I can see the wreckage” Wolffe hollers into the wind “We’re almost there”

There isn’t much of the wreckage left. The charred hull isn’t smoking anymore, but gods above you wish it was so you could warm yourself over it. Even if it is a little morbid. You and the rest of the men search the wreckage, but can’t find the transmitter that’s emitting the distress beacon. You also have no luck finding the data pad, or any sign of the Admiral living or dead.

“Sinker. Boost. Scavenge anything you can from the ship. Anything we might be able to burn if we need to” Wolffe orders “Slush, you and Jag start trying to contact General Plo if you can get a signal. Captain, we need to determine our next move”

“Yes sir” the men respond, breaking off into pairs to complete their tasks. You step closer to Wolffe and look down at the data pad, trying and failing not to shiver.

“Captain, given the circumstances, what is the likelihood that this Admiral is still alive?” he asks you

You study the data pad, and the topographical map of the environment. You look up and around at this truly nightmarish planet. You shrug your shoulders with some difficulty. “Given how long it took us to walk this far, and how prepared we were for the climate I would say that poor bastard stands a very poor chance” you tell him. But then you look again at the map and the receiver “Unless…”

“Unless what Captain?” he asks

“Unless he found shelter” you point at the map “That has to be that mountain range, right? Even though it’s higher in elevation and more exposed to the wind. There is a chance the Admiral chose to go that way in hopes of finding a cave. Maybe he succeeded?”

“It’s a possibility” Wolffe agrees “Regardless, we are going to need to find shelter soon. If we’re half frozen to death now, we won’t live to see the morning when that sun goes down”

“Terribly blunt, but yes, even if we had better thermal gear there’s no way we would survive if we stopped moving to keep our heart rates up. We need shelter and we all need to eat something”

“Alright, round up the men, we head for the mountain” he says

Before you step away you check in “How’s the eye commander?”

“Fucking cold” he laughs in a gruff chuckle “But not as bad as I was afraid of”

“Good” you can’t help but smile under your face wrap keeping you from being wind burned. You nod your head, and turn away to go collect the boys and get them ready to move. Wolffe catches your arm.

“Captain” he calls out “You need to tell me if you or anyone else truly starts getting hypothermic. I won’t let a member of our squadron freeze to death for an Admiral that’s probably already dead”

“Yes sir” you acknowledge him. But you sense his deeper meaning. I won’t let you die.

With the men rounded up and a good amount of materials that could be used as fuel in a fire collected, the group set off towards the mountain. Trudging through the ice and keeping your heads down to stay out of the wind. It’s getting darker by the hour, and colder by the second. The terrain is changing. Going from barren and exposed ground covered in a thick layer of snow and ice, to now rocky and slippery ground.

“Head lamps on!” Wolffe shouts from the front of the line. Even though the sun hasn’t set yet, it’s better to have the extra light now so you can all watch your footsteps and make sure each foot fall is placed carefully to prevent slipping on ice rocks or plunging your feet into deep dark holes.

Your hands are numb. Your feet are numb. Your face is numb. Your body feels heavy and clumsy. You realize that you are both exhausted and freezing. This is probably a good time to start letting someone know there might be a problem, like Wolffe mentioned, but you sort of can’t get your mind to take that option seriously. Instead you are laser focused on trying to put one foot in front of the other.

Hand goes here. Foot goes there. Step up… fuck… step up… you’re struggling. Struggling to get your limbs to move with the usual ease and strength they normally have when you tell them to. Luckily Comet, who’s directly behind you, gives you a hand and gets you up and over the large boulder you’re struggling with. You don’t miss how much his own hands and arms are shaking.

“Commander!” he shouts far ahead of where the two of you stalled

Wolffe turns back and looks down to where you and Comet stand, shaking. You’re not the only ones. All of the men are freezing. He himself is shaking, and noticing himself starting to make mistakes as well. For a moment he is scared. What has he done? Taking this risk trying to climb up into the mountains to find this stupid admiral.

No. He tells himself. This is the best chance of finding shelter.

He looks around. Surveying the area. There has to be something. Anything. Then he sees something he did not expect. There’s a light. He wonders if he’s imagining it. Or if it’s just reflecting their own head lamps.

“Lights off!” He barks

“Commander?” Comet yells back, horrified by their leader's instruction to relinquish the only means of seeing what they’re doing and where they’re going.

“Now!” Wolffe yells. After a brief moment, the lights around you begin to shut off. Comet reaches forward and shuts off your head lamp. Now the only thing you can see is his helmet. You shake your head no. No. No please. Don’t turn off the light. He reaches up and shuts his light off too.

It is a kind of terror you have never felt anything like in your life. Pure darkness. The haunting sound of violent wind whipping around you, and drowning out your own voice as you speak. You can still feel Comet’s hand gripping your elbow… you think, you can’t really feel much of anything. But you tell yourself that pressure there is his hand. You turn your head and curse Wolffe for giving this order. He better have a good fucking reason for–

“I see light!” You scream. You hear the others calling out to each other about it too. There is a faint light, coming from higher up the mountain. A cave you think. Fire. It has to be fire light. Suddenly there’s too much light in your face as Comet turns his head lamp back on and yours as well. The headlights of the others flicker on and all of your start beelining for that cave.

Wolffe leads the pack, deciding that if there is someone else in that cave they’re either gonna share that fire or he’ll make them fucking share. With this renewed spirit and dive propelling him forward, he climbs over rocks and boulders and claws his way up to the mouth of the cave.

Inside he sees… a man… sleeping against the wall of the cave with a small, dwindling fire in front of him. Wolffe growls as he hauls himself up and reaches back to help up the men coming behind him. As quickly as they get up into the cave, they start tending to the fire to get it back going with the supplies they carried from the wreckage, paying absolutely no mind to the sleeping man.

Wolffe hauls you up into the cave where you just collapse against the wall, breathing hard and sweating. That is bad. Sweating when it’s cold is bad. You turn your head towards the fire that’s now burning brighter, and bask in the warmth of it radiating towards you. Wolffe cradles your cheek in his frozen hand, and turns your face to look at him.

“Look at me” he growls “Don’t you quit on me doc”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily commander” You laugh tiredly. He’s concerned though, you’re not really shivering anymore and your teeth aren’t chattering. That means your body isn’t even trying to produce heat, it’s trying to keep your vital organs warm.

“Come on” he gets you to crawl towards the fire, where the others have roused the sleeping man.

“Admiral Sarkany?” Wolffe addresses the man

“My rescuers I assume” the man replies

Even in your chilled to the bone and exhausted state, his tone of voice pulls you up short. Arrogant. Entitled. Rude.

“Yes sir” Wolffe responds “We’re here to extract you and the data pad that was on your ship”

“Took you long enough” the admiral huffs “been freezing my bollocks off up here for two full days. That’s unacceptable commander”

“Apologies sir” Wolffe grits out. He’s one of those.

“So, are we going to sit here all night? Where’s your ship?” He asks

Ugh your head is pounding. You know good and well you’re not going anywhere tonight, and this jerk is probably not going to stop talking.

“We’re a little over 28 kilometers away from our ship, it’s too dark and too cold out there to try to make it back tonight sir. My men need to rest and warm up before we go back out there” Wolffe watches the Admirals already irritated and ungrateful face twist into a glare “We will leave for the ship when the sun rises”

“Unbelievable” the Admiral gruffs “I expected a hasty extraction from this hell hole, not a slumber party in the wilderness with a bunch of clones”

The cave falls silent, save for the crackling of the fire. All eyes glare at the Admiral. Wolffe is beginning to lose his patience with this situation. The Admiral can bitch and moan all he wants, he won’t make a careless decision that would surely result in casualties.

“As I said sir, we will leave at dawn. Get some rest you will need your strength” he tries to keep the nasty edge in his voice from making his true wishes to toss this ungrateful son of bitch out of the cave to fend for himself with no fire or shelter, known.

The Admiral gumbles something terrible and biggoted under his breath and wraps his many insulating layers around him. Wolffe finally sits down with you and the rest of the squad, situated away from the Admiral. Freezing or not you’d rather run back out in the snow storm in your chonies than huddle together with that piece of shit for warmth.

“How are you faring doc?” Cricket asks you

“Better now that we have shelter” You reply “Can’t wait for the heatlessness of space, that sounds like a hot bubble bath compared to this”

The boys chuckle at your joke. Now that you’ve warmed up enough you pull back the face wrap that had been protecting you from the wind, and use it to further insulate your hands that still can’t seem to warm up.

You continue idly chatting with the squadron. Nowhere near your normal level campfire banter though. It’s no fun when there’s not only an outsider to the group, but a miserable old fuck that actively seems to hate you despite your best efforts.

This Admiral is majorly creepy. Bone thin and bald, chunky glasses that make his unusually blue eyes all the more piercing and uncomfortable to look at. He’s staring at you. He hasn’t taken his freaky eyes off of you since you pulled off your face covering. There’s a good chance he had no idea you were not a clone until that moment. Figures since he’s probably the type that doesn’t actually look at them anyway. One good look at you would have gotten that message across pretty quickly, even bundled up from the cold, you are not built like the clones at all.

You try not to look at him. But he won’t stop staring. The only bit of your skin he can see right now is your face, and even that’s partially obstructed by your hat and thick hood. But he’s looking at you like you’re posed nude for a boudoir photoshoot. You make sure to nuzzle yourself in close between Wolffe and Slush. You trust your squad with your life. Including protecting you from this creep.

It is a long ass night. Eventually the things the men had been able to salvage from the ship to burn ran out, and the fire died down. Some of the men are able to get some sleep, you can tell by their even and quiet breaths. But others, like you, are just too cold and in too much pain from being numb to get any kind of sleep.

Wolffe is tense beside you. He isn’t sleeping at all. He’s watching the Admiral. Who in turn, is still watching you. With his cold, dead looking eyes. You want to get off this planet. You want to get out of this cave. It takes a lot of mental effort to keep yourself from going into a panic. You wonder if any of the others are starting to feel trapped. Or like their toes are falling off.

Eventually the sun breeches the horizon, any men who manage to get some sleep are roused and you all help each other down the side of this mountain and back into formation to keep the group together. You feel warmer and slightly less miserable heading back towards the shuttle. You know you’re walking towards heated spaces, dry clothes, a hot meal, and a maker forsaken fresher.

The Admiral, to his credit, does not complain or gripe the entire trek back towards the shuttle. But of course, the second you get there, he has an opinion to give and energy to give it.

This shuttle doesn’t look well maintained. You should have flown closer to the signal and just picked me up at the base of the mountain. There were provisions on the shuttle, and you didn’t think to bring them. On and on and on.

You choose to just tune him out. Normally you’re pretty good and keeping a straight face and just letting higher ups like this say what they want to, it’s not worth losing your place with the squad. But not today. You don’t pay this tool an ounce of mind, as you busy yourself helping to get the shuttle prepared to leave and the men seen to. A few of them are dehydrated and are starting to show early signs of frostbite on their fingers and toes. You do your best to treat them with what you have in your gear bag.

“Hey” Wolffe pulls you aside

“Commander?” you keep your voice down

“Go up to the cockpit and check yourself for frostbite too. And then stay up there, I don’t want this sack of shit anywhere near you” he says lowly

You catch his eye. He must be genuinely concerned if he’s breaking protocol like this. “Yes sir”

You head up to the cockpit and sit in the copilot's seat next to Slush.

“Doin’ okay there Doc?” he asks, glancing over to see you shedding layers

“Yeah, just need to check my toes for frostbite and get away from that sleemo” you tell him pulling off one of your boots

“I couldn’t close my eyes last night with him staring at you like that” he admits “We’ve met some creepers out there, but this guy is just… something else!” he gives a shiver and makes a sound of disgust.

“Yeah you’re telling me. Let’s get out of here and dump this guy with someone else” you laugh, inspecting your poor frozen toes for any signs of true damage.

“You got it Captain” Slush chuckles, setting the ship for a take off sequence.

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[villainsandvictimsalliance]

Omg do you have more cute hcs with the lov and class1a/1b

I dont care how long or short it is, I ABSOLUTELY LOVE READING THEM 💕💕💕💕💖 😊😊

Theyre so comforting <333

YES I HAVE A BUNCH. COME TAKE IT ALL.

Tomura is an expert in video games, right? Well, he's currently working from afar with Hatsume and Melissa to create a VR system to help the kids at UA train.

Everything because the first thing he did when meeting Nezu was telling him the UA system sucked.

No more public exposure, no more simple barriers keeping away the villains from the kids, no more pushing them to dangerous places with no proper supervision.

The new job of the League when it comes to working is the UA is keeping the place as safe as possible and helping the kids recover from the trauma of the war.

Dabi doesn't like working directly with the kids, so his job consist on patrolling around the UA. In case a crisis is reported, he's the first at the place and his job is to keep the crisis on minimum 'til the teachers arrive.

The funniest part is the type of crisis he has solved so far. They include:

Helping people with their crushes because they tried to confess and caused an accident. (Dabi has the fun of his life with it, being honest).

Accidents in the kitchen. (No much he can do except using Shoto as a way of taking down the flames).

Stupid fights (He is banned from helping in those since he cheered for Shoto when he was fistfighting Iida for saying something to Midoriya).

And his favorite: keeping Mineta at bay. Dabi is not the type of gentleman that defends women constantly, because he just doesn't care about helping anyone. But Mineta is a type of gross he would have incinerate in the streets if he was a man and not a kid. So instead, he just walks from a safe distance and keeps scaring the kid when he's about to annoy one of the girls.

Tomura always find Dabi is the halls complaining about the no smoking rule

They make fun of each other a little until they realize they should be working and there are kids staring at them.

Class 1-A talks about Dabi like the older brother who was in jail.

Oh, but Dabi told me...

They are actually well informed about a bunch of stuff and they know how to take care of street criminals better now.

Ah, but they're also the ones who check if he is not drinking too much, if he's having proper rest, if his burns and staples are taken care of, if he's not too anxious or depressed, if hes' taking his meds...

If he's not following one of those, they call Natsuo. Oh man, Natsuo has become the emergency contact of half the League somehow. Maybe because he has a golden heart or maybe because they all are scared of Fuyumi by some weird reason.

Shoto is the other emergency contact when it comes to Dabi, hmmm, but sometimes he just follows Dabi bad example and well.

Dabi is the anti-Santa. He's gonna give you that one gift you wanted but everyone said no because it's dangerous.

"Dabi, I'm trying to make a safer space for the kids" , "Tomura, I'm trying to make them relax".

After getting fired twice by Aizawa, Dabi is finally behaving.

This has nothing to do with the fact that he's finally dating Tomura tho.

WHICH TAKE US TO: SPINNER, THE BROTHER WHO ACTUALLY ACKNOWLEDGES HIS RESPONSIBILITIES.

Spinner works in the same thing as Dabi, but he's the reliable one.

Getting Uraraka down when she starts floating on her sleep, calming people down when they're having anxiety attacks, noting when someone is having a bad day and requesting the teachers to let the person rest...

Spinner is the one actually helping them with their ptsd. He makes everything so easy and pleasant. It's like they're just kids taking classes and having fun.

Besides, class 1-B knows he is amazing at cuddling and people love his hugs. Just by seeing Spinner, they cheer up.

He and Shinso are responsible for the purple hair tendency among the kids of General Studies. Their heroes.

He's also the one who helps the kids with their training sessions when they need a partner but there's no one else to help them.

He became one of the official bus drivers of the school after taking some lessons and requesting a license.

He sings with them while they travel, he always has snacks in case someone is hungry and he has pills in case someone is motion sick. Well, a bunch of pills since Dabi is always motion sick.

He had a crush on Tomura but he realized it was more platonic than anything.

Now now, Tomura and Spinner have matching gamer tattoos that said Player #1 and Player #2. Dumbasses in action.

If Dabi is the problematic uncle and Spinner is the responsible uncle...

That leave us with: Compress the artistic dad and Kurogiri the dad who's always working far away but you can totally rely on.

THE VIDEO CALLS WITH KUROGIRI AND COMPRESS ARE SO CUTE.

101 Flirting with Compress.

All the kids in all courses have a personalized mask. Compress is addicted to creating them.

His beautiful, mischievous kids that once, trying to distract him, stole his prosthesis and kept it going around the school from room to room.

Turns out it was a surprise party, but man if it was fun because Compress pretended the whole time he was a pirate looking for his long buried treasure.

HE GOT A PARROT AND HE NAMED HIM RED BEAK.

Bakugo almost exploded the whole place after hearing such a ridiculous name.

Well, Red Beak loves making fun of Bakugo, repeating everything he says.

RED BEAK AND KIRISHIMA ARE BESTIES. YES YES.

The Bakusquad would kill for Red Beak.

Sero is teaching him Spanish, Mina is teaching him to dance, Denki is teaching him bad jokes and Jirou is teaching him to sing.

Tokoyami is the official protector of Red Beak. Koda is the translator.

On the other hand, Kurogiri always gives them some honey and other things when he visits the school.

He congratulates them on their achievements, he hears them for hours talking about their adventures and he is the old friend you call when it's 3am, you're feeling bad but you don't want to worry no one else.

If you want to solve a problem, call Kurogiri. He's gonna give you the clues but let you solve it yourself.

The award for the dad with more patience goes to: KUROGIRI.

If you really really need to run away from some hours, he can use his quirk to rescue you and he would prepare some tea for you, wrap you in a soft sweater and walk with you through his yard. You can pick flowers or fruit with him until you calm down. Or you can watch old movies with him. Or bake. Being with him is like floating around in the sky, no worries, just clouds and stars and soft noises and lights.

The school always knows when it happens and they are okay with it. Mostly. Just don't do it too much.

Toga is another good option if you need to talk but you don't know with who.

She's actually a great listener and an expert on making things look less stressing than they are. You see, she pays attention at your triggers and moods and if she sees something is bothering the students, she finds a way to distract them immediately, while letting the teachers deal with the problem.

Ah, the queen of gossip.

If you want to know something about someone you need to pay the prize, tho. And she won't even tell you if she considers the secret must be guarded 'til the grave.

She's the one who takes the messages to the parents because she's fast, can hide at plain sight and doesn't put them in danger.

You never know where Toga is. She someone studies like the rest of them, but she's like, selected to secret missions. She has a lot of info but they all trust her somehow.

Maybe is the fact that she would kill and take a stab for you. And that she would never put Deku or Ochaco in danger. Or her family.

She's also Mineta's biggest nightmare.

Try sexualizing the girl and win a terrifying week, courtesy of Toga Himiko.

She won't let you sleep, she won't let you eat, you're gonna wish you were never born. She can make you feel as sexualized, observed and stalked as you make the girls feel. Oh, she's gonna show you exactly how it feels to be a girl.

Also don't sexualize the boys around her either. Stabby queen is not gentle to those who are not gentle with her friends. Period.

Friendly reminder: 0 stabbing accidents since she started studying at UA.

BECAUSE THEY GAVE HER A RUBBER KNIFE.

And finally, the Tomura headcanons.

He's always falling asleep on odd places. The kids have a new name called "let's put a blanket on Tomura".

And then they call Dabi or Spinner to take him somewhere more comfortable.

He's working so hard. He's really working so hard on redeeming himself, even when everyone has already forgiven him. But he has this fear of being a failure or being too much...

The kids are also well trained on how to help him through his anxiety or panic attacks. Even more, some of them have always a pair of gloves in them just in case.

Momo is more than happy to make him more.

