#and the timeline of AHS is really insanely fucking weird

[the-chessboard-is-personal]

season 2 time wahoo another damn liveblog am I right??

(liveblogging ii season 2, for if it's not obvious. same style as last ii liveblog)

1 - woahh! okay I love the style tbh. wait. Super Mario 3D World/Initial release date: November 21, 2013. this episode: Apr 2, 2013. INANIMATE INSANITY PREDICTED THE DOUBLE CHERRY???? ...huh. weird. why does MePhone have an app for that? y'know, RESURRECTION?

2 - MePad ? can teleport? ?? yeah that egg is gonna be relevant again isn't it

3 - BOW INATOR?? holy shit holy shit ohhg waow,,there is something in this episode that I want so much. lmao. "umm huh, lmhuehyahahuh.." (<- me attempting to spell what test tube said at the end of the ep)

4 - I didn't think the elimination song sucked.. hey wait why does it sound like they get killed or something when they go through the portal. also where does the portal lead

5 - SEVEN?? MeOS SEVEN??? oh huh. is that why someone who dies in space can't come back? OH THE NO SERVICE COMMENT WAS FORESHADOWING!!? wait why is that how it works. why does MePhone specifically get notifications about people dying. wh- okay?? that was ominous ?MePhone what does that rnean. ..chESS MENTIONED

6 - aaand there's another one. ANOTHER TWO??? .oh :| ...what the entire fuck. and yep this episode makes me uncomfortable. who would've FUCKING GUESSED

7 - oh so THAT'S where the portal lead. ..as down as the WHAT- ouhjghhu nooo... not a song

8 - ah yes, MePhone got The Common Code- oh. also idc what the objects say, ftrEwy7u9iop8oaTE7gI is a wonderful name for a challenge. or a password. each new MePhone gets less understandable because of the "techy" voice effec- oh he's dead. [sees Steve Cobs's reaction to the egg] ohh okay. one moment [walks away from the computer]please don't be like dsmp please don't be like dsmp please don't be like dsmp please don't be like dsmp plehokay. oh I don't like him

9 - ...I'm not crying you're crying.,, uohg this is the second time a show like this has had something that felt like it was directed at me. and the other time was Gothi talking to Xanu in Fool's Gold,.,. which was also about moving on.. is.. is that wh- oh hey a gravity falls reference. haha lol :) ...oh this is the depression eppisode. BITCH -> 🌮 <- BITCH

10 - aha! I've figured it out! the secret is MPABZCEAS!! holy fucking shit my joke was immediately kind of relevant. wha..suitcase?? y'know that voice kinda sounded like MePhone

11 - wHUH SMG4 SOUND?! oh wait that sound probably isn't from SMG4, that's just the first time I heard it. still though, neat. ...wild theory. I'm gonna sound like Fan here, but. "Is anything on this show real?" seems.hmm idk. sus. I call foreshadowing. hokay something's definitely going on with Suitcase. oH FOR FUCK'S SAKE yep don't like this episode either

12 - oh fuck they're in episode 1. oh fuck they're in HWUH ?? ..ohh MePhone hates Cobs too. hey if anyone's read this far, I want to know who's your favorite character from the alternate timeline, because why not! mine is Traffic Light

13 - woahhh MePhone backstory! oh. oh I do Not trust that "screen protector". HEY HEY WHAT WAS THAT WHISPER [turns on captions] oh. oh REALLY. HMM. ...wh. what. what what what what what ROBOT ADAM?? MEPHONE 3???? WHAT WHAT WHAT AAAAAAAA UH OH! UH OH OH NO UH OH!! ohkay this is the panic time, the time in every show tumblr freaks out about where things go CRAZY. OKAY OKAY I'M READY AAAAAA

14 - so the person who told me I should watch ii said I need to watch all of season 3 after this episode. I have no idea why! oh fuck! but anyway. that rneans I'll be splitting this section into actual paragraphs since this is the last episode of this liveblog. (<- said that before starting the episode). anyway.

okay. okay Fan just got abducted. ..hhhow did he know that. how did he know that MePad let Marshmallow leave. .hey hey what's with the shot of that panel with the hole in it. maybe I'm just tired but that doesn't seem..right. and not in the bad writing way.

uhm. hey 17:36 isn't supposed to be hitting me too whY IS IT HITTING ME TOO WAUGH.

"is that what you said to Pickle" OHH DAMN MY HEART DROPPED LIKE THE SCENE HOLY SHIT. wait IS FAN DEAD FOREVER??

wait didn't test Tube get eliminated? why did Microphone go through the portal??

looking at the comments for. tbh I forgot what reason when i saw this one

uh knew what KNEW WHAT OH FU-

anyway. so Fan glitching is. gonna be foreshadowing? oh boy let me guess... uhh.. wait why would Fan glitch. other things that glitch are..the tree MePhone made for Cobs? MePhone himself when Tissue Box sneezed on him?? that MePhone 3?? but none of that has anything to do with Fan..

unless.. AHA!