It's kinda sad how much he's suffering even now. That's way they all do their best to let him know his doing great.

Kisses in the cheek, compliments on how he's looking, new products to his hair and skin, playing the games he recommends, telling how badass he is when he trains them...

Somehow being around Tomura has help them realize how important is communicating stuff. They all are way healthier now.

Tomura is just... So sincere. He's been instructed to share his thoughts, because he had a problem before with communicating properly. That means he used to forget saying certain information because it was obvious to him, but not to others.

He doesn't mean to hurt people. He's just saying what he thinks. Which also means he offends a bunch of people not by accident. And he doesn't apologize because he is just doing what he's been told.

Midoriya and Shigaraki's discussions are epic. And so are their fights. Yes, they fight like siblings. Which is crazy funny because they are like "friendly reminder you tried to KILL ME" and "WELL YOU DESERVED THAT FOR BEING A DICK".

They've finally found out that you can complain to him or get a little violent and he's not gonna even blink, just hear you out.

It was because Bakugo got a little violent with him and yeah, he just stared back waiting.

You can't imagine Dabi's anger when Tomura told him about Kotaro. He was frustrated because at least Tomura did step on Endeavor and humiliated him for life, but him? He is angry with a man that's dead and gone.

Okay no, the whole League is angry about the things that has happened to the whole League. That's the thing with finally being able to relax and feel. It all comes back in a flood.

They have prohibited being around school when the parents visit. Specially because they are no very civil to shitty parents.

And if a kid confess about having shitty parents, oh boy. The League is gonna BE PISSED.

The UA is still a total chaos, but now in the right ways. They have more normal problems, they don't have to win war and kill evil lords, they complain about not having money to go out and forgetting their homework. And the ex-villians can complain about life being boring a needing more action.

That's a good thing. That means they all are healing, together.

They're gonna be fine.

[davidmann95]

So RWBY/Justice League is apparently a crossover that's actually going to happen. Of the little we know right now, how do you think that's going to pan out?

Anonymous said: Those questions about Superman and Batman in RWBY seem prescient, because I'm hearing that an official crossover is in the works

Anonymous said: Um, so there's a legit Justice League/RWBY crossover coming

Anonymous said: So, that official DC/RWBY crossover, huh?

Anonymous said: So, how about that DC/RWBY cross, eh?

Anonymous said: No more speculating how Superman would fit into RWBY when DC themselves are providing their own answer XD

The immediate thing that leaps out beyond the Kingdom Hearts* level of utterly out of nowhere berserk this premise is: while the RWBY comic had a couple minor sequel hooks, and I don’t know how it did in its original digital chapters or in trade, as a monthly periodical it was selling poorly enough that DC didn’t bother to print its last physical issue after the return from the Coronavirus shutdown, and while I thought it was great a lot of fans complained about its art and characterization throughout. I hoped for that sequel, sure, but I wasn’t expecting the book to be regarded internally as anything but a sales failure, nevermind not only continuing it but tripling down in the most extreme and bizarrely specific way possible that’s neither intuitive (unless you have special interests like me) nor surface-level ridiculous enough like Batman/Elmer Fudd that people will buy it just to see how it works. I don’t understand why this comic is happening when no one but me wanted this.

(* The Kingdom Hearts comparison is apt because they were similarly close to the top of things I’d love to see cross over with the DCU that would obviously never, ever happen because that’s too precise and random a combination of my interests. Even if this is legally possible where that isn’t, that would still be conceptually simpler.)

I was asked a couple times in the past about how Superman or Batman could make sense in RWBY’s setting, and it turns out I was closer with the latter than the former - that rather than a dimension-hopping traditional crossover, this is reverse-engineering what the assorted members of the League would look like if they had always been part of Remnant ala JLA/Planetary, some of the old DC/Marvel crossovers, or the more recent Batman/The Shadow. Which actually fits really well with the series regularly evoking assorted fairy tales and mythologies with their characters; this bunch is just one more set to be added. Though that raises several more thoughts and questions:

* The solicit refers to them as Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, and Diana Prince, but will they actually be referred to as such in the story, and will people comment on them not fitting with the color-based naming conventions of that world? Or will they be renamed and evoke their sources purely through iconography, ala Ruby not literally being Little Red Riding Hood?

* How much will the origins of the assorted characters be changed? Batman, Cyborg, and Aquaman would all make perfect sense within the ‘rules’ of the setting with few major alterations, but will Superman still be from Krypton and Green Lantern a space ranger, or will they simply be ordinary humans with thematically reminiscent backstories and Semblances/weapons that evoke the classic powers? I think the latter could work, but I imagine the former is more likely (even if Bennett might keep it vague on some of the details to preserve the aura of mystique and avoid changing the shape of the world too radically) simply because everyone’s surely aware that fans would complain about being ‘ripped off’ for getting the characters ‘in name only’ otherwise.

* Speaking of changes to fit the setting, between being a Faunus and the apparent low-tech traditional armor look of his suit, is Bruce Wayne in here not operating from a position of wealth? You’d just think as a given the Wayne family would be easily plopped in as business rivals to the Schnees and Alfred would be on a first name basis with Klein, but it seems Bennett might have something very different in mind. Also, little disappointing he simply has a katana rather than those collapsible batarangs that turn into swords that Ellis always gave him which would fit perfectly here. And, as so many have already asked: how miserable is he every second of every day in a world where everything is also a gun. At least this isn’t a universe where anyone’s gonna think he’s irresponsible for training teenage sidekicks.

* And if we’re going into individual characters: RWBY Barry Allen is adorable, what the hell. He just looks so dopey and hapless, I sure hope he doesn’t ever have to die to stop the Anti-Monitor. We’re definitely getting a meeting with Harriet that retcons in that he’s the other person with a speed Semblance she mentioned running into, and if he’s tapping into the Speed Force then the jokes that that’s what Harriet does are probably gonna become at least a little bit canon.

* Are the Themyscirans magic, given all magic has a very important common root in this world?

* I don’t think there’s a dud redesign in the bunch? These are all really inspired in their own ways, which is good because unlikely as it seems this is I believe the first time we’ve really gotten any sort of official interpretation of “here’s what the DCU would look like as a Shonen”. Go ahead and say the hell with it and make it Earth 28, I’ve thought before making that an anime Earth would fit with the map.

(By Ag_Nonsuch)

* Bunch of obvious ways these characters can play off of each other: Ruby is paralleled with Wonder Woman on the cover, and I’m curious how Bennett will play that, but she makes most sense next to Flash, a super-fast fan made good, or Superman, a character she so deeply if unintentionally evokes on so many levels I felt I had to make clear when describing her that I didn’t solely appreciate her as a psuedo-Superman analogue. Weiss makes sense up against Batman either as a wealthy heir or a Faunus who’s likely faced his share of pain from the Schees who either way are cold perfectionists defined by inner pain stemming from their families, or Wonder Woman/Aquaman as fellow ‘royalty’. Yang is paralleled with Superman on the cover and that makes sense with the two country bruisers with issues regarding their lost parents, though she’d also make sense with Aquaman as the ‘temperamental’ members a lot of the time of their respective teams, or Cyborg as they both deal with their relationships with their bodies after requiring prosthesis. And Blake pretty much has her pick: like Superman she uses an article of clothing to ‘pass’ and shares the commitment to justice, she and Batman are dark children of privilege (or not in this case, though in this world they’re both Faunus), she and Wonder Woman both left the island homes where their people were safe to try and make the rest of the world better, she and Aquaman are both Faunus royalty, and Green Lantern is about overcoming great fear and in Jessica Cruz’s case specifically about the guilt of running away.

* Will this be entirely flashbacks to the pre-series/Beacon years, or will those be flashbacks set from a ‘present’, and if so when? What happened between the siege of Haven and the train setting off for Argus is the most loosely-defined period in the story and is right on the heels of the end of the original RWBY mini, so I’d imagine it fitting here. And given they apparently join together “to take on a force unlike anything they've seen before” rather than purely the character work of that previous book, what might that be?

* Hey, superhero comics/superpowers as an idea already exist in this universe, will that come up?

* If we can get one single scene in this and it’s going with a “yes they’re still aliens and magic and whatnot” premise I want Clark, who hasn’t thought of being Superman yet and therefore is still at least somewhat hiding his powers, being wracked with guilt over not pursuing becoming a Huntsman and therefore not being there at the Fall of Beacon. Which is a ridiculous thing to take the blame for, but of course he would, he’s Clark, culminating in trying to apologize to JNR for Pyrrha dying he feels in part because he was a coward (when they don’t even have the faintest concept for why he would think he should have been there or could have done anything).

* Once all’s said and done, how is their presence in the world justified as not being a factor in the series proper? It’s simple if they’re ‘ordinary’ analogues who can go off to quietly have adventures elsewhere, but if not then some of them either have to be shuffled off stage or presumably left with their stories incomplete, with a little afterward of “and they went on to be the greatest heroes of all...later, after the scope of team RWBY’s main adventures so that we never have to directly address them again” to avoid them becoming unavoidable major factors in the war against Salem.

In the end, will it be DC’s best comic? No, though I imagine one of their better ones this year. Will it be among the ones I look forward to most each month? Right up there with Yang and Reis’s Batman/Superman baby, this is a miracle freak of fate and I’m gonna appreciate the universe bending over backwards to make entertainment for me and me alone while it lasts. Given I finally checked out RWBY in the first place because I was curious about Bennett’s original comic, this is a heck of a full-circle moment.

[3laxx]

Bring It Home - Chapter 11

Turning her golden eyes up to the memorial, she winced. Luz looked so lifelike, so authentic, that she almost felt as if the young teen could start moving at any moment. She stood proudly, as Amity had remembered her, her chest puffed out and her hands holding a light glyph while her coat fluttered behind her.

And finally, the end is here. The legacy Luz left to the isles. A very smart person told me that a legacy is planting seeds in a garden you never get to see (yea ofc it's a Hamilton quote xD) and honestly, that's exactly what Luz did in this series.

Ao3 / FF.net

---

Slowly, Amity approached the memorial they had erected for Luz only last week. Matt and Gus had been working on it like mad, to get it finished right after they had torn down the statue of the emperor just after the riot had started.

Her entire body ached and she was heavily leaning onto her crutches, but she hadn’t wanted to push this event out any further than need be.

As soon as the healing coven had announced that she was safe to go, she had jumped up from the bed and gotten ready for the ceremony.

Turning her golden eyes up to the memorial, she winced. Luz looked so lifelike, so authentic, that she almost felt as if the young teen could start moving at any moment. She stood proudly, as Amity had remembered her, her chest puffed out and her hands holding a light glyph while her coat fluttered behind her.

Matt and Gus had managed to capture Luz’s spirit so well, Amity’s heart ached.

Grunting, she took step after step, before Willow joined her side and Gus started coming from the other. They took a short break, still watched by the people of Bonesborough before Amity could move on again. Eda was already waiting for them by the memorial, along with Raine, Lilith, and Camila.

Amity gave a strained smile, then she straightened up and managed to take the steps up to the monument. The people of Bonesborough, many of which had taken part in the revolution in the past four years, stayed respectfully quiet.

Amity turned to let her gaze wander over the crowd which had closed after her, looking down into expectant faces, before turning back to her family. Edric and Emira had joined Eda on the other side and softly smiled at her.

The years after they had opened the portal door to the human realm had rapidly picked up the pace. Belos had discovered them building an illegal portal and had started chasing them, hunting them down, her family and friends and everyone keeping ties to Amity and Eda.

After running away, they had formed a rebellion, under Eda’s and her administration, together with everyone brave enough to come to join them. Word had spread fast, and they had been able to build a base, practice fighting, and gear up in a matter of three years.

More and more people from all over the isles had joined their cause until they had become a powerful opposition to Belos’ unbroken power.

Even Principal Bump had joined their forces, after pronouncing the school a neutral ground to ensure the young generations’ safety.

The fighting had picked up. Some members of the Covens had sided with Belos, some with the rebellion, and the Emperor’s Coven had only picked up in strength.

About a week before, Amity had finally led the invasion of the castle grounds and had managed to corner the emperor and kill him. His right hand, Kikimora, and some other coven guards had fought ferociously, but the rebellion had won. Finally, they had overthrown the totalitarian government and had implemented a completely new, emergency senate, as Lilith had called it, to decide on the best possible system to found now that they had all doors open again.

Camila had been put in as an advisor on human systems, as well as Bump as a historian on ancient Isles systems and they were currently in the process of finding a form of government that was fit for everyone on the Isles.

Along with a lot of other fighters, Amity had been injured and put on bed rest for a week, but she had announced before their invasion, that she’d devote this uprising to Luz.

After all, the human had kicked off the idea of a revolution, she had managed to change Amity’s mind, and she had been the cause of all this to start, after all, the portal she had come through had been the turning point of Belos’ reign.

He had carried his aspirations into the grave with him. Amity had never learned what he had wanted to do with the portal, but she hadn’t cared, either.

All she had cared about was to end his terror, to end the coven system, and to make things fair again on the Boiling Isles, after fifty years of a tight-knitted and violent reign.

And, of course, to make a legacy. For Luz.

Sniffling, she nodded at Matt to step forward, presenting her a metal box of Luz’s most important belongings. Camila, Eda, and her had searched them out together to donate them to this cause.

Her gaze flickered over to her family once more, finding all eyes glued to her.

Edric and Emira had fought all battles on her side, after breaking completely with their parents upon learning that they had staffed Belos’ ranks with abomatons over the years. They had joined the rebellion as some of the first to do so, and they were both bandaged as well. Emira was sporting a pretty nasty scar over one half of her face where an abomaton had used a fire spell on her. According to Viney it only gave her “more character”, as ridiculously cheesy as Amity thought that was.

Edric had lost a leg, but he had quickly been able to get a prosthesis by their skilled healers, and by now it was almost invisible, except for the slight stumble every time he started walking and briefly forgot he was missing a leg. Amity could still only shake her head at her brother’s statement to forget something like that. Eda was smiling at her, with King standing beside her. He was a good head taller than her by now and at eighteen years of age, he had significantly grown.

She and Eda had grown closer after Luz had died, and she had almost become a sort of mother figure to her as she had become to Luz. Lilith next to her gave her a small nod and Amity gratefully nodded back. Her mentor had stepped up as a leading figure in both Amity’s life and the rebellion, and she had managed to save Amity a few times, from her own ferocity sometimes.

Camila gave her a small smile as well. After they had gotten to know each other, they had hit it off quite well, Amity even starting to live with her when the Owl House got too crowded for Amity’s anxiety. She had almost become the same warm energy in her life as Luz had been and it hadn’t been hard for her to understand why Luz had wanted to get back so desperately after she had struggled with that due to her own issues with her mother.

Willow placed a hand on Amity’s shoulder and caught her gaze. Managing her crutches, Amity placed her bandaged hand on top of hers and squeezed softly.

She had stayed with her through it all, not even wavering in her stance when her fathers had been arrested in the hopes of blackmailing one of Amity’s closest friends. Unquestioningly, she had followed Amity into every battle, and even when she had lost an eye, she hadn’t backed down as Amity’s closest and most important commander.

Gus on her other side softly pulled her into a one-armed hug, before she looked over to him. He had thrown himself headfirst into the rebellion and hadn’t even rested once to fight for their cause, only when Willow had forced him to.

Humming, Amity finally handed her crutches to Willow and let Gus hold her upright, so she could search out the bucket list she had kept with her all these years.

It had become thinner and more fragile with all the use, ripping along a few more folding lines, one edge even coming off. Amity had had to glue it back on.

But it had overcome, had traveled with her for over ten years. She gave the piece of paper a soft look, gulping down her tears before stroking all the tasks she had written down.

The paper looked so worn and old, she almost didn’t believe it had only been ten years.

Sniffling, she traced her old handwriting, before tapping over all the checks.

She had decided to leave the first task open. What even was a real witch?

It didn’t matter to her. It didn’t matter in the least. She had known Luz and had watched her become a great witch against all expectations. She didn’t care if Luz was a real witch, or if she had been, or Eda or Belos or anyone for that matter. It wasn’t that she had given up on searching for an answer.

It just gave her a certain kind of satisfaction to leave this task open, as the only one, to leave all possibilities open as well. She had no idea what kind of witch Luz would’ve become in the future, and she had no idea where her path would be leading after all this.

She knew damn well, though, that she was proud of both Luz’s and her accomplishments.

Part of her had contemplated setting a neat little check behind the first task, but leaving it undone left all uncertainties for the future. Had she checked that off in the beginning, she had never known that ten years later, she would emerge victorious from a revolution. Who knew where she would be ten or twenty years from now?

Checking it off felt restricting to her, so she had refused to deem it a complete task.

She had no right defining what a real witch was.

With Willow holding the Azura book up that had helped Amity and Luz bond, she put the list down on it and checked off the very last task on the list. Make a legacy.

Luz had laughed, she had learned and danced and snuck into peoples’ hearts.

She had changed the world, she had changed Amity’s life and touched so many others. She had been the cause for this revolution and Amity would see to it that her name would appear in the history books.

Luz had changed the demon realm, by touching everything with her light and joy, and she had given magic to magicless demons by rediscovering the ancient ways.

This was her legacy.

Willow placed the book in the box which contained Luz’s Grom picture, her cat hoodie which hadn’t entirely washed out all the blood from her attack, and some other personal items, as well as locks of hair from her mother Camila, Eda, and her closest friends Amity, Willow and Gus.

As the last thing, Amity put in the bucket list, with all the checks but one.

Eda stepped forward and put a preservation spell over all the things in the box to keep them from falling apart and rotting, then she pressed a soft kiss to Amity’s forehead.

Smiling, she felt a tear rolling down her cheek while watching Matt closing the box and sealing it with another spell.

The box was placed in a hole they had dug at the foot of the statue and buried before a heavy stone slate was placed over it and sealed in place. For a moment, they stayed silent, before Amity turned to the people to lift her fist, propping herself up heavily on her crutch that she had gotten back from Willow.

“For freedom!”, she exclaimed, and the Bonesborough citizens repeated a thousandfold with their chant back, deafening cheers filling the whole city before Amity turned back to the monument.

Her friends accompanied Eda and Camila in the descend down the stairs, while Amity stayed back, just before the stone slate they had just fixed in place.

A wave of emotions overcame her, with the cheers of Bonesborough behind her, that she slowly placed her crutches in front of her and propped herself up heavily, before lowering herself down.

She didn’t see how her family and friends jumped, before freezing in place upon realizing what she was doing.

The chants died out when her knee hit the ground, her hands still holding onto the crutches as she lowered her head.

The city got silent again before a wave of rustling and some steps sounded.

Everyone started copying her, everyone lowering themselves to one knee and keeping their gaze downcast, while Amity kneeled.

She didn’t realize any of this.

Droning out everything around her, she breathed, slowly, before smiling to herself.

This was Luz’s legacy. She wouldn’t be able to dance with her anymore, but she could remember it. She could remember Luz’s smile and her light whenever she would talk or think about her and keep her alive that way.

Finally, she lifted her head again and softly groaned in pain, but finally, she felt free of her burden. The tears welling up in her eyes would most likely stay, as well as the lump in her throat, but her burden was gone, and she knew, she had freed Luz.

Smiling to herself, she blinked the slight blur from her vision.

“I love you…”, she mumbled while looking up to Luz’s distinct features, “I never stopped.”

The twenty-four-year-old witch slowly rose to her feet again and turned, looking over the kneeling population of the isles, before giving a small smile as she remembered how she had experienced Luz ten years ago.

“For Luz.”

---

Let me know if you liked it and if I should open suggestions for you guys?

[bittercoldbrew]

Well, geeze, this got outta hand... I blame @silverwolf319​ for being so kind and encouraging and joining me in the little spoon!Ezra club even though he’s technically a big spoon in this one, but I think it still qualifies. Thank you, darling 💕

In theory this is a follow-up to my earlier Ezra/OC oneshot (which is, in theory, a follow-up to my finished story, To Build Something New), but I think they can be read independently, or in any order you please. Here we’ve got about 5k words of just the softest fluff I think I’ve ever written, Cee and Ezra and his unnamed partner with she/her pronouns, building a blanket fort together when the rain keeps them all up at night. This briefly gets a teensy bit saucier than the other one did, so I’m asking to keep this one 18+ only, please and thanks, friends. No other warnings, just an absurd amount of established relationship sweetness here. Enjoy!

Most nights, she loves the skylight above their bed, loves the view of the vast and glorious expanse of space beyond the meager atmosphere of this dwarf planet that has become so dear to her—loves, too, the occasional brush of willowy branches against the glass from the big tree outside, when the wind is up. After so very many years spent floating through the galaxy aboard slingbacks and freighters, she needs this glimpse of the heavens just as much as she needs the reminder of the solid ground beneath her feet. Even now, more than two years spent as a resident of Aphelia, she still has horrid dreams of hull breaches and micrometeoroids and hairline cracks, and often it helps to wake and watch for lazy clouds drifting by or those familiar leaves or the rare nightbird, proof that there is a sky here, hugging her close to the crust of the planet she’s made her own and promising to never let her be sucked out into the void.

Tonight, however, and the storm it has brought, offer far more proof than she would ever need. The wind howls; branches thrash and snap into the air; rain pelts harsh rhythms against the glass; and the sky is so full up with clouds that she can’t find a single soothing glimmer of any stars beyond.

The man in bed beside her, with his steady breaths and radiant warmth, the gentle weight of his arm across her belly, should be more than comfort enough. Ezra is not often an easy sleeper, but he can be a deep one under the right circumstances, and if she were a sensible woman she'd cuddle up against his chest and let the sweet thrumming of his tender heart lull her back to sleep.

She puts on a good show, she'll admit; but she is not often as sensible as people seem to believe.

Feeling guilty, yet restless, she creeps out from under his loose hold and to the edge of the bed. Light flashes overhead, followed closely by a deep groan of thunder, and she freezes halfway to her feet and glances over her shoulder to make sure it hasn’t woken him. But no, his eyes are still closed, those pretty dark lashes fanned against his cheeks, though a slight frown now creases his brow. He buries his face deeper into the pillow with a soft grumble, and she releases her held breath and stands and creeps around the bed and out into the hall—taking one of the spare blankets with her, of course.

She has some vague thoughts of decaffeinated tea and chocolate bars, maybe a dip into that carton of ripe berries in the refrigeration unit if Ezra hasn’t eaten them all by now, but her weary feet can’t seem to carry her that long way to the kitchen and she all but collapses onto the couch, instead. Ridiculous, she thinks, that she can feel this exhausted and this wired simultaneously. There’s been a stomach bug getting passed around at work, one she’s somehow managed to dodge thus far—both a blessing and a curse, because it’s meant that she’s been picking up extra shifts left and right. Tomorrow—technically today, she confirms after a quick glance at the time—is supposed to be her first day off in a tenday and a half, and she’s been so looking forward to finally having time to unwind and spend with her little family. Given the way her pulse keeps jumping with every crash of lightning and rattle of windows, she’s going to spend the day catching up on lost sleep, instead.

Cursing herself, her anxiety, and the weather—not necessarily in that order—she curls up against the arm of the couch and tucks the blanket under her chin, contents herself to a night spent merely hoping for sleep to come.

The storm is...beautiful, she has to admit, viewed through the front room’s wide windows. Dark as it is, there’s enough sheet lightning to paint the sky in grayish purples and greens, and the ribbons of rain seem to dance in the wind. They do have a DTV in here, but the signal isn’t great even on the clearest of days, and the serials streaming in the overnight public blocks are nothing but trash. The storm, for all its insolence, is likely to be far more entertaining.

She loses track of how long she sits there, knees pulled up to her chest, head resting against the back of the couch, until she hears the low rasp of her name and turns to find Ezra shuffling into the room. His hair is mussed, his chest bare, patched and tattered sleep pants riding tantalizingly low on lean hips; but his eyes are only half-open, hand and attention occupied as he hitches his prosthesis up over the liner that insulates his limb remnant, and seals it into place. There’s a soft hiss, and then a gentle whirr as the delicate machinery twitches synthetic finger and wrist and elbow joints, cycling through its startup flexibility test.

While it’s busy, Ezra rests his left arm on the back of the couch, and leans over to place a slow and sleepy kiss to her lips. “Hey, you,” he sighs.

“Hey, you,” she answers, mouth spreading up into a smile as she lifts a hand to smooth along his jaw. “I’m sorry; did I wake you?”

“Nah, the storm did,” he tells her, and though he’s not the sort of man to lie to her, she’s not entirely sure she believes him. “Mind if I sit with you a while?”

“I’d love that.” Kevva only knows why they’re whispering, with the storm crashing so loudly around them, but it feels right, here in the dark—especially when he comes around and settles in close beside her. She unwinds the blanket and drapes it over them both, and he wraps his arms around her and pulls her into his warmth. He smells a bit like derma-cream, but she’s grown so accustomed to the tangy blend of menthol and citrus that it mostly just smells like home, and she all but melts into him.

“How long you been awake, starlight?” he asks, keeping his voice low and gentle, and she sighs and shakes her head.

“Never fell asleep in the first place. I got up, oh...” She lifts her gaze, checking the time that floats into view, courtesy of her optical implant. “An hour ago, maybe?”

He squeezes her tight, and she can hear the frown in his voice as he asks, “Why didn’t you wake me?”

She kisses his shoulder—there’s a little cream there, too, and it makes her lips tingle for a brief moment. “You were sleeping so soundly, I didn’t wanna interrupt.”

He huffs, dipping his head to meet her eyes. “You know you’re more important, babygirl. Besides...” he trails off, lifting an unsubtle eyebrow, “you know how much I love sendin’ you to sleep.”

She snorts a laugh, shakes her head. “You’re a selfless man.”

“I’m just eager to help,” he says, grinning, and she laughs again.

“You’re eager for something, I’ll grant you that.” The grin broadens, his cheek dimpling, and she considers the offer. It’s tempting, that’s for sure—she’s been working so much, hasn’t had much time or energy to indulge in the pleasure he’s always so willing to give her. She’s missed him, missed the sweet words that fall from his lips as he comes undone for her, missed the way he fills her just right, as though his body was made for hers, and hers for his.

But the idea of just the walk from the couch to the bedroom seems a little insurmountable right now, even for such a delectable reward. She doesn’t think her body can get any more exhausted than it already is, with or without his best efforts, and sleep hasn’t blessed her yet; and he’d put his arm on which means he’d expected to be awake for a while, hadn’t really planned on taking her back to bed so soon. With a sigh, she tucks her face into the crook of his neck, and shakes her head softly. “Thank you...but I think I’d just like to listen to the rain a little longer.”

He nods, hugging her close and resting his cheek against her hair. “That sounds just fine to me.”

Ezra gives her so many reasons to love him, and this is no exception—how willing he is to set aside his own desires for hers, how he always seems to know when she wants to be wooed and persuaded into bed versus when she just wants to be close to him without interference, even of the pleasurable kind.

She’s never been as skilled with words as he is, has no idea how to really verbalize such a feeling, but she breathes against his neck, “I love you so much, Ez,” and hopes it might suffice, for now.

He rubs her back, presses a kiss to the top of her head, murmurs, “I love you too, baby,” into her hair, his soft voice full of so much tenderness that she thinks he understands everything she’s ever left unsaid.

A boom of thunder splits the night, so close it seems to happen before the blinding flash, and they both jump. Ezra pulls away, squeezes her shoulder. “I’m gonna...go check that out,” he tells her, and she nods as he heaves himself to his feet and crosses the room to peer through the window.

She twists around to try and watch as he moves away from the glass and heads into the kitchen, beyond her view. An instant later, she hears the back door slide open, a strong draft and sharp whistle of wind blowing into the house before it closes again. “Ezra?” she calls, but there’s no response, so she assumes he’s gone outside to investigate, and waits with bated breath for him to return.

A minute later, he does, with another rush of wind; then he comes striding back around the corner, rubbing at his wet hair with a dish towel and looking far more awake and alert than he had before. “Looks like there’s a tree down in the back,” he announces, shaking his head. “Not one of ours, though, and I didn’t see a lick of flame. Too wet out there, I reckon.”

She puffs out a breath, and nods her head. “That’s a relief.”

“Mm-hm,” he agrees, dragging the towel over his face and down his neck and across his broad, glistening chest. Her hands suddenly itch to grab the towel from him and finish the job herself (possibly with her tongue, perhaps, fuck the towel, why do they even have towels?), the sight of him enough to cause her mind and libido to make a stark course correction from where she’d just said she wanted this night to lead, and she opens her mouth to make those intentions clear.

Before she can, another voice speaks up. “Did you guys hear that?”

Twisting back the other way, she turns and spots Cee stepping into the room, one hand rubbing at her tired eyes, the other holding her beloved plush Puzu doll against her stomach. “Aww, not you, too,” she calls, propping her chin on the back of the couch and offering the girl a sympathetic smile.

“We didn’t wake you, did we, little bird?” Ezra asks, slinging the towel over his shoulder with a sheepish expression on his face.

“Pretty sure it was the sky exploding that did it,” the teenager says dryly, shaking her head. “Planets are weird.”

“They are indeed,” he agrees, glancing from his daughter to his partner with a broad grin. Of the three of them, she is the de facto expert on planets, having resided on one for the longest and most recent stretch of time—but that was almost twenty years ago, now, so she isn’t entirely convinced it should count.

Shaking her head, she hauls herself up off the couch and stretches her arms up above her head, feeling something pop along her spine. “Well,” she sighs, turning to face them with her hands on her hips. “Why don’t I make us some cocoa, then, before we lose power or something?”

They both seem thrilled by the prospect, and she makes her way into the kitchen with a smile, taking only a slight detour to trail her fingers along the cooled, damp skin of Ezra’s back as she passes him by. There will be opportunity enough, later, for her hands to have their fill of him. They might all end up sleeping the day away after this storm finally passes, so for now she’s going to make the most of this time to spend with them.

Her hot chocolate recipe, perfected over the course of many years of sleepless nights, has become something of a ritual now that she has these two beloved people to make it for; she falls into it without conscious thought, toasting cardamom pods and a cinnamon stick in the saucepan before adding milk, then chopping up a bar of the good chocolate to stir in once it’s warm enough. The storm still rages loudly, and she can only just make out the cadence and timbre of Cee’s and Ezra’s voices as they discuss something in the other room, and she lets the sounds wash over her as she grabs a foil-wrapped parcel of popcorn and sets it on the other burner to pop, marveling at how surreal yet mundane it feels, to have a family—something she’d never even dreamed of for herself, before she met these two.

She’s poking around in the pantry, checking to see if there are any other tasty treats to munch on, when the sound of heavy furniture creaking along the floor—and their resulting laughter—reaches her ears and makes her question all those warm and fuzzy feelings. She leans back, trying to catch sight of what’s going on over there, and calls, “What’re you two up to?”

“Nothin’!” Ezra answers, far too quickly for her comfort, and she frowns and takes a step that way.

But then Cee calls back, “It’s a surprise! No peeking!”

“Fine! Fine,” she mutters, shaking her head but turning back. She’s pretty sure, now, what they’re doing, but resolves not to interfere in the creative process unless they ask for it.

Besides, she has snacks to prepare.

She whips up a few peanut butter sandwiches, crusts on and sliced into triangles, in case anyone’s really hungry—they’ll make for a quick lunch tomorrow, if not—and grabs the last few handfuls of berries out of the fridge as well. Tossing one into her mouth, the sweet, sharp juice bursts along her tongue as she dumps the popcorn into a big bowl and pointedly ignores the sounds of bedroom doors opening and something heavy being dragged down the hall. She fills the kettle with water and heats that, too, just in case they do lose power tonight and someone decides they want tea or something before it comes back; with a couple towels draped on top, it should stay warm enough until morning.

The milk is ready, so she scoops out the spices and whisks in the chocolate and ladles up three mugs, then arranges them and all the food into one of the fruit crates Ez brings home from Kikur, and calls, “Can I come in yet?”

“Just—hang on a tick,” he grunts, and she can hear a bit of scuffling. Then, Cee’s voice, “Okay, it’s ready!”

Already smiling, she hefts up the crate and heads over to see what they’ve made of the front room.

The coffee table has disappeared entirely; the couch has been moved back against the wall, its seats and pillows removed to serve as cushions atop Cee’s mattress, relocated from her bedroom to the floor. The floor lamp was taken from its usual corner to stand at the foot of the mattress, and two big bedsheets have been clothespinned together and draped over its lampshade and tucked behind the back of the couch, forming a canopy to cover their heads while still giving them a view of the windows and the rain beyond.

Ezra has changed into a dry pair of sweatpants and one of the soft sweaters she tends to steal from his wardrobe when he’s away. He clicks on the lamp, bathing the space inside in a warm, cloth-dampened glow; then he takes a step back and surveys their work with his hands on his hips and a serious expression, as though it were something far more architecturally complex than a cozy blanket fort. “You know, I think this is our best one yet.”

She sets the crate down gently, careful not to spill anything, and crosses her arms with an appraising air. “You know, I think you might be right...” she says, nodding her head slowly. “We better get in it, just to be sure.”

Laughing, Cee tosses her stuffed animal inside and clambers in first. She follows after the girl, settling in among the soft cushions and warm blankets with a sigh, amazed at how well the lightweight sheets muffle the harsh noise of the raging storm.

Ezra doesn’t join them just yet, instead crouching down to investigate the contents of the crate. “What is all this, starlight?” he asks, lifting up and passing over the mugs of chocolate and bowl of popcorn. “You made us a feast.”

“Just some snacks, to tide us over. Hey, no, you give that to us,” she reprimands, seeing him prying open the carton of berries. “Don’t even think about it.”

The man is a berry-eating fiend, just inhales the things like some sort of confused anteater gone frugivore. If she takes her eyes off him for one second with that carton in his possession, they’ll all be gone before she and Cee ever get a chance.

Even with her staring him down, he pops three into his mouth at once; but then he does, begrudgingly, hand the rest over, so she allows this transgression and snatches them up and passes the carton into Cee’s hands for safekeeping.

“You’re so mean to me,” he grumbles, even as he rests the plate of sandwiches she made on top of the mattress and stuffs one wedge into his mouth, finally moving past the lamp and under the canopy to settle against the cushions beside her.

“You need to learn how to share,” she scolds, taking the bitten-off piece of sandwich from his mouth and biting into it herself.

“Ew, no,” Cee groans. “If you two are gonna be gross, you’ll be banished from the fort.”

"Sorry, boss," she tells her, genuinely chastened.

Ezra nods his head, settling his expression into something solemn. "She's harsh, but fair."

Then, in a flash, he snatches back the last corner of bread and peanut butter and shoves it in his mouth, shattering the moment and sending them all into fits of laughter, too giddy from the lateness of the hour and the lack of sleep and the spontaneity of finding themselves all huddled together like this to ever be able (or willing) to reign in their shared mirth.

They giggle and tease each other and snack, mouths going sticky with peanut butter and chocolate, fingertips smeared with butter and salt and berry juice, even as the wind howls and the rain beats down on the roof. Here, under their makeshift tent, the three of them are warm and content and safe, and she doesn’t think she’s ever been so happy to have found herself unable to fall asleep.

Cee is not often very physically affectionate, but she turns into a real cuddlebug when tired, and tonight is no exception. The older woman wraps her arms around the teenager’s shoulders and hugs her close, the Puzu plush tucked between them.

Beside her, Ezra tosses the last of the berries into his mouth and heaves a slow, satisfied sigh. “Did I ever tell you two about the time I met a ghost? Was a night just like this one.”

The girls look at each other, sharing matching dubious glances. “No, you haven’t,” Cee says, voice dry as bone. “And no, you definitely didn’t.”

“Swear it on my good arm!” he proclaims, laying his prosthetic hand over his heart, and it is utterly impossible to tell if the expression on his face is genuine or not. “Even know whose specter it was; I described his face to my crew after they found me, and one of the old timers said, ‘Why, that was Long Richard Johnson!’”

His captive audience squawk similar, wordless sounds of protest—she’s certain there’s never been such a man with such a name, let alone a spirit of the same.

But Ezra’s eyebrows shoot up with surprise, and he pushes himself up on his elbows to gape at them. “What? You never heard the legend of Ol’ Long Dick?”

“Stop,” Cee groans, tossing a handful of popcorn at his face, but he shakes his head, a grin spreading across his face as he really starts to delve into the role of storyteller.

“No, no, I’m not— This is not just a me thing, this an honest-to-Kevva prospector’s legend. He was one of the greats, the first independent contractor to ever set foot on the Green.”

“Uh-huh,” she says, still disbelieving, but resting her cheek atop Cee’s head to listen. With or without any kernel of truth, this is bound to be an interesting tale, at least.

“I mean it! He was the first to reject allegiance to any of the corps; and they let ‘im, too, because no one else, before or since, could suss out those gems like he could. He was a master of the Green Moon; they say he was the first to locate the Queen’s Lair, but he refused to mark it on any map or tell anyone where it was, knew the corps were too greedy and bloodthirsty to ever be trusted with such knowledge. They say he hired a private ship to sneak him out there without their purview, determined to harvest it all his own self, but there was some engine trouble and he never did make it. They say he’s buried up at the top of the Green’s highest peak, with a headstone that reads, ‘Here lies Long Dick Johnson, who earned every inch of his name’.”

“You’re a menace,” she gasps, pelting him with more popcorn, because she’d almost started believing him until that last bit.

But he only laughs and shakes his head, plucking popcorn out of his own hair and tossing it in his mouth. “I’m only relaying what I myself have been told, any deviations from the truth are someone else’s doing.”

“And this ‘ghost’ you saw?” Cee asks, making exaggerated air quotes with a skeptical look on her face.

“Ah, now, that is my tale to tell.” He leans in and props his chin in his hand, voice lowering to a whisper as he begins, “It was a night just like this one...”

He weaves a tapestry with his words, painting a picture for them of himself as a (somewhat) fresher-faced kip, new to the moon above Bakhroma, having contracted out his able body and his rundown ship to a crew of grizzled prospectors, in exchange for training on how to harvest the dazzling gems and a reasonable cut of their earnings. All had gone accordingly, until they found themselves caught in one of the moon’s rare, but devastating, rainstorms, and had to stay cooped up inside the ship, unable to harvest and unable to relocate lest the ship get struck by lightning midair and leave them stranded there permanently. So instead he spent his days learning complicated board games with made-up rules using bits and pieces of supplies they had lying around, letting his ears be filled with raucous stories of days and prospectors gone by.

And then, late one night, he’d been shaken awake by a man he’d thought to be one of the crew, dragged from his bunk and shuffled into his suit and helmet and filter and pack. He’d only briefly tried to hesitate, to wake the others, but the man had grabbed him and growled, “There’s no time, boy—move, or you’ll miss it.” So, only half awake and unable to think straight, he’d obeyed without question and followed him out the airlock.