FAN IS A PROJECTION MADE BY ONE OF THE NEWER MEPHONES

COBS IS GOING TO KNOW WHERE THEY ARE AS LONG AS FAN IS THERE!!

although with Fan eliminated, th- oh there's an after credits scene?

UH. UM. WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT

AND THE OMINOUS OUTRO THEME. UH OH

okokokokokokayokayokayokay. that's obviously some kind of MePhone. the Meeple logo is there and it's phone shaped, so. that's pretty obvious. but not one that's been seen before, right? like not even a model that's been seen before, because none of them have the grabby hands.

because of the red X imagery I'm gonna guess this one is called MePhone X. and if not, well I'm gonna refer to it as that until I find out otherwise

with how scary that moment was clearly intended to be, we can all agree that Toilet just got permakilled, right? like. despite not being in space? that was definitely. not anything good that happened to Toilet there. I'm just gonna assume Toilet's dead, yep that just happened. aaand now there's a seemingly murderous (although maybe it had a grudge against Toilet for some reason, but I find that unlikely) MePhone roaming around. n e a t .

thiiiiinking that thing is the exception to the "each MePhone we see is dumber than the last" rule that seems to be present. hm. wonder who the Big Villain is going to be

welp it's too late to binge s3 rn so uh. yeap. okay. sure. that's a thing

[pitbullwithaship]

DOCTOR WHO LIVEBLOG S4 EP8

Okay this is Silence in the Library and I've heard it's insane and weird and scary and maybesad(?) So. It's time

That's a cute little girl floating in midair

That's a gorgeous library, the kind I've always wanted to visit

Is this a psychoevaluation or something

Okay something is there

OMG ITS THE DOCTOR AND DONNA

I live jow they're just like oh hello tiny girl great day innit

I love books

That's a gorgeous library Jesus christ

Amazing

Yeah Donna spoilers tsk tsk

Ooh suspiciously empty

Sundays are pretty boring

Oh wow that's a large amount of living creatures

Silence

I love them just so much

That's a creepy person head egg face robot thing

Ah ominous message

COUNT THE SHADOWS HWHOT

Only kinda sorta lied

The shadows approach incredibly ominously and slowly

Oh they sped up

Yay Donna on the kick open

The little girl is a security camera then is that why they're interrogating her

It's dark

I hit myself on the head sometimes too, (the doctor is a neurodivergent icon)

Girlie

River Song!!!!!! I've heard of her!!

I like Archeologists they're nerds

The Doctor and Donna are icons

Maybe it's not irra- THATS WHAT I WAS GONNA SAY

Vashta Nerada ooOooOoooOOooOooOooO

PRETTY BOY lol

Don't be a dick to the personal assistant girl

Okay so they're dickheads

THE DIARY

Aww poor River Song

THE PHONE AND THE LITTLE GIRL AND THE ALARM AND THE SECURITY SYSTEM AND-

Those are good drawings

Curiosity fucked with the timelines and killed a fair few cats

Weaponised books

I like the personal assistant girl she seems nice

Mr Lux don't be Mr Fucks

Assistant girl don't go wandering off

Yeah Lux pay attention

ASSISTANT GIRL BE CAREFUL IM SORRY I DONT KNOW YOUR NAME

This is creepy as hell

SCREAM NO

Oh shit oh damn oh shit that's terrifying oh shit oh dear

RIP Miss Evangelista

Oh that's really horrifying and sad

Speak Donna

Oh my God that's torturous

Aww Doctor trying to comfort her

THE REAL WORLD IS A LIE HOLY SHIT HOLY FUCK ONLY HER

Donna why are you being weird

Aww River Song knows about her

Oh oh Donna

AIR PIRHANAS THATS SO COOL

Oh fuck oh fuck he's got two shadows that's fucking horrifying

Aww that's adorable she has a matching screwdriver

Tries to send her away

Actually sends her away

What! What! What! What! She screamed! What!

Oh shit it's in his suit

Okay he's dead

Oh shit his fucking skeleton is possessed

That's horrifying

SQUARENESS GUN WOW

SHE SAVED DONNA WHAT

OH FUCK OH FUCK DONNA IS THE EGG ROBOT THING THAT IS NOT IN ANY WAY BETTER

Oh poor Doctor oh poor Donna

OH FUCK A CLIFFHANGER I HATE THAT AND I DONT HAVE TIME TO WATCH MORE

[philtstone]

40 (wake-up kisses) Peter/Gamora

i honestly couldnt tell u what this is but i had fun with it. inspired by this amazing fic, which healed something deep inside me. not really spoilers for gotg3 bc this is like, unhingedly removed from canon but also not not spoilers, if u know what i mean

The thing of it is, weirder things have definitely happened to Gamora.