He had stumbled in the dark, in the mud, in the rain and wind, still relatively new to this and unaccustomed to the bulky suit, and by the time he realized that the only reason he could follow at all was because the man leading him was glowing—luminous and stark and visible even through the sheeting rain and dust and muck that clouded his helmet—they were too far from the ship for him to ever have any hope of making it back on his own. He’d had no choice but to plod along after the ghost, for hours, maybe, until finally the figure stopped and pointed at his feet and commanded, “Dig.”

And then, without a whole lotta options otherwise, he had obeyed.

Eventually, the storm passed, and the light dawned, and his crew must’ve noticed his empty bunk and followed the single track of stumbling footprints until they found him where he’d fallen asleep in the shallow gouge he’d carved in the dirt, still clutching his shovel.

They accused him of sleepwalking, of cabin fever, of dipping into the good hooch behind their backs—all without malice, really, but certainly refusing to believe any claim of spectral visions. At least, that was, until one of the men looked down, and realized that the thing at his feet wasn’t, in fact, a large clump of dirt, but an aurelac root nodule the size of a small child.

“To this day, that was my finest single harvest,” he admits, shaking his head slowly. “The crew gave me a heartier cut than promised, and still all had enough to retire off of. Not me, though; from that day on, I was hooked. Sunk my savings in a newer ship and sought out another crew and kept goin’ back, always hoping to see him again, to pull another fabled haul.”

She nods her head, unsure of what she could possibly have to say to that, but she can so vividly imagine how such an experience would inspire a man like him, would spur him on to the sort of life he’s led. So she says nothing, simply lays a hand against his cheek, letting the edge of her thumb rest in the dimple that creases his cheek as he blinks and tears his gaze away from the past to smile at her instead.

He turns his head, presses his lips to her palm with a sweet kiss, and nods toward the teenager resting against her shoulder. “How long’s she been out?”

“Hm?” she asks, surprised, and looks down to find that he’s right, that the girl’s eyes are firmly closed, her chest rising and falling with deep, steady breaths. “Oh,” she whispers, scared to wake her, “I didn’t even notice.”

His breathy laugh is quiet, a chuckle kept mostly inside his chest, and he nods his head and says, “Let’s not wake her. She can sleep out here, don’t you think?”

“I—” she tries, but the words are stifled by a deep yawn that causes tears to prick at the corners of her eyes; she brushes them away, offers him a sheepish smile. “I think I might join her.”

His grin is brilliant as he nods again, leans in for a quick kiss, then pulls back and starts gathering up the empty mugs and half-eaten popcorn and sandwiches. “How about we all stay, hm? I’ll put these away.”

“Here, I can help—” she starts, but he catches her reaching hand in his and shakes his head.

“I got it, baby. You stay here with her, yeah? I’ll be back soon.”

She nods, rubbing at her eye again, the exhaustion of the past two weeks finally catching up with her. “You promise?”

Ezra kisses her again, warm, soft lips lingering in a way that steals her breath away, leaves her lightheaded and a little dazed when he pulls back and whispers, “I promise.”

She settles deeper into the cushions as he quietly gathers up the dishes and food and the few errant popcorn kernels they’d thrown at him, and slips out from the blanket fort. It’s immediately colder in there without his warmth, emptier without his familiar weight beside her, and she hugs Cee a little tighter as she listens to the fridge opening and closing, the faucet turning on and off, his footsteps drawing near then moving past and away down the hall to the bedroom. Above it all, the sound of the rain against the roof has settled into a steadier, gentler thrum, the booming thunder and frightful wind moving on to rattle someone else’s windows.

When Ezra returns, clicking off the lamp and crawling under the canopy to slide in beside her, he has removed his prosthetic arm—never fond of sleeping with it on—and brought the heavy quilt from atop their bed along with him. She helps him spread it out over all three of them, making sure Cee is tucked in snug while he settles in and wraps his arm around her waist.

He rests his chin on her available shoulder, his whispered words a warm brush of breath on her skin as he asks, “What’d you think of my story?”

“I think it was...effective at making us all sleepy.”

He huffs a laugh, rubs his nose against her cheek. “Alright, sure, but did you believe it?”

She grins in the dark, even though she knows he can’t see it. “I believe that you believe it,” she allows.

His lips, pressing against her skin, curl up into a smile, and the warmth of it works its way deep into her heart and radiates from there to the top of her head and the tips of her toes. His hand slips beneath her shirt, palm spreading along her belly—not teasing, not suggesting anything more than a blatant desire to touch as much of her as he can. “That’s more than enough for me,” he sighs, achingly content.

She nods her head in agreement; and in these last few instants of consciousness before sleep finally claims her, she thinks that this moment, snuggled close between the two best people in the known universe, safe and warm from any storm, is more than enough for her, too.

[whathappenedtomyweekend]

It’s Just A Spark Ch. 7 - Maybe Definitely

Hiccup sighed and threw a glance at the clock, mindlessly clicking around in his opened document. 22:35.

He'd been trying to finish up his report for more than half an hour, which was significantly exheeding his usual set time of fifteen minutes.

"You're still here?" a voice behind him intoned and Hiccup turned around to see Snotlout enter the room and place his helmet on the desk next to his.

"Yeah," Hiccup mumbled, feeling the effect of his extra strong tea earlier wear off slowly but surely. "I wanted to finish today's report. Which I did. And then I thought, I still haven't written the report for yesterday."

"Woah, what's up with Mr Too-fast-for-deadlines?" his cousin asked, looking sincerely surprised. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he repeated, dragging a hand through his hair. "Just … busy."

"Ooh, right, your girlfriend."

Hiccup's head shot up, glaring. Snotlout shrugged.

"Gobber told me. Well, technically, your dad told me. But Gobber told him so basically it was him who told me."

"Doesn't anything regarding my personal life stay personal? And she's … she's not my girlfriend."

"You showed up to her workplace with lasagna you made specifically for her because it's her favourite food, Hiccup. That is such a boyfriend-thing to do. Though I guess it's very you. Most people wouldn't bother."

"How did you even-"

"Hey, don't blame me for being your cousin! Things get around, okay? My dad was out getting coffee, saw you, told your dad who told him that-"

"Alright, alright," Hiccup interrupted him, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I get it. Note to self, never tell Dad anything concerning Astrid again if I want it to stay between us."

Snotlout laughed and good-naturedly nudged his cousin's arm.

"Come on, Hic, I don't mean any harm. Neither does he, you know that. He's just excited for you."

Hiccup sighed. "I know."

"I'm too, by the way," Snotlout mumbled. "It's kind of really cool seeing you this happy."

The auburn-hair man stopped and finally smiled at his cousin. "Thanks, Snotlout."

Snotlout sniffed, trying to shake off his earlier sentiment. "Yeah, whatever. Just go to sleep before I knock you out myself."

Hiccup grinned and got up. "You sound just like Gobber."

"Shut up."

He laughed.

The doorbell was ringing, making Astrid jump. She rarely had any visitors at a time like this. Maybe it was just Ruff who had forgot her keys again, needing a place to crash.

She opened the door.

It wasn't Rachel.

Hiccup.

Hiccup, his forest-green eyes dark and his hair messy as if he'd run his hands through it countless of times.

He opened his mouth to speak but stopped and took a step closer.

"Hiccup, what-"

She was silenced by his lips suddenly crashing down on hers. Astrid stumbled back, shock fading as his hands cupped her face, hers suddenly tangled in his hair, pulling him down to her.

They stumbled into her flat, her back hitting the wall of her hallway with a low 'Thud'.

All she felt was his calloused fingers on her skin, leaving invisible imprints, his lips - oh, God - almost desperately pressing to hers.

"What took you so long," she gasped into the kiss and fisted her hands into the material of his shirt, pulling him closer still.

His breath was hot against her skin. He smelled of toothpaste, making her smile against his lips. Hiccup pulled away, frowning shortly.

"I don't," he kissed her again, gently this time. "Know."

Her hands wrapped around his neck as he continued working his lips against hers, chasing sparks down her skin. He was pressing her against the wall, not an inch left between their bodies as she lightly pushed her tongue into his mouth. Hiccup groaned and let his hands wander to her waist. Ever so slowly he brushed her tongue against hers, making her knees weak.

"Hiccup," she gasped against his lips, tightening her grip around his shoulders -

Astrid opened her eyes, her racing heart the only sound in her dark bedroom.

Heat crawled up to her face as she realised what had happened.

"Oh, God," she groaned, hiding her burning face in her hands. "Oh my god …"

It had been a dream. Of course it had been a dream. Hiccup wouldn't just barge in like that and start kissing her, he'd … he'd … oh, what did it matter what he'd do, when she was the one dreaming about it! Not only dream but also enjoy the idea of it …

"God, what is wrong with me?" she mumbled into the emptiness of her room, almost swearing she could have tasted the toothpaste from his mouth.

Alright. So it had been a couple of days since she'd last saw him, so what? So what that she couldn't walk past that café anymore without thinking about Hiccup drenched in sunlight? So what that he'd held her hand on the table and hadn't let go even as his friend had asked for their orders? So what that she hard trouble keeping him out of her mind and found herself craving his company? That didn't say anything.

Astrid sat in darkness and realised that there was no turning back now.

"…shit."

He'd been tired all day and now he was in bed and couldn't sleep. Typical.

Hiccup groaned and turned around to face the wall, careful as to not disturb Toothless who had curled up around his legs - well, leg and a half.

It had been days, and yet he couldn't stop thinking about their visit to the café.

Astrid had introduced herself to Fishlegs as his date - which was true, they were dating.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Snot's words were still ringing in his ears.

'That's a very boyfriend-thing to do.'

They were only dating.

He wanted to be more to her, still. He wanted to keep doing these things simply because it made her smile. He wanted to make her happy.

Hiccup closed his eyes, trying not to think about how he'd give up eating anything else than ice cream for his lunch breaks if it meant he got to see her laugh at him with cream on his chin.

Hiccup awoke by the sound of his phone ringing.

Groggily he reached for it and slurred, "'llo?"

"Hiccup?"

He immediately sobered up and sat up. "Astrid, hi, Astrid, hey … Astrid."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just, uh … just woke up."

He started fumbling for the bottle of water somewhere next to his bed.

Astrid gasped on the other line. "Go back to sleep! I'm sorry-"

"It's okay. Really. I should've gotten up anyway." He smiled.

"Oh, okay. Listen, I was just wondering if - you have time somewhen this week, maybe on Friday?"

It had been three days since he'd last seen her.

He didn't really miss her per se. It's just that he'd sometime like to have company, hers to be specific. He simply didn't like her absence at times. His heart jumped as he realised that this was quite literally the definition of missing someone.

He didn't even pretened to think about it and quickly said, "Yes! Friday. Friday's … yeah."

She chuckled and after a small pause softly said, "I've missed you."

His heart skipped a beat.

"You too," he rasped out. "It's weird to think it's only been a couple of days, huh."

She laughed lightly. "Yeah. I think I set a new record for not setting my stove on fire."

He hummed. "We should celebrate that on Friday."

He imagined her lean in and smirk. "Define 'celebrate'."

"You want the oxford-version or mine?"

Astrid laughed. "Come on."

"Alright, so, I was thinking you, me, non-frozen food …"

"You had me at 'celebrate'. We could cook together."

He grinned and peeled himself out of his covers. "Not sure if I'm willing to take that risk."

"Says the fireman with asthma," she retorted dryly and Hiccup laughed.

"On the other hand, I've missed Toothless too," she grinned audibly. "So I'm coming over."

Hiccup chuckled and quickly strapped his prosthesis back on.

"Okay, so same as last time? Or earlier, if you want."

He could hear her grin. "Someone seems to be keen on spending time with me."

The answer came easy to him in full sincerity as he softly replied, "I am."

She paused. Maybe she'd be blushing. God, she was endearing.

"I'll be earlier then."

Hiccup grinned and strode through his room towards the drawer. "Okay. Any ideas on what we'll make?"

She hummed thoughtfully. "How about something you like?"

'I like you,' he thought but kept his mouth shut, pulling out a fresh pair of socks and screwed his eyes shut at the thought.

"How about sushi?" he managed instead. "It's pretty easy once you get the hang of it and practically impossible to burn."

"Oh, yes! Sushi's great, let's do that. And, um, if you want we could get the ingredients together? You know, so there's no room for any misunderstandings."

Hiccup felt his face heat up. Going Grocery-shopping together. Another thing people who were "just" dating didn't usually do.

"Y-yeah," he croaked. "Let's. I'll, uh. See you on Friday, then."

"Great, see you!" Astrid grinned audibly. "Just don't get into any danger until then."

He chuckled. "I'll be careful. Bye."

She bid her goodbye and hung up, leaving a still slightly flustered Hiccup standing in silence, mismatching socks in his other hand.

He stared down at the screen where her contact was still opened.

He'd taken the picture of her during their second date. She was grinning freely at the camera, her eyes sparkling in the low light of his living room, her freckles looking like faint paint splatters on her fair skin.

His useless heard sped up at the memory.

Slowly he set the phone down, let the socks fall and slumped back onto his bed, fisting his hands in his hair.

She was magnetizing.

And he was utterly, hopelessly captivated by her.

[ineverlookavvay]

wake up call

Alex comes home late to Michael in his bed and decides to wake him up...

Fill for Kinktober Day 10: somnophilia (consensual) (two days late oops)

Read it on Ao3

Alex got home late, later than he meant to.  He knew Michael’s truck would be in the driveway but he still had an immediate pang of guilt as he saw it.  Michael had a key now, and he knew Alex was going to be late coming back, and he’d still come over and let himself in, and there wasn’t anything to feel bad about except the missed time. 

Well, that and all of the texts Alex had missed while he was on the base, not paying attention to his phone.  He’d only seen them later, when he got into his car to leave.  All of them from Michael, many of them photos, describing the night from the moment Michael let himself in with his key to the dinner he’d made them (and subsequently eaten when he realized Alex would be this late, with a picture of the leftovers in the fridge) to the sexier photos as he spent the night waiting for Alex. 

Alex had inhaled sharply when he got to those photos—Michael half-dressed, Michael naked, smiling suggestively, Michael touching himself, Michael waiting in his bed, looking eager and aroused.  Each photo had an accompanying text that made Alex blush as he read them in the parking lot, his cock twitching with interest.  He’d turned on the car with renewed energy, trying to get home as quickly as possible.  

Of course, once he’d parked  the car behind Michael’s truck, he’d looked at the time stamps, and realized that Michael had sent them over three hours ago.   

He could still hope, though.  Alex thought about all the times Michael had told Alex he could always wake him up if he was asleep when Alex came in, that sleep was never worth missing each other.  Alex felt the same—he’d gladly lose sleep for Michael—but Michael was usually up waiting when Alex came home this late, and Alex was usually up early enough in the morning that he felt bad about waking Michael up then.

Alex opened the door carefully, dropping his bag and locking the door behind him, listening for sounds of movement.  The house was quiet.  He crept to the bathroom, undressing and dropping his clothing in the hamper, and peered into the dark bedroom.  He could see Michael, lying naked with a sheet barely covering him, fast asleep.  

Something about that—about Michael feeling comfortable enough to fall asleep in Alex’s bed —made Alex’s chest ache.  How many times had Michael been awake long after Alex was drifting off, sleepy with sex?  How many times had Michael jolted up when Alex moved at all, ready to run, like he thought he wasn’t supposed to be there?  How many times had Michael grumbled as he rolled out of bed with Alex at 6am, even when Alex told him to stay, to sleep?  Too many times to count, and seeing him fast asleep now was reassuring in the best way.  

Alex sat on the edge of what had become his side of the bed, smiling to himself as he took off his prosthesis, stretching before rolling over onto the bed.  He lay silently next to Michael for a moment, watching him breathe, watching him sleep, enjoying the peaceful look on his face.  It was amazing—that he got to have this soft, vulnerable part of Michael and also the part that sent sexy photos while Alex was at work, that wanted Alex badly enough to try to wait for him naked in bed.  

Alex knew he should just close his eyes and go to sleep—they could fuck in the morning, and Alex could tell Michael how much he’d liked the texts, how fast he’d driven home.  But he couldn’t get the images out of his head—the thoughts overwhelming his exhaustion with arousal, with the warm feeling of seeing Michael asleep in his bed—and he kept thinking about how Michael wanted to be woken up, wanted to not miss out on their time together, as though there was a limit on it, or maybe just because they were catching up on so much missed time already. 

He ran his fingers along Michael’s shoulder, down his arm, curling their hands together.  Michael shifted, making sleepy sounds, but didn’t wake up.  Alex unwound their hands and lightly touched Michael’s hip, stroking gently.  Michael smiled in his sleep, rolling onto his back.  Alex sighed, continuing his soft strokes on Michael’s hip and stomach, until Michael’s cock gave a little twitch of interest.  

Suddenly, Alex wanted to wake Michael up badly, he wanted to show Michael how sorry he was to have missed him earlier, he wanted to show him how much it all affected him—the photos from earlier, and the reality of Michael naked in his bed.  Alex wanted to wake Michael up, and he suddenly had a very good idea of how to do it.  He leaned over cautiously and planted a kiss right next to the base of Michael’s cock. 

Watching Michael’s face, Alex pressed his hands to Michael’s thighs and gently licked the tip of Michael’s cock.  Michael moaned softly in his sleep, and Alex felt emboldened by the sound.  It would be so good to watch Michael wake up to Alex sucking him off, to watch his face register it, to feel his body respond.  Alex held in his own moan, his cock getting hard as he contemplated Michael’s cock, as he licked at it and watched Michael’s breath catch.  

Michael’s cock twitched responsively again and Alex took it into his mouth, letting it sit on his tongue, sucking lightly.  It was different, to be sucking Michael when he wasn’t already hard, but it gave Alex a rush to feel so completely in control, as Michael’s cock started to fill out in his mouth, pressing more firmly against his tongue.  

Soft moans fell from Michael’s mouth, going straight to Alex’s cock.  Still bracing one hand against Michael’s thigh, Alex took his other hand and pressed it against his own cock, not stroking himself so much as just rubbing against the friction of his palm.  Alex circled his tongue around the head of Michael’s cock, licking at the places that made Michael’s hips thrust gently up towards him.  There was something so incredibly erotic in the way Michael’s body responded to Alex, in the way Michael smiled and moaned even in his sleep. 

Michael was fully hard now, and Alex groaned at the way Michael’s cock filled his mouth, as he sucked and licked at it with more vigor.  He swallowed Michael’s cock into his throat, digging his nails into Michael’s thigh, rubbing harder against his own cock.  It was the combination of these that finally woke Michael up.

“Oh, fuck.  Alex?”  Michael’s voice was hoarse and sleepy, and he blinked down at Alex like he wasn’t quite sure he was real.  

Alex pulled off of Michael’s cock, licking his lips.  “Sorry I’m late.”

Michael laughed weakly as Alex dived back onto his cock, licking it slowly before swallowing it deep again.  Michael groaned and thrust up into Alex’s throat hard, one of his hands wiping sleep away from his eyes as the other cradled Alex’s head, gripping his hair. 

“Guess—fuck—you got my texts?”  

Alex hummed his assent, making Michael’s breath catch at the sudden vibration.  Michael’s hips were pumping more forcefully up at Alex, with actual rhythm now that he was awake, and Alex rocked his own hips against his hand more deliberately.  Michael’s face was screwed up with pleasure, and every time he opened his eyes to look at Alex, it was with a mixture of lust and amazement that made Alex swell with happiness.    

Michael pulled at Alex’s hair, thrusting up hard, his breathing labored as he cried out and came into Alex’s mouth.  Alex swallowed around Michael’s cock, letting it soften in his mouth, his own thrusts into his hand spurred on by the little aftershocks shaking through Michael’s body, the little whining sounds dripping from Michael’s lips as Alex licked at his oversensitive cock.       

Eventually, Alex let Michael’s cock slip from his mouth, laying his head against Michael’s thigh and grinding his cock against his hand as Michael urged him on.     

“Come on, Alex,” Michael whispered, his voice still hoarse, his fingers weaved into Alex’s hair and tugging hard.  

Alex let Michael pull him up the bed, so he was lying next to Michael with his cock pressed against Michael’s thigh.  Michael uncurled his fingers from Alex’s hair, running them down Alex’s skin, pressing on his lower back just above his ass, urging on the motions of Alex’s hips as he thrust into his hand and against Michael’s thigh.  Michael cupped Alex’s cheek with his other hand, pressing his tongue into Alex’s mouth as he kissed him.  Alex groaned as he came over his hand and Michael’s thigh, burying the sound against Michael’s lips.  Michael made a pleased noise, squeezing Alex’s ass as he came.

“So,” Michael said when they pulled apart, both breathing heavily, “that was an intense way to wake up.”

Alex took a breath, hesitating.  “Good intense?”

“Fucking great,” Michael said, laughing.  “I guess I should sext you more often.”

Alex grinned, curling up against Michael.  “I guess so.”

[lambourngb]

"Explain the tearaway pants again?"

“you can stay afraid ( or slit the throat of fear and be brave)” - title from Gang of Youths, and that’s all @haloud ‘s fault.

“Explain the tearaway pants again?” Alex asked, picking up the soft, shiny fabric from the box with an incredulous look to Kyle. Of all things he would have predicted as a birthday gift from Kyle, tearaway stripper pants was on the last page of the book, right before a father-son vacation voucher. 

Which he had also received, as a birthday gift from Eric, his latest and most recent now ex-boyfriend. His heart was in the right place, since Alex did say he was estranged from his dad, and well-meaning but ignorant Eric, who called his parents daily, thought a trip to baseball parks would help.

It was hard to explain to anyone he dated that when he said he wasn’t close with Jesse Manes, that it wasn’t just parental tension over his sexuality that could be eased with more talking. How do you say to someone that your dad didn’t just hate his sexuality but had attacked and maimed a teenager over it. That even drugged up with Alex waving a white flag of surrender, even faked as it was, his father had shut down any mention or acknowledgment of who Alex was. 

It was just easier to say that he and his dad did not see eye-to-eye and that it was unlikely to change. Alex had that weird thought that people, even alien shaped people, should be treated with dignity and not eradicated from the earth. There was no common ground to be found over genocide.

“I thought on the weekends, when you were wearing the prosthesis, you might find some use in easy to remove pants if you had your boyfriend over.” Kyle smiled, and moved to show him the tearaway seams that were cleverly hidden. “You told me that sometimes the mood fizzled because of getting undressed-”

“Ah,” Alex acknowledged, looking down at the box again. Another small white lie was coming back to bite him. It was true, getting undressed with someone new, was an ordeal. Forrest had handled it the best, outside of Michael, knowing just when to offer help and just when to back the hell off, but ultimately the secrets and running off because of a text about alien nonsense wore thin with him. After Forrest, he gave up on trying for a deeper relationship considering the number of secrets he guarded and went back to using a dating app which resulted in a few less-than-desirable responses to his leg.

Blaming the fizzle, on his awkward way of undressing, to Kyle was easier than mentioning that some guys lost their interest when the theoretical knowledge of his amputation became factual.

“You hate them.” Kyle reached for the box, which Alex tightened his grip on stubbornly.

“No, these are great and thoughtful, thank you. I was just thinking about the fact, I ah, Eric and I broke up today.”

“What?! Seriously?” Kyle glanced around Alex’s house with a clenched fist, as if he was waiting to see Eric appear, so he could fight him. “That dick broke up with you on your birthday? I never liked that douche.”

Alex smiled weakly, “You thought Eric was great, don’t lie.”

“I thought he was great because he didn’t act weird about your friendship with Guerin, and he’s one of the best scrub nurses in the OR but if he broke up with you on your birthday-”

“Okay well no need for workplace awkwardness, I broke up with him. In fact, you should probably take his side.” Alex gathered the wrapping paper to ball it up, and stood up to head into his kitchen, with Kyle following on his heels. He lifted the trash can lid, picking up the trip voucher on top to hand over to Kyle before disposing of the colored paper. “It’s not his fault, he is just probably too idealistic about the world for my taste.”

“Jesus, a father-son bonding trip? Yeah, no.” Kyle shook his head, before leaning against the countertop and studying Alex intently. “I don’t blame you for dumping him, I mean, you told him about how your dad treated you right?”

Once upon a time, to keep Kyle from demonizing Jim Valenti, the only man who was ever kind to Alex, he had revealed the extent of the abuse he suffered growing up. He never imagined that Kyle would end up being a part of his daily orbit, so it was at the time, a safe admission. The only reason he had any sort of comfort around Kyle now was he knew that Kyle had his own reasons for hating Jesse Manes. The support he received wasn’t pity, it was shared pain. Kyle understood, and of course Michael understood, but the rest of the world? He couldn’t trust it.

There were days when he wished he had been able to conceal the truth from Maria as a kid.

“My dad is a level of evil that approaches comic-book villain. It’s hard to come up with the vocabulary to explain it. It’s definitely not first date ground to cover.” 

“You could just say what you said to me, that he was an abusive, homophobic dick.”

“I tried that actually, with Matt, but his dad is Army, so he thought I was just talking about typical macho man bullshit. His dad called him a fairy and won’t pick up the phone when he called his mom, but he’d never tried to kill him for being gay.” Alex rubbed at his forehead, and shrugged dismissively, “even if I could explain it, there’s still alien bullshit to worry about. Forrest couldn’t deal with my secrets, so…”

“Now that, my friend, we can commiserate over. Even if Stef understood my friendship with Liz, she was less supportive of running out on her to answer Isobel Evans' every little call. As Rosa calls it, those bitch ass aliens, strike again.” Kyle picked up his half-empty beer from the counter to clink against Alex’s in solidarity.

Later, after Kyle was gone, Alex wandered out to his patio to light a fire. Despite the voucher from the now ex Eric and the funny gift from Kyle, his birthday had gone well. Maria had treated him to an amp for his sound setup, an expensive gift had it been new, but this one was reconditioned by Guerin. Liz and Max had treated him to lunch at the Crashdown with a four show pass at the local concert hall. Rosa had baked a gourmet cake, and even Isobel had dropped off a bottle of expensive scotch. 

Though it hadn’t worked out, Forrest had texted a nice birthday message along with an invitation to join a group of his friends for an antique market trip to Santa Fe. 

Alex tipped his head back in his chair, listening to the crackle of the firewood settling in the pit and finally allowed himself to think about Michael, or more specifically the absence of Michael today. It was pressing on a bruise, to consider the gift from Maria might actually have been a joint gift. He didn’t think they had gotten back together again, but he wasn’t sure.

The gap in knowledge about Maria warred with the feeling that maybe Michael had forgotten, and it ached. He wasn’t sure which hurt more. 

His phone vibrated against his leg. Alex placed his beer on the ground next to his chair and opened the notification. It was his security system letting him know that someone had pulled up to the front of the house. His heart thumped painfully but hopefully as he recognized Michael’s truck.

Sitting with his back to the gate made him itch in anticipation but not fear as he heard the crunch of Michael’s boots against the gravel. “You’re late.”

“Yeah, sorry. Um, happy birthday” Michael replied as he closed the distance in the dark to Alex’s chair. He threw himself into the chair gracelessly, before picking up his phone to check the time, “I’m not too late am I? This says it’s after midnight.”

Shivering a little, even though it was warm, Alex took a sip of his beer. “You’re never too late, Michael.”

The words settled between them, weighty and revealing. Alex immediately wanted to take them back. That was too truthful. Perhaps he was getting maudlin because of his birthday, but having Michael, someone who knew him inside and out, after a day of feeling just out of step with everyone else, was a balm on his heart.

Michael placed his hat next to them on the patio, glancing back toward the house with a sympathetic glance. “I figured. And um, I heard from Valenti about Eric, so, I thought you might not turn me away if I showed up.”

“Is that why you’re here?” Alex took another long swallow, staring into the flames, as the previous comfort of Michael’s presence faded. Not a pity visit. He couldn’t take that. Not daring to look at Michael because seeing his profile lit up by the firelight always did things to Alex’s heart, he finished his beer. Things he was still working on letting go of for his own good. “I’m fine, it wasn’t serious with Eric.”

“I’m glad you’re fine, but that’s not why I’m here.” 

There was a rustle of paper that caught Alex’s attention, and as he finally turned to face Michael, he froze. There was a folder in Michael’s hand. He couldn’t help but remember the recent past, where the cover of a folder barely covered the horrors of within. It was always gruesome intake forms or grisly after action reports that gleefully detailed the murder of civilians and the incarceration of aliens.

Michael shook the folder gently, “go on, it’s not gonna bite.”

Pressing his lips together in resignation, Alex reached for the folder. As rocky as things had been in the past, he was certain Michael wouldn’t try to hurt him on his birthday. It wasn’t his fault that Alex was a pessimist. Flipping open the manila cover, he paused again. His eyes roved down a list of names and numbers, along with a familiar family name.

“That’s my grandmother’s name,” Alex furrowed his brow in confusion looking over to Michael, as he leaned forward in happy anticipation.

“So last year, remember how I went to Texas with Max,” Michael began, and paused at the pained expression on Alex’s face. Right, it was unlikely that the beginning of Maria’s feelings had been forgotten. “Dumb question, okay well, we met an old woman from the Mescalero Res and her granddaughter. They were practicing some fake faith healing con game, which kinda pissed me off, until I realized the props they used were drawn from a visitor they had.”

“A visitor?”

“Yeah, they used lights to make their hand glow when they healed. She described a woman who lived there, and never spoke but had that ability. I drove there last month to ask her more about it. It turns out this woman was introduced to the tribe by your grandmother.” Michael smiled broadly, his fingers tapping with impatient energy. “So I went to the Diné people to ask about her. I know she’s passed on, but she left stories. An oral history. Err, they didn’t want to talk to me, being a white guy, but after I fixed just about every car on the Res-”

“That’s where you’ve been every weekend?”

Michael looked pleased, “You noticed?”

Caught out by just how aware he was of Michael’s movements, Alex gestured, “That’s not important, um keep going with your story.”

Still looking pleased, Michael picked up his tale, “So after I fixed every piece of shit car, every finicky generator, and promised that I would only repeat this to another member of the People, they told me what happened. Your grandmother and great-grandmother ran a sort of underground network for women in trouble. One night, in 1947, a group of ...visitors found her and her mom on the side of the road. They were waiting for supplies, from a sympathetic doctor.”

“Wait,” Alex stuttered, looking down at the list of names and numbers. “Are you saying-”

“They saved ten crash survivors that night, and scattered them to other tribes for safety.” Michael reached over to tap the paper, “I have no idea where they went, that’s still a secret to me, but… some of my people lived, free. Because of your family.”

Overwhelmed, Alex squeezed his eyes shut tightly. It was no use, he could feel the tears spilling out rebelliously down his cheeks, as he sucked in an unsteady breath. The weight of his name, of the evil done by his father, was still there, but now there was a counter-balance. Harshly Alex gasped for another breath, shuddering as a sob broke through his control.

“Sweetheart, oh god, I didn’t mean to make you cry-” Michael murmured, distraught as he shifted closer, placing a tentative hand on Alex’s shoulder. The simple touch unleashed what shaky hold on control Alex had, as he collapsed into Michael’s arms. Without hesitation, Michael pulled Alex into his embrace, letting him shake in the safe confines of his strength.

The poison that Alex had felt, writhing under his skin, from as long as he could remember was slowly being lanced and drained. It didn’t matter that Michael had never blamed Alex for his family, no words could touch that reservoir of toxin inside him that marked him a Manes Man. Only actions could. 

On the day celebrating his birth, Alex could finally feel peace regarding the blood in his veins.

“I’m sorry, I should have let you know I was looking into your family after Arizona’s grandmother mentioned it. I was going to, if my campaign of fixin’ shit didn’t work, ‘cause you’re a member, they would have talked to you, I just wanted to give you some good info. But if I crossed the line, I’m sorry-”

Alex silenced Michael’s apologies with his lips.

His action halted Michael for a moment, before he groaned against Alex’s lips and deepened the kiss hungrily. His hands came up to cup Alex’s skull gently even as he increased his efforts of climbing into Alex’s skin through the sheer connection of the kiss. Long moments passed as Alex bit gently before diving into the silky heat of Michael’s mouth.

The need for oxygen won at last over his other instincts and reluctantly Alex broke the kiss. He kept his forehead pressed against Michael’s as they traded deep breaths in the silence. Closing his eyes, Alex spoke quietly, “If *I* crossed a line just then-”

“You didn’t, as long as you’re not sorry.”

Looking up at Michael’s dark, still slightly stunned eyes, Alex smiled weakly, “I’m not, but I admit, I didn’t see this happening. With you. I thought you didn’t want to go down this road again.”

Michael reached up, combing his fingers through Alex’s soft, growing dark locks gently. “I don’t want to go down the *same* road, but I was hopin’ we might find a different path. And full disclosure, we’re kinda ahead of my plans. I didn’t think you were gonna dump Eric today-”

Huffing a soft laugh, Alex replied wryly, “I wasn’t planning on it, but he thought my dad and I could patch things up by going to Wrigley Field together. He bought me a Field of Dreams-themed trip for me and dear old dad.”

“What. The. Fuck.” Michael blinked a few times, clearly running the words through his mind for meaning. “For one thing, you don’t even like baseball, and for another, your dad is a homophobic murdering psychopath.”

Alex burst out laughing at the offense in Michael’s voice. Pieces slotted into place, knowing that Michael understood not just on a theoretical level, but a deeply personal level just how fucked that suggestion was about Jesse. “God, you’re right, I hate baseball.”

He captured Michael’s hand, still stroking through his hair, and pressed a soft kiss on his rough calloused palm. Hands that had spent weeks working tirelessly for free just to get Alex some answers and peace about where he came from and who he was. A fresh burn of tears threatened as he thought about the effort Michael had expended.

“More tears?” Michael remarked softly, feeling the wet brush of Alex’s eyelashes against his hand. 

“Happy tears.” Alex straightened and got to his feet, holding onto Michael’s hand. He cast a considering eye on the fire, deciding it had burned down low enough to install the fire pit cover. Rubbing his thumb against the silky seam of his pants, he tugged Michael toward the house, “So Kyle got me these pants for my birthday, and they were the second best present I had today.” His smile turned wicked as he led the way toward the bedroom with confidence, “I would really like to show you how they work, if you’re interested...”

[echo-bleu]

Muffled Screams

@lire-casander, happy birthday!! I hope you had an amazing day. I really meant to post this early enough for you to actually see it today, but I’ve only got a minute to spare till midnight, so that’s a bust :D I still hope you like it!

This is set sometime after season 1, ignoring season 2 (domestic Malex with emotional h/c and fluff).

Michael wakes up with a start, to the sound of muffled screams. He sighs internally, forbidding himself from turning in bed to face Alex. It's the second time this night, and it's not even four yet. He stays very still until Alex's panting subsides, giving him a minute to compose himself before he yawns and stretches, finally turning.

“Hey,” he murmurs, seeing Alex's open eyes staring at him. “You're awake.”

“So are you,” Alex points out. For a moment, Michael wonders if he's betrayed himself, but Alex just runs a hand down his bare shoulder. “It's early. You should go back to sleep.”

Michael nods, slowly. He almost wants to say something, to tell Alex that he knows what woke him up, but he doesn't.

He is lost. He's been living with Alex for almost eight weeks now, and things have been going surprisingly well. He half expected to have trouble adjusting, after years of being on his own in his trailer, or that Alex would feel crowded, or that they would have the same trouble communicating that have held them back for so long, but none of that happened.

That's not to say that it has been easy. Alex maintains a strict schedule even on his days off that clashes with Michael's need to sleep in. Michael is about as far from domestic as anyone could be, and neither of them can really cook. Suddenly being squished together in the same house, after so many years apart, has been difficult in many way, and not the least because they both agreed not to allow themselves to fall into bed instead of talking about things. Which they haven't been all that successful at.

But globally, it's going great. There has been no talk of taking a step back, of Michael going back to his trailer even for a few nights, though he made it clear that he's ready to do so. He knows Alex probably wouldn't ask him to leave even if he needed him to, at least not frontally, but he hasn't been getting this kind of vibe from him at all.

There's just one bump in the road.

Michael doesn't know exactly why he keeps pushing back the moment when they'll have to address it. He wants to give Alex time, and space to deal with this, he tells himself. The first few nights, Michael freaked out when he woke up to Alex's screams, and Alex seemed more shaken by his panic than by his own nightmares. Nightmares that left him terrified and panting, and rarely let him go back to sleep.

After the third night, Alex stopped screaming and started biting his pillow. It still woke Michael up, but that's when he started to pretend to sleep, instead of making Alex feel guilty. He always meant to address it at some point, when they were both awake and in a good mental place during the day, but he never found the right moment. And now it has gone from once a night to twice or three times, and Michael can't take it anymore.

Either Alex's PTSD is somehow getting worse, or Michael's presence is keeping him from using whatever coping mechanism he needs. Michael needs to talk to him.

He just dreads the moment so much. The way Alex looked at him after waking him up those first nights, that haunted, horrified gaze, he never wants to see that on Alex's face again.

He'll talk to Alex today, he decides. It's Sunday, they have nowhere to be, and all Michael has planned is repairing the leak in the gutter behind the house. There's no rain on the forecast for at least a week, so it can wait if needed.

Michael turns around in bed and drapes an arm around Alex, casually. Alex is still rigid with tension, his skin clammy. Michael doesn't show him that he's noticed, and he yawns, closing his eyes.

*

Alex is already up when Michael wakes up again. Michael pats the bed to find his side cold, though it's only six. Alex isn't the kind to sleep in, ever. Michael found that out when he moved in.

Getting up sleepily, wearing only a pair of boxers, Michael runs a hand through his hair and walks out of the bedroom, and into Alex's office next door. Alex is sitting on a small bench in the corner he's set up for his daily physical therapy, his crutches propped up on the wall behind him.

“Morning! I was ready to go shower, but you can go first if you want,” he tells Michael, far too enthusiastically for this time of the day.

“No,” Michael yawns. “Need coffee first.”

“Let me,” Alex says, standing up and grabbing one crutch. He hops over to the kitchen, on the other side of the corridor, to fill what's become Michael's mug with coffee. Accepting it, Michael wonders how he can be so cheerful early in the morning with how badly he seems to sleep.

“Thank you,” he nods, yawning again.

He busies himself with making breakfast while Alex is in the shower. Alex comes back out a while later, with a towel around him and nothing else, to get dressed and put on his prosthesis. Michael can't help staring.

“You see something you like?” Alex asks, amused.

They've been going slow in that department, too, but not so slow that they've been chaste while sleeping in the same bed for two months.