Well -- to her version of Gamora, which is, to use a term, herself. The person whose mind-dream-consciousness she's trapped within is younger, and therefore has had less opportunity to experience weird shit.

Then again, Gamora thinks, there was that whole time travel thing.

"What the fuck," other her is saying. "What the fuck, what the fuck. Get out of my head!"

Ugh.

"I am trying," she says. It's a weird situation. Gamora has always been a little paranoid, to be sure, but even she can admit that her presence in this landscape is quite tangibly not an ordinary dream. She is, literally, in her own head. There are two of them, and it's crowded. She can tell. She can tell. Everyone can tell -- something is very wrong.

And it is not, strictly speaking, Gamora's fault that the fabric of space-time-reality-possibly-also-death is in utter tatters, but it's not like she isn't going to take advantage of it. Her family must be looking for her! Peter must be looking for her! Indeed, she is looking for them! She wants more than anything to be alive right now, and to hold her sister in her arms, and to help Mantis decorate her room, and to laugh over dumb jokes with Groot, and to sing tunes with Rocket, and to kiss Peter on the mouth until she forgets how to breathe and also how to feel sadness. She didn't really think about it too hard when she saw her opening. She just kind of wanted. Full body. Desperately. Death has been super sad, and also super boring.

Oh. Maybe, possibly, that could be a contributing factor to her --their -- sudden predicament. That is, the way she suddenly found herself sharing mind-space with another version of herself, who claims -- irately and with no small measure of panic -- that she was minding her own business, trying to get a decent four hours of sleep in, when she was rudely interrupted by a psychotic parasite.

"Ah!" Gamora makes a loud and offended scoffing noise. "Parasite?! I'm not a parasite, you jerk! I'm me. I'm you, goddammit!"

"No," says other her. "I'm me, and you're in my head! Get out!"

"Why don't you let me out?" she growls back, crossing her proverbial arms. It's weird. Like in a dream, she both does and doesn't have a corporeal body, right now. "You're not even supposed to be here, anyway! This is my timeline!"

"And it's my head!" snarls her counterpart, in a way that is really infuriating if only for the fact that she, Gamora, snarls that way. Who does this idiot think she is, doing it the same?

"Fine," Gamora says to herself. "This is fine. Listen. You wake up from your dream, but when you wake up, instead of being you, you're going to be me. Alright? We understand each other. It'll be fine, because you are me."

"I am not you," snaps ... well, her. "You are dead. You are a weird imposter who has been made up by your crazy friends. You have all these -- these insane experiences and stupid memories! And now they're in my head. I knew I shouldn't have hung around those weirdos for so long --"

Gamora's mouth has dropped open. "Excuse me," she says. "My memories are not stupid. What have you got to offer, death and sadness?"

Other Gamora seems to take great offense at this. "I have great memories!" she yells. "They are very -- pleasant! I feel good things when I think of them!"

Hmph. Please. Gamora was there, okay? So what if there are some new ones sprinkled into the mix. She doesn't have time to explore them now, she's got things to do. Places to be. Peters to kiss.

"Maybe it's a scientific issue," she muses, aloud. "If we got Rocket to zap you with something --"

"I am not being zapped!"

"I would wake up. From this weird dream."

"You are the weird dream!"

She hums to herself; uncomfortably, a small voice at the back of her mind wonders if she really did used to be this transparently aggressive, but she dismisses it, as she has more pressing priorities right now. Animation, for example. Living. Breathing air. Kissing Peter, that is definitely up there.

"Maybe if you pinched yourself," Gamora says. "Oh -- ow!"

Other her looks far too vindictive for her own good. Asshole, Gamora thinks, at the same time her younger self says, "Asshole," aloud.

Well, technically not aloud, as all of this is taking place in her head.

"Stop reminding me," other Gamora grits out.

"Maybe you need to find a tear in space, like a blackhole." That seems too Herculean a task. "Or it's an amnesia thing." No; it's a multiverse, unfortunately. And Gamora refuses to believe she ever used to be such a dick. "Maybe I'm being reincarnated. Denarian Dey once said his cousin believed in that stuff."

Annoyingly, other her has now decided to deliberately ignore her, and is refusing to respond, but instead glaring angrily into the middle distance, which Gamora is realizing is the ugly brown wall of her own bedroom.

Wait -- this is not Gamora's bedroom. Maybe it's just what it looks like in the dream.

"It is mine," over-articulates her evil twin. "And stop calling me that!"