Michael puts their plates on the kitchen table and sits down. “Yes,” he tells Alex, watching him put on clothes through the open door of their bedroom. “But you got up far too early again, so no morning sex for you.”

“We could go back to bed,” Alex offers.

“Maybe later,” Michael says. He takes a deep breath. “I, uh, I want to talk to you about something.”

He should have waited until Alex was here with him, because Alex visibly tenses in the middle of putting on socks, sitting on the bed. “What is it?” Alex asks cautiously.

“Over breakfast. Finish what you're doing first.”

But it's certainly a mood killer. Alex slips on his pants as fast a he can, and comes out of the bedroom barefoot, even though Michael knows he hates walking directly on his prosthesis.

“Tell me,” he demands, sitting down across from Michael. He doesn't even look at the food.

“You're still having nightmares,” Michael says.

Alex closes off immediately. Michael knew this conversation wouldn't be smooth, but he really hoped to avoid an all-out fight. “I'm not criticizing you or complaining,” he clarifies. “On the contrary. But I'm worried.”

Once again, it's the wrong thing to say. Alex grits his teeth looks away, staring through the window. “I'm sorry for waking you up,” he says.

“No, no, this isn't about that. I want to help, Alex. I want to wake up for you. I want to hold you and comfort you. I just want you to talk to me.”

Alex works his jaw for a moment. His eyes dart around−Michael clocks the brief stop on the fridge, where Alex has pinned up his therapist's anxiety checklist−and he takes a breath. “Okay,” he says. “But I don't think I can do it right now.” He pauses and licks his lips. “I need to think about it, and I need to be more rested so I don't get automatically defensive.”

Michael feels a rush of pride at Alex, clearly communicating his needs instead of clamming up, so strong that he nearly tears up. It's the hard work in therapy paying up. “I'll be there when you're ready,” he says.

Alex manages a small smile. “Thank you.”

*

Michael purposefully gives Alex some space all morning, by fixing the leaking gutter on his own. It's done faster than he counted on, so he goes ahead and cleans the whole gutter at well, going around the house with his ladder. He can't use his powers here, not more than a touch of them when he feels the ladder move under him, so he does everything by hand. It feels good, keeps him from worrying about the conversation to come.

It's almost lunch time when he finishes. He carefully puts his ladder and his tools away−a concession to Alex's tidiness, because Michael is more of an organized-chaos kind of person. As he goes to wash his hands in the bathroom, he expects to find Alex either at his desk or at the piano with his headphones on, but he's not there. Instead, his laptop is gone. Michael frowns and dries his hands.

The bedroom door is ajar, and sure enough, Alex is on the bed, his laptop beside him. Only he's not using it. Alex is curled up on his side, his head on his arm, like sleep came over him suddenly. His leg is in its usual spot by his nightstand, but he hasn't bothered to pin his pant leg up, so he didn't expect to stay without for long. One earbud is still in his right ear, while the other has fallen on the bed. Michael's heart melts at how adorable Alex looks in his sleep.

“'chael?” Alex asks, stirring. Of course. Michael has yet to manage to sneak up on him, whether Alex is awake or not.

“I'm here,” Michael says. “Want some lunch?”

Alex sits up and rubs at his eyes. “Um, sure. Sorry, I fell asleep.”

“You needed it,” Michael smiles. Alex yawns and nods, still looking embarrassed. “Want to cuddle for a bit before I start cooking?”

Alex tilts his head and gives him a small nod, looking strangely vulnerable. Michael kicks off his shoes−he really should have done that at the door−and lies down beside him, setting the laptop aside. Alex snuggles closer and sighs.

“I get scared of falling asleep,” he murmurs. “The nightmares, they just won't stop.”

“Do you want to tell me what's in them?” Michael asks.

“It's not always the same thing. I have plenty of trauma to fuel them. Usually explosions. Sometimes my father. Sometimes you.”

“Me?” Michael frowns. Something like dread settles in his stomach.

“Usually you dying, in Caulfield. I never get you out in time. I'd almost...I'd almost gotten rid of the nightmares, before we went there. Not completely, but they weren't as bad anymore, I knew what to do with them. I don't know if it's the explosion that triggered them, or nearly losing you, or−” he trails off, lost.

Michael closes his eyes in dismay.

“I know you have nightmares of it too,” Alex says. “You lost so much that day. I keep thinking that I made a rookie mistake, going there without proper recon, and it cost you so much.”

“Alex, it wasn't your fault!” Michael exclaims, horrified. He had no idea Alex even felt that way.

“I didn't want to burden you with my guilt,” Alex sighs, as if he hasn't even heard him. “You have enough on your shoulder, and it's selfish of me. But...in the other dreams, you decide that you've had enough of me, or you blame me for my family, or−you leave, every time. And then you die, and it's always because of me.” Alex presses his face against his pillow, a few tears escaping his eyes.

“I didn't want you to know,” he continues. “I guess my brain is just...waiting for the other shoe to drop. For you to realize that I'm not worth it.”

“Alex, look at me.” Michael gently slips a hand on Alex's shoulder and squeezes. “I will never think that. Maybe we'll fight, probably, it might get rocky at times, but I will never thing you're not worth it. I didn't once, in the ten years you were gone. Why would I start now?”

“Because I think I'm not worth it?” Alex offers.

“Well you're wrong. I'm here to stay, okay? You are worth everything to me.”

Michael's hand hasn't left Alex shoulder. Alex makes a little sound, midway between a sob and a whimper, and brings their forehead together. “I love you,” he murmurs. “I want to be the person you deserve.”

“You already are. You're already far more than I deserve, Alex. All I want is you, okay. You, as you are. Not some perfect, dream version, you.”

“Okay,” Alex murmurs. “I want you, too. Just you.”

“Will you let me hold you, next time you have a nightmare?” Michael asks, pushing a little because it feels right. “Show you that I'm not going anywhere?”

Alex swallows. “I'll try,” he says. “It's not…sometimes touch doesn't feel right, when it's bad. But I'll try.”

“I don't have to touch you. Just let me be there for you.”

“Okay,” Alex whispers.

Michael runs a finger down Alex's face, slowly. He thinks about getting up to cook, but he feels exhausted. Emotional conversations take a lot out of him. So he doesn't move, cuddling with Alex like he dreamed for ten years he'd get to do one day. He's not going anywhere.

He has everything he wants right here.

[magic-and-moonlit-wings]

Backstory timeline for ‘Becoming The Mask’

Since I’m Not Using The One From Wizards

Notes: not every Trollhunter will be listed

Eight million years ago: First trollish writing appears. Trolls have culture and oral history prior to this point, but this was when literacy became a thing; or at least, the earliest written documents that survive to the present day date back to this time.

Mentions of ‘Trollhunters’ appear in these early writings. ‘Troll’ can be used to mean ‘a member of the species’ but it can also be used to mean ‘a member of a particular tribe’. 

Hunter Trolls are nomadic and travel alone or in small bands between various tribes, fighting monsters like Nyarlagroths. 

Being a Hunter is a self-appointed job. There can, therefore, be more than one Trollhunter at a time, but there can also be periods without any active Trollhunters. 

The Trollhunters are mostly young adventurers who want to see the world and fight things. 

Some Trollhunters are trolls who were banished from their home tribes, and are taking the only job that allows them to continue interacting with other trolls. 

Some are basically running protection rackets. (“Nice cave you have here. Be a shame if it got infested with monsters.”) These Hunters usually get taken down at some point by another Trollhunter who isn’t running a protection racket and takes offense at the Hunter reputation being besmirched. 

Because Trollhunters travel between different tribes, sometimes they get commissioned to escort other travelers, or go to dangerous places and retrieve magical/medical ingredients. 

Trollhunters begin to be called upon to mediate inter-tribal disputes; if there is a Trollhunter who has saved both tribes involved in said dispute, they are therefore a neutral party that both sides are willing to trust.

Six million years ago: Mediating inter-tribal disputes becomes an expected part of the Trollhunter job, even if they’ve never dealt with either tribe before.

It becomes a faux pas for a Trollhunter to try and refuse a request for aid.

Because most of these jobs are dangerous, a member of one Trollhunter band invents a grit-shaka, a talisman that takes away fear. The resulting recklessness proves fatal for almost every wearer. 

This is the origin of both “Trollhunting Rule Number One, always be afraid”, and the expression “the fearless are the first to die”.

That band of Trollhunters decides to start calling themselves Ga-Huels (“adventurers” in archaic trollish) instead of Trollhunters, so other trolls will stop asking them favours when the band passes through their territory.

Four million years ago: The Ga-Huels expand enough to become a tribe in their own right. They continue to be nomadic rather than permanently settling somewhere. 

Their typical pattern is to move into another tribe’s territory, conquer the locals, demand tribute while there, and then move on to the next place. 

The Decimaar Blade is invented and magically bound to the Ga-Huel leader. (Decimaar means “authority” in archaic trollish.) 

It can be wielded by any member of the tribe, and only by members of the tribe, but only summoned or dissipated by the leader. The link will be passed down to anyone who manages to kill the leader using the Decimaar Blade. If the leader dies another way, the sword chooses its own successor. 

The sword also gives its wielder the ability to look into people’s minds, intended to give the wielder a heads-up to sneak attacks. The “mind control” feature came about as an accidental overload of this power. 

One million years ago: The Ga-Huels officially start referring to their leader as a Warlord.

500-300 thousand years ago, by current estimate based on fossil evidence: Homo sapiens diverges from other hominids.

Six thousand years ago/circa 4000 BCE: Trolls discover that there is a surface, rather than the whole universe being rocks and caves and magma. 

Quag, of the Wumpa tribe, meets and befriends Merlin and Morgana. They study magic from each other. Morgana starts doing research into how to allow trolls to withstand sunlight, on the theory that this could also enhance her Shadow Magic, which is weakened at certain times of day.

Some of the Wumpa tribe form a settlement on the surface, under the leadership of Quag (now their king), and rename themselves the Quagawumps.

More trolls begin visiting the surface after discovering how tasty the animals are. Most trolls do not yet distinguish between humans and any other surface animal.

The Ga-Huels begin actively displacing trolls with territories near the surface, in the interests of claiming the best bases of operation for hunting parties. They start to be referred to as Gumm-Gumms.

“The fearless are the first to die” starts to be used as a taunt instead of strategic advice, becoming “the brave are often first to die”.

Gunmar is born and quickly becomes known as a powerful and dangerous wizard. He kills King Quag when the Ga-Huel attempt to conquer the swamp.

Merlin learns (or remembers, from conversations with Quag) that a Trollhunter cannot refuse a call for help. He approaches the only active Trollhunter of the time, Gorgus the Great, to ask her to protect humans from Gumm-Gumms.

Merlin builds the Amulet of Daylight. Designing and assembling it takes a few decades. 

Because he doesn’t have Shadow Magic, which is necessary to allow trolls to touch sunlight, he cuts off Morgana’s hand and forearm to melt down and infuse into the metal. 

Tethering the artifact to one person at a time and letting it choose a ‘worthy successor’ is based on the enchantment structure of the Decimaar Blade. 

Merlin adds a few safety features, such as the amulet not choosing whoever killed its last bearer as the new bearer; no one being able to wield the sword except for the summoner; and it being possible to steal the Amulet entirely (in case he ever had to take it back from the Trollhunter). 

He also adds a language translation enchantment, so the troll who carries the Amulet can talk to humans. 

Gorgus accepts the weapon and armour, but continues referring to herself as a ‘Trollhunter’ rather than ‘the Champion of Daylight’.

Morgana’s research into how trolls work allows her to create an animate stone prosthesis for herself. She swears revenge on Merlin.

Five thousand years ago/circa 3000 BCE: Spar the Spiteful is the called as the second Champion of Daylight. He wasn’t a Trollhunter before that and does not want the job, but is magically stuck with it. 

Gorgus is annoyed at Merlin for not telling her that her soul would be trapped in the Amulet to watch over and occasionally advise her successor. It is unclear if Merlin knew this would happen but she suspects he did. 

Spar meets an Akiridion, on Earth for reasons unspecified. He helps jump-start her spaceship by pushing it off a cliff after the local humans throw a spear through the Daxial Array. (Scene from the Trollhunters spin-off comic, The Felled.)

The Gumm-Gumms begin to use the Darklands as a permanent base of operations, with Killahead Bridge giving them rapid access to the surface. Killahead is one of the earliest examples of trolls using bridges as portals. 

Morgana experiments with transmuting stone to flesh and back again. She invents Creeper’s Sun toxin and its antidote during these experiments. 

2000 BCE: In the course of her experiments, Morgana finds a way to 'pause’ the development flesh or living stone, and to restart the process later. 

(This is eventually used to keep the Familiars from aging in the Darklands, and the Changelings from aging until they get Familiars.) 

She uses this to give herself eternal youth on top of her wizardly longevity.

Humans begin launching counter-attacks at the less dangerous troll communities on the surface, intended as retaliation against the Gumm-Gumm raids. 

Even though trolls can now tell humans are capable of more complex reasoning than most other surface animals, these attacks encourage anti-human sentiments, so eating humans remains common even among troll tribes that don’t actively hunt them.

1000 BCE: Morgana begins to consider the merits of an Eternal Night, which would allow her to access her full level of power at any time rather than the fluctuations in power that the day-night cycle brings. 

0 BCE/CE: Maddrux the Many becomes the Trollhunter. There have been a few others between Spar and Maddrux. By this point it is more-or-less forgotten that ‘Trollhunter’ was once a job title that had nothing to do with the Amulet of Daylight.

300 CE: Orlagk the Oppressor becomes the Gumm-Gumm Warlord and names the wizard Gunmar the Skullcrusher as his top general.

400 CE: Maddrux the Many dies and is succeeded as Trollhunter by Araknak the Agile.

Late 400s-early 500s, the time period to which Arthurian legend dates back: Rise and fall of Camelot.

500 CE: Morgana proposes an alliance to the Gumm-Gumms, giving them magical items and cutting them in on her ‘Eternal Night’ plan, in exchange for them giving her trolls to experiment on.

530 CE: Deya is born. 

600 CE: A plague ravages Deya’s village. Her newly-hatched brother is one of the dead. The villagers are weak when humans attack, and most of the surviving trolls are killed. 

Deya survives the plague and the raid. Since she is small and ‘harmless’ at the time, she is taken by the humans, who rename her ‘Callista’ and raise her as an exotic pet. 

She picks up their language, but her ability to speak is seen as a charming quirk rather than a sign of intelligence. 

800 CE: ‘Callista’ runs away and tries to find more trolls. 

Vendel is born.

900 CE: ‘Callista’ finally meets other trolls for the first time since she was in her eighties (the trollish equivalent of a human 5-year-old). Her clumsiness with social niceties gets her the nickname ‘Calamity’. 

A series of negative coincidences happen in various places she tries to stay, and she gets a reputation among other trolls for being bad luck. The nickname ‘Calamity’ gradually becomes a more deliberate insult.

Mid to late 1100s: Usurna and Gunmar secretly make an alliance.

Merlin meets a young con artist named Hisirdoux Casperan, realizes the boy has actual magic as well as slight-of-hand, and takes him on as an apprentice.

Although eating humans is still not something most trolls think is morally a big deal, it’s also starting to be more trouble than it’s worth, so avoiding humans becomes more typical. 

Early 1200s: Usurna becomes Queen of the Krubera.

A troll scholar named Bodus attempts to study the Gumm-Gumms, creating The Book Of Ga-Huel. He learns some old Ga-Huel magic during his work to make his book self-update as their tribe’s history progresses. Due to overall troll sentiments about Gumm-Gumms, Bodus himself becomes feared and distrusted.

1200-1300: AAARRRGGHH and Stricklander are born (exact dates undecided) and taken by the Gumm-Gumms. AAARRRGGHH is raised as a soldier and Stricklander becomes one of the first successful Changelings. 

Mid 1200s: The Trollhunter, Tellad-Urr the Triumphant, cracks under the never-ending demands placed on Trollhunters to resolve every petty little problem, and starts working with the Gumm-Gumms, becoming known as Tellad-Urr the Terrible.

1297: Angor Rot asks Morgana for help in protecting his village from the Gumm-Gumms. Morgana responds by taking Angor’s soul and magically enslaving him. She also magically pauses his aging, so he’ll perpetually be in his prime while hunting down the Trollhunters. 

1350s: Angor Rot kills Tellad-Urr the Terrible and absorbs his soul. 

1360s: Gogun the Gentle, the Trollhunter after Tellad-Urr, dies peacefully in his sleep. Gogun is the first Champion Of Daylight not to die in combat.

1380s: Angor Rot kills his second Trollhunter.

Deya learns her birth name when she is called by the Amulet. Trolls are still not particularly welcoming of her, but they stop actively driving her away. 

Early 1400s: Blinky is born. (Exact date undecided, but he is in his 600s in the present day.) 

Skarlagk, daughter of Orlagk, is also born. 

Enough Changelings exist that the Janus Order is formed. 

Mid 1400s: Testing the limits of how mutable she can make living stone, Morgana creates the first Polymorphs; Changelings who do not need a Familiar to take on human form. Because this is more difficult and has a higher death rate than making ‘standard’ Changelings, she only makes a few of them. 

Late 1400s: Deya goes on her quest to punch Merlin in the face for being chronically cryptic. (Scene from the Trollhunters spin-off comic, The Felled.)

Non-Gumm-Gumm trolls learn that Changelings exist. Gaggletacks are discovered. 

Trolls start making more active efforts to conceal their existence from humans, partly to avoid encounters with Changelings and partly because human weaponry continues to improve.

Early 1500s: Gunmar kills Orlagk and becomes the new Gumm-Gumm Warlord. 

Gunmar loses his eye in the fight. Merlin has a vision of the Triumbric Stones being the key to defeating Gunmar, so he gathers them and hides them in places he thinks will be safe until he figures out how exactly that will work. 

AAARRRGGHH internally questions how safe it is to remain on Gunmar’s side, since AAARRRGGHH is now at the same rank Gunmar was before overthrowing Orlagk and therefore Gunmar might start viewing AAARRRGGHH with suspicion. 

Mid 1500s: Skarlagk the Scorned begins recruiting Gumm-Gumms for a coup, intending to kill and replace Gunmar to avenge her father.

Jim, Nomura, and Not Enrique are born, kidnapped, and made into Changelings.(Nomura is older than the boys, but only by about twenty years, which isn’t much for trolls.) 

Bular is also born. 

The Dishonourable Bodus learns of the Triumbric Stones and records that there is a way to defeat Gunmar. Stories about the hypothetical ‘Eclipse Sword’ begin to spread. Gunmar has Bodus and his students tracked down and killed, and all found copies of his work destroyed.

After burning Bodus’ Final Testament, Stricklander reads and memorizes the riddle about where to find the “three forces elemental” which make up “a shadow’s bane”.

Deya hears that Merlin found a potential way to defeat Gunmar and is annoyed that he hasn’t told her about it, but right now she doesn’t have time to track the wizard down and punch him again.

1582: The Gregorian calendar is established. 

Late 1500s: AAARRRGGHH deserts the Gumm-Gumms. To prove himself trustworthy to Deya, he gives her crucial information about the location and function of Killahead Bridge, the Darklands’ main access point to the surface.

Anticipating an attack after AAARRRGGHH’s desertion, Gunmar leaves Bular in the care of the Janus Order.

Deya seals the Gumm-Gumms in the Darklands.

Merlin seals Morgana in the Heartstone and decides to take a nap for the next few centuries.