Wait -- but she's just had a brainwave! Evil twins are something that happen in fairytales -- those mythical narratives Peter would relay, that he was told through audiovisual tradition during his childhood on Earth. In Terran myths, the woman trapped asleep in her own body could be awoken with true love's kiss!

Her other self, stuck in this state with her, responds to the slow evolution of this brainwave with a slowly-increasing, compressed, red-hot anger.

"I got it!" Gamora says excitedly, ignoring herself. "Peter can just kiss me awake! He does it all the time -- it'll be easy."

"OH," yells her other self, "WILL YOU JUST SHUT UP!"

Gamora freezes. Through her own muddled emotions she feels the keen and sudden prick of overwhelming negative emotion, so visceral she cannot help but real back. She wasn't expecting such a whole-hearted roar of anger, at any rate.

"What is your problem?" she asks, angrily.

"My problem?" Eyes flashing, tense, curled in towards herself, the bitter tang of something deep within her belly ... "My problem? I just want to live my own stupid life! I'm not you! You're the -- the -- the weird audiovisual myth!"

Gamora blinks, sifting her way through three layers of her own muddled emotions.

A stuttering wave of gentleness seeps into her fingers.

Yes, her younger self was aggressive, and angry, but never more so than when she was jealous, envious, confronted by everything she yearned, so close but so impossibly out of reach.

"Oh," says Gamora.

She feels herself turn away, in this weird dream that is not a dream.

It's still a fucking mess, she thinks. But maybe she can learn to be a little kinder to herself.

"I'm sorry," she says.

Uncomfortably, other Gamora jerks her chin. Then softens by an increment. Then shrugs. Then, finally --

Looks suddenly and oddly guilty.

"Thanks," she says.

"Don't mention it," says Gamora.

"Uh, it's just. Well. About the magical morning kiss thing. I ... might have broken up with him."

And, very instantaneously, all thoughts of self-kindness fly out of Gamora's head.

"You WHAT?!"

[super-novatuna]

Discussing/Going Slightly Crazy over Tears of Themis Main Story 09: Grey Frontier, a Post

will definitely contain spoilers under the cut!

HOO BOY TALK ABOUT MORE QUESTIONS THAN ANSWERS. NONE OF MY PREVIOUS QUESTIONS WERE ANSWERED AND NOW I HAVE MORE HOLY MOLY

my heart dropped when i didn't see a Trial level. more questions, less answers.

let's start by discussing the squares in the little bingo made by @/actualbird, who i will not tag because i do not want to spoil him accidentally. thank u zak for ur services :D

one thing to note is that there are NO bingos this chapter, mainly because one thing most of us probably didn't expect lmao: NXX SEPARATED.

unthinkable. unimaginable. like there's practically NO team stuff in ch9. that's insane. artem was flooded with heirson cases, vyn was dealing with.. whatever the fuck he was doing, marius was presumably busy with managing the backlash of the trial in 08, and that leaves luke, who even though is the one that mc can tag along with for a case is still busy on his own with nsb stuff. hardly any teamwork happening, besides if you count marius' "interrogation" where luke gave him his button back and vyn just guiding mc to figure out what the suicide notes meant... yeah. not to mention artem being skye's attorney???. 99% Win Rate Artem Wing. hello. I have never been more confused. what's the plot behind this? are they all orchestrating a behind-the-scenes plan that'll come together, or are they really all doing their own shit? I'm leaning more towards the former given the nature of the game but gosh this is taking a TURN

translation errors were a lil funny but i could still understand the point which is all i need.

vyn doesn't say anything ominous but saying kys out of nowhere counts a little i think.

jerome 🫰 hes cute but he's uncanny and I'm so curious as to what he's up to. telling the little girl to get marius to pay was nice but there must've been an underlying intention.

no nxx team meeting (i mean with luke and artem. that barely counts because artem was so busy he just let luke have her).

mc figured out abt luke's illness but from what I'm seeing nothing is quite clear and she doesn't know he's got three years oof. artem has a clue but I'm sure he knows nothing either. and marius and vyn have their suspicions but nothing's sure or confirmed.

LUKE PROTECT ROSA !!! YEAHHHH watch ur back u bitchass macho king

do parallels btwn skye and the incident with luke in the hospital count as symbolism idk I'm counting it. i think there's some symbolism a little bit.

for our romantic moment before something terrible happens, ah yes, sweet and worried words on a phone call and then luke has a whole episode. yay. delightful. luke don't fucking die.

no tot story would be complete without an absurd mid-story debate. damn, right in front of the secret nsb station???

no weird luke gadget 😔 sorry he was busy being sick

found family? they aren't even together the marluke moment was barely anything. artem worried about luke having an episode... counts a little. not enough to warrant even a question mark 😔

no nxx meeting, no hilarious bullshit from a boy. sad.

WHAT IS THE TIMELINE SHAKES HYV WHAT IS GOING ON

free space luke is dying

AARON YIPPEEE. good dad.

vincent is a good boy but no intel from him. just him being Best Assistant. Bestest ever.

I didn't cry but i am close to a mental breakdown

LUKE DEPRESSION ASHDJKWKW poor guy.

not sure if Emotionally Charged and Slight Conflict counts as an argument but personally i think kinda?

no baldr because NO TRIAL AAHFJSJJSK

not only do i have more questions about the new Big Bad but I have questions about WHATEVER THE FUCK IS GOING ON WITH THE WHOLE TEAM.

voice acting 🔛🔝 as always.

NO COURT 😓😓😓😭😭😭

marius was pretty badly injured what the hell WHERE'S HIS PERSONAL BODYGUARD AJDJFWJ LUKE CAN U DO A LIL FAVOR PERHAPS

artem? almost no artem. AND NO CAPTAIN MORGAN IN THIS STORY AT ALL 🥹🥲

luke's hands. r so pretty. in both goddamn illustrations. eeeee

okay and that's all the bingo points sorted, most of it sorted. two other things that piqued my interest was

1. skye harper. she loves taking care of people and she hates seeing people suffering. gerard suffered because of his mom and so many patients suffered because of tyson turner. she wants to protect her patients and the people she favors. i support her actions btw she's so cool for that. artem also supports her so that's a point in our favor! i also think her drinking all night when gerard disappeared definitely is relevant somehow, we'll see in the next chapter.

2. mc is probably feeling a little left out ngl. everyone's got their own thing, and she can't really actively participate in much because she got doxxed and her personal life is being pried into. and she can't do much about anything, not even help artem for some reason, and she's definitely having a personal conflict especially with luke's... everything. i just love mc's character so much i hope she snaps soon tbh.

thus ends my crazy goings. if u read all the way here kudos have a cookie 🍪

and when we get to the whole team about luke's illness... rubs hands together. hoo boy ch10 is going to go CRAZY.

ALSO the nsb is definitely shady and marius does not trust em all that much. i think he trusts luke but his affiliation with the nsb is causing some distance. aaa.

[fallenasleepyetagain]

Sew - Dream/Nightmare Fanfic

NOTE: I do not write Dream and Nightmare as brothers, and they are not related in this story.

Media: UTMV/UTAU

Genre: Apple incident, human AU, pre established relationship (kinda?), general domestic living (I guess) until Nightmare FUCKS EVERYTHING UP, not canon compliant, my own DreamTale lore hehe <3, angst

Characters: Dream, King Nightmare, Opal-Ann (OC), & general unnamed villagers

Pairing: Dream/Nightmare

CW/TW: Minor transphobia, implied sexism, death, idk Nightmare going insane and destroying everything I guess, mentions of gore

Other Notes: I call this one the “Nightmare doesn’t fuck everything up” timeline <3

Word Count: ~6296 Words

Dream paced around the Tree of Feelings, arms crossed his chest. Nightmare was never late, to anything! Especially not when the moon was setting! Dream had woken up extra early to make sure he wouldn't miss Nightmare coming up to rest.

So...where was he?

He bit down on his lip, anxious. He...hoped that the villagers didn't do anything to Nightmare. If anything happened to Nightmare, anything bad at all, he didn't know what he would do! Nightmare was too important to him.

Gentle footsteps crunched the autumn leaves and Dream perked up almost immediately. Nightmare was okay!

Huzzah!!!

"NIGHTMARE!" Dream shrieked, and barreled down the hill.

Unfortunately, Dream didn't have much foresight and therefore did not anticipate that Nightmare wasn't ready for a tackle hug. Upon seeing the look of surprise on his face, Dream knew what was going to happen.

And it was going to happen fast. There was no time to anticipate it, only to take it.

The massive grimoire that Nightmare was holding collided with his head, sending him face-first into the dirt.

Nightmare stared at him for a couple of seconds before bursting into laughter. He hunched over, laughing harder than he ever had before, going so far as to drop his book on the ground.

After taking a second to recover, Dream stood up, spitting out some grass and dirt. Nightmare was still wheezing as he did this, but managed to pick up his book anyway.

"Ahahaha! Ah, ha, ahem. You okay there Dreamy?"

"Eyeah! I'm good."

"Fantastic."

Nightmare walked up the hill and using the pulley system Dream had installed, lowered their chest full of stuff and set the book down inside. He stayed standing for a moment, just looking at it.

Dream plopped up the hill after him, placing his head on Nightmare's shoulder. He looked down at the book Nightmare had put into the chest and spoke, "That's a new book."

"It's a grimoire. It has a bunch of myths and cryptic stuff in it."