Early 1600s: Morgana figures out how to siphon Merlin’s magic.

Skarlagk openly turns against Gunmar. Many Gumm-Gumms resent being trapped in the Darklands, which makes recruitment easier for her. 

Gunmar begins mind-controlling more and more of his soldiers. This increases the rate of desertion among those not being mind-controlled. 

The Janus Order beings trying to gather and rebuild Killahead Bridge.

1620: The Mayflower sets sail, with trolls stowing away ... somehow.

1630s: The trolls find the Heartstone and settle under what will become Arcadia Oaks. 

Birthstones which were carried along during the migration begin to hatch. Draal is one of the first trolls born in Heartstone Trollmarket.

AAARRRGGHH makes contact with the Krubera for the first time since his infancy.

Dictatious, who was too close to the bridge and pulled into the Darklands by accident, is found by Gunmar’s forces. He swears loyalty to Gunmar to avoid being mind-controlled or killed. 

Gunmar decides that, if Dictatious was able to survive the Darklands alone for as long as he did, he must have potential and be worth keeping around. 

At the age of 1100, Deya the Deliverer is killed by Bular. 

Unkar the Unfortunate is called as the Trollhunter and killed by Angor Rot before Bular even knows who the new Trollhunter is. 

Late 1600s: Unkar’s successor is also killed by Angor Rot, but successfully traps him before dying. 

Their successor is killed by Bular, who assumes the Trollhunter he just killed was Deya’s successor. 

On Gunmar’s orders, as conveyed through a Fetch, Usurna makes contact with a few Changelings, who begin spying on trolls instead of humans and reporting to her instead of Bular. 

Gunmar’s eye is passed from Usurna to the Changelings to the Janus Order.

The head of the Janus Order is aware that there’s at least one non-Changeling troll besides Bular who still serves Gunmar but isn’t in the Darklands. The head does not know Usurna’s name and has never met her in person.

Bular does know Usurna’s identity, but has never had the opportunity to meet her in person.

Through Usurna, who got the information from AAARRRRGGHH when he told the Krubera about how he left the Gumm-Gumms, the Janus Order learns that Killahead Bridge is now ���locked’ by the Amulet of Daylight, and the Amulet will be necessary to reopen it. 

Stricklander begins building a fake Amulet on the hypothesis it can work as a ‘lock pick’.

1700s: A branch of the Janus Order located in New Jersey discovers a Heartstone. Rather than turning it over to Gunmar, they desert as a whole, making it look like humans discovered them and the Changelings gutted the base to destroy any evidence of what they were doing before getting wiped out. 

The Changeling deserters rename their group the Jersey Devils, after the local legend.

1850: California becomes a state.

Kanjigar becomes the Trollhunter. 

Stricklander becomes the leader of the Janus Order.

1859: Nomura is assigned to a Familiar. She will later resent that she “just missed” the Renaissance. 

1875: El Rancho Arcadia, the town that will become Arcadia Oaks, is founded. (Year and original town name seen on a sign on the final page of the spin-off comic The Secret History Of Trollkind.)

1876: Nomura, with her Familiar’s family, attends the first ever performance of Peer Gynt.

1877: Phonographs are invented. Stricklander buys one for personal use and Morgana communicates with him through it. All Janus Order bases are equipped with phonographs as soon as possible. 

1900: Nomura and Draal meet and attempt to date. 

1903: The Janus Order finds out Nomura has an ‘in’ with the Trollhunter’s son and she is instructed to try and steal the Amulet. Strickler gives Nomura the fake Amulet in case she can swap it for the real one. 

Nancy not-Domzalski-yet is born.

1909: Carla Fontaine, leader of the Jersey Devils, accidentally encounters her ex-lover Tiffany Archenn, who is still in the Janus Order and thought Carla was dead. Luckily their relationship ended on good terms, so Tiffany is willing to keep Carla’s survival a secret and Carla is willing to accept her promise. 

1914-1918: International warfare erupts, which will come to be known as ‘World War One’ after humans have a second one; at the time it is called ‘The Great War’ and ‘The War To End All Wars’. 

Teenage Nancy probably-not-Domzalski-yet acts as a spy near the end of this war, taking advantage of her youth to avoid suspicion while running information.

1920s: Draal figures out Nomura is a Changeling but doesn’t let her know he’s figured it out. He starts “sneakily” trying to convince her to change sides, which gives away that he knows.

Nomura gives Draal a grit-shaka, expecting him to do something stupid under its influence that can be used to lure Kanjigar into a trap.

Things end badly, but surprisingly no one actually dies in the fallout. Draal sees Nomura escape, but does not correct his father when Kanjigar assumes she’s dead. 

Trollmarket knows there was a Changeling trying to get in, but are under the impression Nomura was on her own, and that therefore they don’t need to worry about more Changelings. 

Early 1950s: Dr Bernie Sturges begins working at Area 49-B, keeping an eye on what the humans are up to there on behalf of the Janus Order. 

Nancy Domzalski has a surprise pregnancy. She and her husband Horace name their son Ralph. 

1970s: Barbara is born. (Exact date undecided, but she’s in her mid-to-late twenties when she has her son.)

Early to mid 1990s: Barbara meets James Lake at college. They marry shortly after graduation. 

Late 1990s: Bernie Sturges is discharged from Area 49-B for questioning policy decisions one too many times. They remain under surveillance because they know so much classified information, and are suspected of being involved in Stuart of Durio’s escape. (Bernie was not involved in that escape but did regularly object to the base’s treatment of prisoners.) 

After several years of working as a painter, Barbara decides to go back to school to become a doctor. 

James decides to get Barbara pregnant, expecting her to change her mind about going back to school once they have a baby, with the reasoning that “this whole ‘doctor’ thing is just because she wants someone to look after,” and “if I ask her not to go back to school, then I’m the asshole, so she needs to feel like it was her own idea.”

2000: James Lake Junior is born. Three months later, he is swapped for a Changeling who comes to be known as ‘Jim’.

2001: Mary Wang’s parents, Thomas and Laurel (names inspired by the character’s voice actress, Lauren Tom), get divorced because they have incompatible money-management techniques.

Laurel is very cautious with spending and meticulous about saving, believing in putting money aside for a rainy day; Thomas expected her to "be less of a penny-pincher" after they got married and pooled their resources.

Thomas is very relaxed about money, believing if you have it then you might as well enjoy it; Laurel expected him to "be less of a spendthrift" once they got married and had a fiscal responsibility to each other as well as themselves.

Once their finances are untangled, they get along much better, and the divorce is a friendly one.

2002: Ralph Domzalski and his wife win the state lottery. They put most of the money into savings but also decide to go on a cruise around the world, leaving their two-year-old son Tobias in the care of Ralph’s mother. They are lost at sea during a storm. 

2003: Nancy Domzalski turns 100 years old.

2004: Darci Scott tells her parents she feels more like a girl than a boy. They do some talking with her and some research on their own, and help her to transition. 

2005: Nancy and Tobias Domzalski move into the house across the street from the Lakes. Jim befriends Toby mostly because it draws attention from concerned adults if a child appears to have no friends. 

James Lake Senior abandons his wife and son. 

Several months later, Jim brings the unassembled bike kit James gave him to the Janus Order base and throws the pieces through the Fetch.

Nancy sets Toby up with regular therapy appointments with Dr Tiffany Archenn, because Nancy believes in preventative maintenance as part of mental health.

Mary Wang’s mother remarries. Premarital counselling happens this time around to make sure they’re on the same page about things like money. She and her wife, Jennifer Smith, each leave their names unchanged. 

Jennifer Smith, a Changeling, puts heavy-duty protection spells on every building where her wife and stepdaughter spend a significant amount of time and any items they frequently have with them. The spells are applied in such a way that you have to be checking for protection spells (or set them off) in order to notice them.

2006: Jim realizes he genuinely cares about Toby, and gives him a spot on Jim’s mental list of “humans to try keeping alive”.

Barbara starts learning krav maga. In these classes, she meets and befriends Zelda Nomura. 

2008: Bernie has been away from Area 49-B long enough that the surveillance is beginning to slack off.

2012: Since James Lake Senior has been “missing” for seven years, Jim is able to have him declared legally dead.

Barbara graduates medical school and becomes an emergency room trauma surgeon.

Summer 2015: Since Mary is about to start high school, her parents finally agree to let her have a cellphone. Jennifer adds yet another protection spell to the device; it’s a good anchor since Mary will presumably have it with her at all times. 

Claire and Jim both attend a fundraiser for Arcadia's hospital. Claire sees Jim dancing with Barbara and is charmed and intrigued at the sight of a boy her age who is unembarrassed to dance with his mother in public. (Idea taken from the first spin-off novel, The Adventure Begins.)

September 2015 - June 2016: Toby develops a friendly acquaintanceship with Eli Pepperjack. 

Jim is polite, in the interests of not driving Toby away by preventing him from having other friends, but wary because of Eli’s conviction there is something supernatural in Arcadia and his determination to uncover it. 

Eli picks up that he is more ‘tolerated’ by Jim than ‘liked’, which makes Eli feel awkward and suspect Toby feels the same way and is just better at hiding it. Toby and Eli never progress past “friendly acquaintances” into “friends”.

Jim and Claire are partnered in several school projects. Like Toby and Eli, they become friendly acquaintances. Jim makes a note of how often and how fondly Claire speaks of her little brother once Enrique is born.

August 2016: Bernie Sturges fakes the death of their current human identity and temporarily moves into the Janus Order base while setting up a new one. (Sometimes Changelings have overlaps or gaps between identities, to muddy the trail if someone tries to track them.)

September 2016: Kanjigar dies. Jim is called as the Trollhunter. Fanfic begins at this point.

[qm-vox]

So You Want To Play A Darkling

(Sketch of Vickie Reeds, the Arrayer of Distant Thunder, provided by Sylverthorne. Character by me; catch her in New Avalon.)

Previous Articles: So You Want To Play A Beast, So You Want To Play A Wizened, So You Want To Play An Elemental & So You Want To Play An Ogre

“You don’t want to know.”

It’s a simple statement. We hear it, or its famous variants - “don’t even ask about,” and “how badly do you want to know?” and “don’t even get me started,” and more - all the time, and we brush them off. Of course we want to know! We asked, didn’t we? Why would we ask if we don’t want to know? And most of the time it’s something small, or our conversation partner was exaggerating for effect, and we learn just fine.

And other times what you hear, in a low and painful voice, spoken without eye contact and without pride or glory, is something you really did not want to know. Something you should not have asked. And now it is in you, rattling about in your mind, ready to stalk your dreams and worry away at your hope and joy.

Darklings are those Lost who know the things you should not, and their peers ask careful questions indeed around the children of Darkness. There are times in every Freehold’s life when push comes to shove and someone should have the hollow lore which bleeds, breaks, and scrapes. Someone has to know.

How badly do you want to?

This article draws primarily on Changeling: the Lost, as well as Winter Masques and Swords at Dawn. Other sources, when used, will be cited. It requires Content Warnings for depictions of torture, maiming, abuse, cannibalism, forced transformation, suicidal thoughts & ideation, stalking, and murder.

A Nightmare With No Waking - Darkling Overview

Darkling is the second Seeming presented in Changeling: the Lost; it joins Ogre in being one of the two Seemings most defined by violence, and Fairest in being a Seeming that is both highly socially adept and whose mere identity distorts their social relationships both to their fellow Lost and to mortals. Darkling is a striking and highly popular Seeming, represented strongly both in the community and in published NPCs, with many excellent examples to draw from and strong bones in with folklore and urban legend.

Like their cousins the Ogres, Darklings have a relationship to violence that may not be voluntary on their part. But where Ogres learn to fight, to roar, to hit back and intimidate until they are left in peace, Darklings learn the subtle shades of fear. Darklings hide, lie, cheat, and sneak. Keenly aware of the consequences of violence, Darklings adapt to murderous abuse by outwitting and outlasting it. When they are finally driven to strike against an enemy hunting them, a Darkling does not fight: they survive. If that means becoming a murderer, a cur, a monster, so be it: their enemies can hate them from the grave.

Up From The Gutter - Homecoming As A Darkling

Darklings are among those Lost who remember Arcadia with the least clarity and certainty (even as Wyrd rises), rivaling Fairest for ‘memories’ which may just be heady blends of fear and adaptation warped into a form they can live with. For many, their Durance is a blur of instincts and ‘rules’, behaviors adapted either to survive a lethal environment or the lethal attentions of a master which went out of its way to hate them. But for all that specific events are obscured in darkness, transmuted to sensory impressions fogged with rage and terror to rival the most frenzied nightmares of Beasts, most Darklings understand that they lost something important in the Fairest of Lands. All Lost carry scars of their survival, of course; it is far from unheard of for an Ogre to emerge missing an arm, or a Wizened to claw her way out without the eyes in her head. It is not the act of scarring in itself that creates a Darkling.

The loss that makes a Darkling is one that is replaced with Nothing. Not one which is not replaced; eyes gouged from their living skulls, warmth robbed from their veins, shards of soul-stuff cleaved from the whole to be nibbled on like candied glass by things whose voices are torn paper and guttering candles. The Nothing which replaces this loss, and which turns a mortal into a Darkling rather than any other Seeming, is an active absence, a hollowness, a yawning gulf inside of them which resists being filled and creates space around itself. It is here that Darkness dwells, and it is the Nothing that makes the Darkling wretched and wrong.

The exact loss and its methods vary. In the Castle of Diamonds, so high in the sky that sunlight cannot reach, the shivering slaves of its Lady rip out their human compassion so they can emulate her hunger and escape a pathetic, frozen death; when they escape into lands that know light and warmth, the hunger remains. The master of the Labyrinth, the Warden of Rats, steals mortals to persecute his verminous prisoners and plucks their fingers out one by one when they fail to meet their quotas; when they find the hidden cracks in the walls and go screaming into the Hedge, they can still turn their spectral prosthesis into blades, just as Master taught them. A Tunnelgrub mining for crystal blood in the corpse of a great giant hears the bones whispering to her; when she takes pity on their dreams of the open sky and trades her memories of it to them, they throw her into the Hedge with a new-found case of agoraphobia. Whatever the case, the Nothing - the Darkness - becomes part of the Darkling’s Wyrd, bound forever into their essence.

A Darkling’s Durance may have been wild or industrious; they may have served as librarians, murderers, spies, guards, or even cleaning staff, or they may have performed an initial escape early on only to transform when they got lost in the Arcadian wilderness. What they all have in common is danger. For almost every second of their captivity, the Darkling was under threat; from a Master which hated them and would harm them if it noticed the Darkling, from fellow slaves desperate for food or warmth or life’s blood, from haunted forests and ancient curses, from things seeking to swallow the Darkling’s shadow. Darklings learned to live in constant fear, to hide, lie, and cheat, and, if violence was inevitable, to be the first to resort to it.

These two truths form the first and greatest obstacles to a Darkling’s escape: first they must convince themselves that the mortal world, which is now strange and frightening to them, is still safer than their captivity, and second they must convince themselves that they deserve to go back. Darklings struggle with self-image problems that would stagger most of their friends if the children of night ever expressed them; many, staring at their inhuman shadows or at the collections of diseased, blunted knives that are now their fingers, think of themselves as monsters to be put down rather than victims who deserve compassion and healing. For those who cannot overcome this self-doubt, the darkness of Arcadia waits to swallow them whole. But if they can focus through the pain, the doubt, the horror, Darklings are well-suited to finding the hidden paths into the Hedge, past guards and demons and terror, and slipping oh-so-quietly back into the Iron Lands where they were once born.

Darklings are often drawn home by memories now alien to their new environment; warmth, love, laughter, and light factor heavily into a Darkling’s recollections of the Iron Lands. Despite their otherwise obsessive interest in their physical, environmental safety, it’s people the Darkling comes home to protect - to kill for, if necessary. Of course, all too many collapse to the soil of Earth and, once they find their breath, conclude that the people they love are better off without such a monster in their life. It is during the resulting patterns of stalking and distant observation that the local Freehold generally finds the youngblood Darkling and attempts to coax them into meeting their peers.

Mountebanks and Murderers - Darkling Kiths

Though the listed weakness of Darklings as a Seeming is both fairly obvious and straightforward - they suffer a penalty to all attempts to work magic during the day, which worsens in direct sunlight - this is not the curse which stalks their life and wends its way through their relationships with all of their peers. No; Darklings are unique amongst Seemings in that their magical strength is their magical weakness. Darklings have an incredible talent for stealth, deception, robbery, murder, stalking, and disguise; a Darkling twisting the truth is as skilled as a Fairest. These tools, refined in Arcadia, are among the first the Darkling reaches for when confronted with stress or with trouble, and they are all too keenly aware that these things are, not to put too fine a point on it, wrong. At the end of every day the Darkling has to look at herself in the mirror and see a person who thinks to lie before she thinks to tell the truth, who knows where the old injuries that weaken her friends and would let her kill them are, who forgets sometimes why we knock on front doors or pay for goods and services.

It’s exhausting. It isn’t just the self-recrimination, though that rough beast stalks almost every Darkling under Earth’s starry skies. It’s that humans and post-humans are naturally predisposed to enjoy things we’re good at, and what Darklings are good at are con jobs, cheating, betraying trust, and bloody murder.

It doesn’t help that Freeholds tend to know it too. Though all Lost have trust problems, it’s Darklings who get the worst reputation for wriggling their way out of Pledges or for being liars and thieves. Their peers can often tread lightly around them, further increasing feelings of frustrating alienation from their own communities. Sometimes, but not all the time, strong community leaders make efforts to bridge this gap and create cultures of acceptance, but in the absence of such mighty compassion Darklings can often feel as if they’ve been forced into a second, smaller community which has unspoken rules it must obey. Given how strongly that situation can remind them of their Durance, there are many Darklings the world over who are more than a little prickly, more than a little standoffish, whose hair-trigger tempers are concealed beneath a silent facade that acts like a spider’s trapdoor. The bursts of violence that can result only worsen the problem.

How do Darklings cope with being liars and killers? Poorly, in the main. Some lean in, drifting towards Summer and Autumn where a reputation for violence can service them well. Such Darklings learn to tell the truth tactically, almost as a method of deception in itself; they become scouts, Hedge Rangers, spies, and sorcerers. While this reduces the day-to-day stress of simply Being A Darkling, it does tend to arrest the Darkling’s recovery. Though there are very good reasons for them to learn and practice the skills they gained in their Durance, building an identity around these ultimately maladaptive coping mechanisms means not confronting the problems that created them in the first place.

Other Darklings, often those who wind up in Spring or Winter, go the opposite route: they go out of their way to prove they’re trustworthy, lovable, and no threat at all. They throw themselves into social events and social roles and go out of their way to make themselves available; some go so far as to start taking strictly diurnal schedules so others can contact them more easily and as a show of great trust and strength. Such efforts often work! People come to trust and approach these Darklings, and they flourish in the social roles they seek out, but beneath the sunny smiles and bright words is often a Lost riding the edge of a fucking killing spree. The cost of this approach is quite often a constant feeling of doubt and threat, of unsafety, and rather than attaining healing such Darklings succeed in making themselves unhappy on purpose.

All too often, regardless of the initial approach they attempt to take, a given Darkling can only really start to heal when driven to do so by an outside source. Having a friend close enough to call them out on their shit and actually get listened to is an important milestone in a Darkling’s journey, especially when their fellows can all-too-easily mistake stability for recovery when the two are not the same.