"Cool."

"It is cool. Cooler than anything you can wrap your tiny brain around." Nightmare scoffed, flicking Dream's nose.

"Hey!"

Despite the chuckle that left him, Nightmare sat down at the base of the tree with a heavy sigh. He curled up, putting his head in between his knees. His purple eyes stayed focused on the rising sun, his eye bags becoming prevalent.

Dream sat down next to him and got real close. Their shoulders were touching and Nightmare turned his head to look at Dream.

"Nightmare."

"Dream."

"Are...you ok?"

"I'm fine."

Dream nudged Nightmare with his foot, "I know you think I'm an idiot, but I'm not."

"Debatable."

"Nightmare!" Nightmare snorted as Dream retaliated. "I'm serious! I know you better than anyone, and I can tell that something is up with you."

"Talk to me," Dream said softly, practically begging as Nightmare turned his head away, breaking eye contact.

It took him a moment, and it took Dream giving him a soft kiss on his cheek, but Nightmare folded. He always did when it came to Dream. He smoothed out his skirt that had gathered some grass, "I don't like it when the villagers call me a girl."

"Do you not feel like a girl?"

Nightmare shook his head, "...No? At least I don't think so? I think I'd feel better if I was a boy, like you."

"I could call you a boy if it would help. I never really saw you as a girl if it helps, gender is weird."

"Hah. But, yes, it would." Nightmare leaned into Dream, his eyes closing. "Dream, would you mind doing something for me?"

"Never! Whatever you want Nighty."

"Will you take one of my skirts today, and make it a pair of pants? I don't own a pair, unfortunately."

"Of course, I can do that! I haven't sewn a pair of pants in ages..."

"You can do it then?"

"Nightmare!" Dream gasped before grabbing Nightmare's face, squeezing his cheeks, "Of course I can do it! I'd do anything for you.

"You know that. Right?"

"I...do. I do know that." Nightmare put his hands on Dream's, pulling them off his face. He looked down at them, intertwining their fingers.

"One more thing."

"Yeah?"

"If I were to do something mortally abhorrent, something so terrible, that I would be compared to Satan himself, would you forgive me?"

"Haha, what."

"If I did something so dreadful, so horrendous, that it would confirm all those lies and rumors people spread about me, would you still care for me? Would you still love me?" Nightmare's tone shifted, his face in a dark scowl.

"Night I don't-"

"Answer the question Dream. Now."

"I-I mean, of course I would?" Dream sputtered, tucking back some of Nightmare's long black hair behind his ear.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"Cool. See? That wasn't so hard." Nightmare hummed, suddenly completely calm. "I'm heading off to bed, g'night."

Despite Dream's protests for an explanation, Nightmare kissed him on the forehead before standing up and leaping into the tree. For someone who wore skirts all the time and had hair constantly in his face, Nightmare was very skilled when it came to climbing trees.

That was that. Dream had no chance of getting Nightmare now, not when he was in the tree. He huffed, what was that all about? Was Nightmare planning on doing something bad?

It was entirely possible that he was. Nightmare had hidden things from Dream in the past. But he had gotten so serious and extremely eloquent...it made Dream worry.

Regardless, Dream figured he should get to work on the pants. It wouldn't be that hard, he was surprisingly good at sewing! It was just built into him. The villagers hated when he did it though. They believed that since he was a boy, he shouldn't be doing the sewing.

There were many things wrong with that line of thinking, of course. One of the things about it that bothered Dream was that it implied that he was a boy. And he guessed he was? Although the way that the other villagers were boys felt different than how Dream felt like a boy. He wasn't even sure if "boy" was the right word.

In the chest that Nightmare had lowered stored everything they owned. Which, to be fair, wasn't much. It was mostly books that Nightmare had been given by the local librarian (she was a lovely lady) and extra sets of clothing. Most of the clothes in there were Dream's, since he tended to get messier than Nightmare.

The longest skirt that Nightmare owned sat neatly on the other side of his books. Worst case scenario, he'd have to make Nightmare a new skirt, which he could do easily. He made himself a skirt once to match Nightmare, but tensions had begun to rise between them and the villagers, so he never had the chance to wear it out.

The last thing he wanted was to give more reason for the villagers to harass Nightmare.

Yes, he knew about it! He wasn't stupid! And Nightmare wasn't the only one who was suffering because of them. They weren't exactly saints to Dream either. For being the villagers' Guardians, they seemed to hate them a lot.

Either way, he was going to make Nightmare those pants! Nightmare would look good in pants, although he could pull off anything if he wanted to. He bundled the skirt up into his arms and trotted into town.

Most of the townsmen were already up and doing work, but many of the stores didn't officially open until Nightmare was gone.

Which was, wow, harsh.

Regardless, by the time he got into town, people were out and about. He kept his head down, just looking at the skirt in his arms. Occasionally people said good morning to him, and he replied quickly, not wanting to get up into a conversation with anyone.

Since the last summer, every single conversation he had with anyone except Nightmare had something to do with him "getting away from the witch."

It upset him. Nightmare was the furthest thing from a witch or a demon or whatever they were calling him! Dream adored Nightmare, and he just wanted him to be happy and safe.

The dread he felt when he approached the store that he needed to go was insurmountable. The lady who worked inside was one of the worst when it came to being cruel toward Nightmare and harassing Dream. If he could avoid talking with her, then he would.

Maybe he'd get lucky and her daughter would be at the counter instead. All he needed was some dark purple thread, that was it. He had lilac and a very desaturated purple, but he wanted this to be perfect.

Going from skirt to pants would be difficult, and he wasn't sure how many seams he'd be able to hide. It'd be a new process, but he'd figure it out. He always did.

A soft bell rang as he entered and his face fell as he saw who it was behind the counter. It wasn't the daughter, that was for sure. The woman was working on her project and Dream braced himself.

"Oh, good morning Dream."

"Mornin. Can I..." his eyes scanned the array of threat colors behind her, "have that dark purple right there?"

"Dream, look. I respect that you are a guardian and all, but that purple is incredibly expensive. I can't just give you it without you giving me money."

Ah, right. This was a business. Dream forgot about that.

"Plus, I see that skirt. You should make Nightmare mend her own clothing instead of going to those frivolous poetry readings."

For a moment, Dream's mind went dark and his vision red. Those readings were one of the only things Nightmare loved about the village. It was the only place that Nightmare could show off his literary prowess.

The people who went were all unmarried men, and Nightmare fit right in. He commanded the room whenever he spoke. While Dream didn't understand most poetry (Nightmare often wrote his poems in Latin or Greek; languages Dream didn't understand) he knew how important it was to him.

Dream had actually gone to one of the poetry readings and watched in awe as Nightmare's words painted a picture in the air where they hung. His voice captivated Dream, it took him by his collar and pulled him close.

Maybe Nightmare was a witch. Dream didn't mind being under his spell.

Thoughts of Nightmare swarmed his mind as he looked into the pale eyes of the lady across the counter. Nightmare wanted pants and Dream was going to give it to him, no matter what!

Even if it meant lying in the worst way possible.

"I know. Nightmare was actually wanting to learn how to mend clothing. So I figured I'd get some thread to show how it's done!"

"You clever boy," Dream internally scowled. I'm older than your entire bloodline. "Here, I can't give you much, but I hope it teaches that girl to do something productive."

The dark purple thread was put onto the counter and Dream swiped it without a second thought. He didn't care what the lady was saying to him after that and he left the store in a fit of rage.

What did Nightmare do to deserve that kind of treatment?! What did Dream do to get the harsh criticisms from people?! What did either of them ever do?!?

All they ever did was be forced into the position of guardian and protect the apples!

There was never a day that went by that he wasn't grateful for the placement of the tree that they lived under. It was on a high hill, overlooking the village. Dream and Nightmare could look down on the villagers, but they couldn't get a clear look up. It was awfully steep, but Dream didn't care.

Once he got to the top of the hill, he threw himself down, anger still commanding his every move. He took in a deep breath, feeling Nightmare's skirt in his hands. He looked up, and seeing Nightmare resting away in the tree made him feel better.

Nightmare's long black hair was draped over his face, and Dream's heart couldn't stop racing. Nightmare was so...so handsome and perfect! Dream couldn't take it!

Suddenly his vigor returned, and he began working on the pants. He used his own pants as reference, since they were the same height. He had pulled out his sewing stuff from the chest, it resting next to him in the grass as he worked. As the day passed, the boys of the village ran up the hill, begging Dream to hang out with them.

They huffed and poured and whined when he shook his head and told them no. It was mid-afternoon when they finally gave up and went to play by themselves. Dream didn't mind hanging out or playing with them, it made him feel young. But sometimes work came first, and he had to do it.

Although he wasn't working the whole day. He somehow managed to take a nap in the middle of the afternoon, hands mid-stitch when he lost consciousness. It was a miracle he didn't end up stabbing himself with the needle.

It was the evening when he woke up, and he felt like dying. Those afternoon naps killed him!

Dream rubbed his eyes and looked down at his lap. In his hands was the skirt that he was working on and, oh! He was almost done, surprisingly. There were a few seams he needed to clean up and hide, but it was looking like pants now. To his left, was a small bag full of grapes and blueberries.

On the bag were the initials of the local librarian, an old lady named Opal-Ann. She also cared about Nightmare, and always pushed him to read and write. Dream liked her. She was one of the only good people in the entire village.