Darkling Kiths embody fears; they are the things waiting in the dark, the secrets you try to avoid, the anxieties behind your flickering smiles. Though some relationship exists between a Darkling’s Kith and their fae labors, the dangers into which the Darkling was placed and the adaptations they made to survive those dangers are equally important - if not more so. All other things being equal, Darklings are somewhat more likely to manifests Kiths and therefore Miens which reflect more ‘modern’ stories than other Seemings are; Bloody Mary, the Candyman, and Jason Vorhees are as germane to their nature as red caps, Baba Yaga, and goblins are, maybe even more so, for the fears of the modern era yet live.

Thoughts on individual Darkling Kiths follow:

Antiquarian - Antiquarians are spoken of in Winter Masques as embodying the fear of old age, and they can fit this mold fine enough as witches, unsettling librarians, or the dead-eyed tender of a dive bar you realize you should not be in, but given their powerful ability to know things (embodied in 9-again on Academics and Investigation and in the power to spend Glamour to know answers to questions even when they don’t) that’s hardly the full breadth of this Kith’s potential. Antiquarians can easily be the smiling police detective who has entered your life for reasons you do not understand, the sinister school psychiatrist using her authority to make your life hell, or even the intimidating priest you know will some day ask you to do something...ungodly. This is strong and thematic Kith, easily worth considering for any concept that revolves around knowledge or investigation; pair it with Cleareyes via Dual Kith for a nearly psychic level of perception.

Gravewight - Does your chronicle revolve around ghosts? Then close the book and go play Geist, which actually works for them. For all intents and purposes neither this Kith nor Contracts of Shade and Spirit actually exist.

Leechfinger - Do you like vampires, breath-stealing cats, kumiho, and other life-eaters? Then keep looking because Leechfinger sorta fucking sucks. Which is a shame, honestly; Leechfinger may well be Darkling at its most pure, representing the fundamental way in which lies and theft take shards from the lives of others which they will never get back. But its Blessing is incredibly lackluster, and while ordinarily it would be valuable for short-cutting nWoD’s long recovery times from violent confrontation...goblin fruit exist. Give this one a pass.

Mirrorskin - Embodying the fear of losing one’s identity - as well as the fear of strangers, of false faces that hide malicious intent - Mirrorskin is the single strongest Kith in its niche and so centralizing that in many ways it’s a better investment for disguise and shapeshifting than Contracts of Mirror, which are, you know, for disguise and shapeshifting. Mirrorskin is worth considering for any concept that wants to invest in infiltration, regardless of your Seeming, and easily worth even the three dots needed to snag it with an out-of-house Dual Kith.

Tunnelgrub - Burglars, snakes, goblins, and sewer mutants, Tunnelgrubs embody the fear of intrusion, robbery, and the suspicion that your safe home is anything but. Mechanically, they’re, well, they’re functional. Their Blessing lets them slip in and through spaces that would normally require powerful Contracts (Separation 3 or Elements 5, depending), and that’s definitely not nothing, but one does need to ask oneself how often you’re going to slither down someone’s chimney.

Lurkglider - Lurkgliders embody gargoyles and predators such as harpies or the Mothman, but they also have bones in with fear of, and fascination with, cat burglars, rooftop men, and so-called ‘superspies’. Their Blessing is, like Tunnelgrub, unmatched in its niche but still incredibly niche for all of that. If your group is already full of Windwings and Steepscramblers, consider Lurkglider so you can jump naked off of skyscrapers like an absolute madman; otherwise, maybe give this one a pass.

Moonborn - I want the head of whatever jackass greenlit this. Skipping over the ableist horse shit that is this Kith, which we should not but skipping over it, Moonborn is a volatile and risky Kith whose usefulness depends entirely on how your group runs Derangements, which in themselves never should have been written the way they got written in the first place. White out this section of your copy of Winter Masques and put this far from your mind.

Nightsinger - Nightsinger is another one that is Okay. Thematically it’s a bit confusing; it does not directly relate to many kinds of legendry or fear, and the ones it does relate to taste more like Wizened than Darkling. Mechanically, Nightsinger has powerful social support tools which help your group’s face land their social rolls, and if that idea is appealing to you then I’m happy to suggest Nightsinger, but given Lost’s lack of mechanical tools to follow up on the musical theming and the fact that Playmate exists I can’t wholly endorse this Kith.

Palewraith - Palewraiths are a sort of stealth replacement for Gravewight; they embody the fear of fading away, of becoming a helpless ghost, of being a secondary character in your own life. Their Blessing is...bad, and worse, it’s boring. Give it a pass.

Razorhand - Razorhands are killers, thugs, organleggers, and ghouls; they embody the fear of slashers, of violence in the dark, of having yourself carved up by something which sees you only as a resource to be exploited. Their Blessing is incompetently worded; the most common reading lets them spend 1 Glamour to turn their unarmed attacks into a 1L weapon and gives them (Knives) as a Weaponry specialty, and on those terms Razorhand is one of the premier close-combat Kiths. If Leechfinger being shit let you down, consider Razorhand as one of the most quintessentially Darkling Kiths.

Whisperwisp - Darkling Does Fairest. Whisperwisps are spies, turncoats, and double agents. Their Blessing resolves to 8-again on rolls to lie in conversation, and that’s before the thing where they can murmur in your ear from across the room. If you’re considering a social-focused Darkling concept,Whisperwisp is your first and probably only stop.

A Cause Worth Killing For - Darklings in the Courts

Though Darklings don’t necessarily immediately fit into obvious roles in a Freehold the way that Ogres and Wizened so often do, chances are that their new community is going to eventually ask them to break shit, kill people, and steal things. Thankfully even the most urban Freehold doesn’t necessarily need people killed all that often, so during the ‘off season’ a classically retained Darkling is likely to slot into mid-tier social roles in their Court; they flourish as assistants, administrators, Arrayers of Distant Thunder, Armigers, and the like. For those who finally get a handle on their shit, even more illustrious roles might follow - a Darkling with a level head makes an ideal Searce, Twilit Page, or Thane, for instance. Ironically, this makes Darklings among the more visible Seemings in the power structures of a Court, rivaling Fairest and Beasts for de jure and de facto power.

How a Darkling reacts to eventually being asked to perform underhanded deeds for her new society will become a defining moment in her journey towards healing. Some have an easier time than others. A Razorhand approached by Summer and asked to serve as a scout has the chance to bring military pride to an otherwise shameful skill set and make peace with the terrible things she’s learned to do to survive, while a young Lurkglider who attracts the attention of one of Winter’s Archers gets to see the real, tangible lives saved by the information he brings home and the enemies he tracks through the terrible Hedge. In contrast, an Antiquarian asked to find blueprints for a Spring heist or disable a security system ahead of Autumn’s assassins faces a much more difficult choice - one they have to live with every day of their life thereafter. Playing the ‘you aren’t paid to ask questions’ game with Darklings rarely ends well; the children of night are more inclined to respect the secrecy of even the most vile enterprise if you’ll just play straight with them, while lies can taint noble intentions forever in their eyes. It is difficult for their leaders to gain the trust of Darkling vassals, and oh so very easy to lose it.

Darklings are among those Lost who yearn to embrace high ideals in their Courts, though both their inclinations and their anxieties lead them to see quite a bit of a Court’s realpolitik either way. More than anything, they want honesty out of a Court they choose to embrace; if you walk your talk, a Darkling is a lot more willing to see how those cynical political needs stem from, and feed back into, the high ideals that are on the recruitment poster. Tell a would-be Darkling knight that Summer needs ammo to defend the weak, and ammo costs money, and they’ll agree - but if those bullets start getting aimed at the ones you’re supposed to protect, you don’t get to act surprised when the Darkling shoots you in the back in turn. Of course, there can be those Darklings who live down to their worst selves, but their peers often invest quite a bit of energy in hauling them out of such pits - or burying them in it. The children of night don’t have a lot of trust to go around, and errant brothers who piss on the Freehold’s goodwill don’t get tolerated for long.

Spring - Though Darklings are good at Spring’s social games, they do not often join the Emerald Court. Openly admitting to their Desires, putting their wants and needs out where others can see them, is terrifying for most Darklings. Spring’s chaotic culture also makes it difficult to predict and adapt to, and for a Darkling this combination of factors is often as appealing as having a rabid weasel stapled to the inside of their thighs. Those who do take the comparatively extreme step of joining Spring are often looking to make equally extreme changes in their lives; they may be driven by self-loathing, trying to reject the guilt they feel over a particularly violent Durance, or hoping to hide from enemies (real or imagined) behind the flash and thunder of Spring in its full flower. The Emerald Court can often be good for Darklings who do join it, though such worthies face one of the hardest tests Spring can ask of them: to accept and love themselves as they are, and not as they ‘should’ be.

Summer - It’s easy for those outside of the ranks of the raging to assume that Summer is disinterested in Darklings and that Darklings in turn are not interested in Summer, but the Iron Spear is a fairly popular destination for them. Some join up early, realizing that the feral murder they learned in Arcadia won’t fly against trained opponents, and gain discipline and brotherhood for their troubles. Others are sought out for their skills as scouts or sorcerers, and because the cautious perspective of Darklings provides invaluable additions to Summer’s battle plans. Summer can be a very stable community from which a Darkling can grow, provided they keep the trust of their brothers in arms, and the promise of being able to bring good out of the evil done to them is an appealing one.

Autumn - Ask a given non-Darkling about what Court all the Darklings end up in and chances are they’ll say Autumn. It’s an answer born, appropriately enough, of fear; Darklings can be intimidating, dreaded, mistrusted, and so of course they ‘naturally’ end up amongst the Leaden Mirror, no? The reality is rarely so cut-and-dried. Many Darklings yearn to be more than what their Keeper made them, and signing on with Autumn feels a lot like resigning themselves to evil. Those who do join are often those who believe magic is a way they can bring wonder back into the world to ‘make up’ for the horror they commit, or those whose personal terrors are so extreme that they turn to Autumn for any relief from their misery. For those Darklings that do join with Autumn, that Court is well-positioned to help them. They take well to Autumn’s essentially two-faced nature, especially with a patient mentor who can explain why it exists and that it is not, in itself, a form of deception - and, of course, when it comes to stalking, terrifying, and haunting, few are a Darkling’s equal.

Winter - The actual most popular Court for Darklings, who emerge from Arcadia already speaking the languages of caution, humility, stealth, and silence. Winter often invests quite a bit of resources in courting youngblood Darklings and persuading them of the promise of Winter; Darklings, in turn, often feel deep guilt and sorrow over what they’ve become, and the power to build a new life with no questions asked can be an incredibly attractive offer. From this initial mutual attraction can blossom wildly successful careers as Winter Courtiers. Darklings understand the ideology of stealth and the importance of information control without having to be taught it; Winter understands that being honest with its Darklings will motivate them just as much as the promise of payment and favors. The ‘trouble’, such as it is, is that at times the Coldest Court can succeed its way right out of owning a valuable operator; as their Darklings stabilize and learn to trust and love others in their guarded way, sometimes they pack up and leave. It’s never anything personal. It’s just that in becoming the sort of person with whom others feel safe sharing their Sorrows, these Darklings realize that maybe they don’t have to feel guilt over their victimization, and like frost in a sunbeam the ties that bind them to Winter melt. Those who reach this point and choose to stay are those Darklings who see value and beauty in the promise of Winter; such Courtiers quite often ramp up how active they are in their local community, becoming invested in the lives of the Flowing Pages and even members of other Courts whose lives might be bettered by the cleansing power of Sorrow and a quiet hand to hold through the dark times.

The Children Of Noose And Razor - Darkling And Changeling’s Themes

As mentioned in So You Want To Play An Ogre, Darklings are one of the two Seemings that reflect victimization by the prison-industrial complex. Where Ogres learned the language of overt violence, Darklings got by on their wits and cunning, killing in secret and smuggling goods or drugs to make money on the side. Mastering a corrupt system corrupts the Darklings in turn, and when they escape, they take that corruption with them.

More broadly, however, Darklings represent those whose violent abuse has rendered them an imperfect victim; someone who, despite being as scared of you as you are of them, is infinitely more dangerous than you are. Darklings are primed to represent the consequences of growing up amidst gang violence, being raised into a mob family, or being pressured as a young professional into criminal enterprises. The recent med school graduate who learns that her great job offer is a front for organlegging might be a Darkling if she gets out alive; so, too, might a child whose father presses a .32 into his hands and bids him to make his first kill ‘for the family’. Anywhere that violent abuse encourages its victims to hide their thoughts and feelings, and to become complicit in order to feel safe, you will find Darklings.

Such unfortunates are rarely ‘perfect’ victims, and their coping mechanisms may not be healthy or acceptable to conventional society. It is the second cruelty; having first been victimized, the people whose trauma Darklings represent are then made to feel dirty, unworthy, or even monstrous for what their pain has turned them into. One drinks to be able to sleep through her nightmares; another fucks his way through bed after bed, never quite developing meaningful relationships because he fears closeness as much as he craves it. Many have hair-trigger tempers or put up emotional walls to keep friends and family away; more than a few hurt people to feel powerful. Some of the most tragic cases involve attempted suicide. All are, too often, abandoned by the very people who should be making extra strides to help them.

Thematically, Darkling has an unusual relationship to gender - in particular, femininity-  that is worth talking about. Society expects traumatized women to be delicate, virtuous things, to play the part of the perfect victim and to perform femininity in order to deserve help. This is rarely the case, and when it inevitably turns out that a woman victimized by violence is not an angel garbed in human flesh this is used as an excuse to belittle her, doubt her, or even persecute her. Survivors who, like many Darklings, turn to knives and shotguns to feel safe again find their pain used against them by a society that demands they continue to perform for it. In this sense, the trauma Darkling women experience can radically change their relationship to gender expression or even gender identity, potentially alienating them from their former communities and leaving them with the daunting task of attempting to trust and connect with new ones. That so many end up becoming angry loners is rarely because they want to be.

Though a Darkling is inclined to keep their desires and preferences secret, resist the temptation to literally make them love nothing. Just as an Ogre is not wholly defined by violence and an Elemental is not wholly defined by magic, a Darkling wholly defined by her trauma is a badly-written Darkling. What does your Darkling do to relax? What sorts of secret collections do they keep in their home and why do they love those things? What is their idea of a ‘good’ life? Do they live that life? Why or why not? Darklings get beaten down harder and deeper into the gutter than almost any other Lost, but that does not make the gutter their home; indeed, often it only deepens their lust for sunlight and song.

My Roommate, Mister Twelve-Gauge - Coping As A Darkling

Much like Ogres and Wizened, Darklings have a great concern with their physical, environmental safety. Where Wizened crave a controlled space in which to enact daily rituals that help ground them, though, Darklings need options; varied routes to get to and from favorite haunts, multiple entrances to their homes, even multiple homes if they can find a way to swing it (or at least a secure bolt-hole to run to). In the numerous cases where a Darkling can’t live in an isolated cabin with clear sightlines in every direction, they tend to favor spaces which are either temporary or can be made temporary; apartments, hotels, and squats are all commonly chosen by Darklings specifically so that they can be abandoned with a minimum of long-term attachments. As the Darkling begins to heal and considers group home ideas such as moving in with her Motley or with a girlfriend, she’s likely to continue to rent a second space on the side as income permits so that she can have solitude on demand.

A Darkling’s home reveals a lot about herself in a way she’s unlikely to in conversation. If she collects things, they’ll be on display here. If she’s into something - a specific band, videogames, history - then paraphernalia related to that thing will be all over the place. Few valuables as such are likely to be present (Darklings have a habit of stashing those in safes, deposit boxes, or even dead drops) as such, but for a Darkling whose passions run in the right direction objects of value like high-quality cooking utensils, powerful electronics, or collectors’ items might be present. The resulting clutter might seem to work against the Darkling obsession with physical safety, but it generally conceals the other feature of Darkling homes: traps. Unwelcome guests may find that tripwires connect to noisemakers which wake the Darkling from her slumber, or that an unwisely-opened door was tied to a loaded shotgun. Darklings might scatter caltrops in their hallways, rig fatal pit traps that drop people to hard basement floors, and conceal weapons throughout their home. They know it’s insane, but most do it anyway: the extra ritual needed to avoid their own traps is worth the feeling of raw security they provide. While an Ogre trusts in clear sightlines to put any intruder into their own two hands, Darklings put their faith in the secrets of their homes that they know and their enemies do not.

A given Darkling likely denies knowing about or caring for any of her neighbors. Certainly she knows her neighborhood very well, especially all routes into and out of it (the recent rise in the popularity of parkour has been a godsend for Darklings the world over), and if you can catch her off her guard the Darkling may well speak glowingly of the architecture, her favorite stores or hangouts, the local parks. Those who mistake the Darkling’s guarded heart for apathy are in for a rude awakening when they fuck with those under her protection. Darklings do not practice performative violence and they tend to be bad at giving second chances; the first warning that you’ve managed to anger one is generally when they’re feeding your hand into a garbage disposal or the DEA breaks down your front door looking for 20 kilos of cocaine you don’t remember owning but which is, would you look at that, definitely in your house. Older, calmer Darklings learn to issue threats or warnings, but even then you only really get one.

Darklings have a big obvious problem - to wit, Being Darklings - that defines the arc of their recovery, but being able to understand their bullshit and being able to solve it are two very different things to ask of them. Confronting that their coping mechanisms are, to an extent, maladaptive can be the patient work of years; trying to decide how much is healthy to hold onto and how much needs to be excised can take even longer. Darklings often seek out the company of Wizened and Ogres, with whom they share commonalities that don’t have to be spoken aloud to be understood; conversely, Darkling rivalries with Fairest can be the stuff of legends, as can the side bets on when they’re going to just fuck already everyone else can see you’re in love you idiots. Though they rarely gain the acclaim of their peers and society, Darklings make for steadfast friends who really will help you bury a body, and for many that quiet acceptance and unconditional love is the pinnacle of years of struggle to feel deserving of that love.

Example Darkling - Detective Pomander (”Melpomene”), Winter Antiquarian

Everyone in the run-down East Side knows about the Detective. No one’s exactly sure what her name is. She turns up after sketchy shit goes down, in her long coat with that smile on her face, and she asks questions. No. No, not asks questions. She makes statements; she says things about you that she shouldn’t know. She brings up connections to people you yourself might have forgotten about. She’s fucking creepy, is what she is, and by the time she’s done explaining the situation you’re telling her everything just so she’ll go away. The worst parts are when someone disappears. You think they moved away? That a gang got ‘em, or the mob they owed that drug money to? The Detective doesn’t. The Detective wants to know everything you’ve ever known about them.

Melissa Pomander - known to the Lost as Melpomene - isn’t a cop, but everyone thinks she is. Even people who know that “Detective” Pomander isn’t with the police forget sometimes; she radiates an aura of lawful authority that puts people ill at their ease and suggests in subtle ways that failure to please her will introduce you to worlds of suffering beyond your comprehension. It was this knack that first drew the attention of the Lord of the Inhospitable Chamber; it was his training that made Melpomene his replacement when he gave his life relaying vital information back to the Freehold. Detective Pomander knows people have good reason to be scared of her, but she works tirelessly on their behalf nonetheless. A bright young thing from Spring with a thing for cop roleplaying in bed says she saw the size of Melissa’s pay packets once. Detective Pomander rakes in enough cash to live in a plush mansion staffed with sexy maids. So why’s she live in a studio apartment and only get drunk enough to fuck on the nights of the new moon?

Next up: Fairest