Old people were just like that, he supposed.

The fruit was fresh and he placed a few pieces in his mouth. He didn't need food, being immortal and all. But he liked the full feeling in his stomach when he did eat. He'd eat just about anything, including things considered inedible.

Nightmare fed him a skull once.

That was fun.

Just as the sun went down, Dream had finished. He stood up and looked at his fine-crafted work. It was perfect and he grinned. It would go perfectly with Nightmare's shirts and he was sure Nightmare would love it.

Oh jeez, Dream didn't want to wait! He opened the chest and threw the pants into it before beginning his ascent into the tree. He had been climbing trees his whole life, but it was always a struggle for him. He would often slip and fall and give Nightmare heart attacks.

Nightmare, of course, was graceful and quick whenever he scaled up a tree. He was efficient and did just about anything. Dream's excitement shot him up the tree and he perched himself a few feet away from where Nightmare was sleeping.

It was pretty impressive how Nightmare was able to sleep in the tree. Dream just slept on the ground. Nightmare was draped over a branch and his limbs seemed like they were clamped around it.

"Nightmare..." Dream whispered. No movement.

"Nightmare."

Nothing.

Dream tore a dead stick from the tree and poked Nightmare with it. He stirred for a moment and Dream huffed impatiently.

With incredible accuracy, Dream nailed the stick right onto Nightmare's face, "Nightmare!"

"AAUGAH!?"

Then he slammed against the ground. Dream hummed in satisfaction and hopped down himself. Nightmare was not pleased with him. The moment Dream was on his feet Nightmare yanked him close by the collar and seethed.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"I finished your pants!" Dream chirped, taking Nightmare's hands off of his collar and holding them.

All of Nightmare's crankiness dissipated almost immediately. He took his hands from Dream's and rubbed his eyes, trying to fully wake up. Dream walked over to the chest and pulled out the pants before showing them to Nightmare. His stunning purple eyes lit up as he took them from Dream.

Without saying a word, Nightmare grabbed Dream's hand and pulled him down the hill. The sun was still setting in the sky but the light it gave was fading. The moon would be new that night as well, meaning that there would be little light to guide them.

Getting to the library before dark would be easy though, since it wasn't far from the Tree. It was actually on the opposite side of the village from the Tree, meaning that you could see it from the top of the hill.

Most people were inside by now, but the occasional person was closing up shop. One of the people, of course, was the lady who sold him the thread for Nightmare's pants. He avoided making eye contact with her.

There was an aura of tension that radiated from everyone outside, Nightmare included. He was holding Dream's hand so tight that it hurt. As if he was worried Dream would run away the moment he had the chance.

Nightmare walked with power, as if he had reserved himself to something. Dream didn't know what it was. His eyes darted around at the villagers and their glares pierced his soul.

Is this what Nightmare had to deal with every night? Dream squeezed Nightmare's hand and sped up so he was closer to him.

Much to Dream's relief, they reached the library sooner than he expected.

Before Nightmare could grab the door's knob, it opened. Dream saw the person slowly reveal herself from the other side of the door. She was around the same size as them, and was very old. She had to be the littlest, oldest lady Dream had ever seen. She had a shawl wrapped around her shoulders and a long skirt. It has been ages since he actually went to the library and she looked much older.

"Greetings Opal-Ann," Nightmare stated flatly, entering the library without even taking a glance at her. He finally dropped Dream's hand and beelined it to the room in the back.

"Good evening young man." Then she turned her attention to Dream. "Hello. It's been quite a while, Guardian of Positivity."

Dream shifted uncomfortably as she closed the door behind him. "...Hi."

"Dream, dear." She put a hand on his shoulder, and her eyes fell. Dream raised an eyebrow at her. "Please, protect him. I worry about what they'll do to him when I'm gone. Don't let them do anything to him."

"What...do you mean?"

Opal-Ann just patted his shoulder before turning away and slowly trotting off. Dream thought that he should say something but he couldn't find it in him to even speak.

He turned his attention to Nightmare who had stepped out of the back room. His black hair had been pulled back and neatly settled into a ponytail. Dream couldn't control himself as he gasped and ran over to Nightmare, picking him up.

There was very little room in the library, but Dream twirled Nightmare anyway. The two were quiet, but Dream squealed silently anyway. Nightmare didn't attempt to break free like he usually did. He gripped onto Dream's back, shoving his face into his neck like a lifeline.

"You look so handsome." Dream whispered, setting Nightmare down. He stayed there for a moment, keeping Dream close, before pulling away. His hands came up to Dream's cheeks and he scoffed.

"And you look absolutely exhausted."

Per usual, Nightmare was right. His hand ran over Dream's eye bags and he yawned. "Here." Near the entrance of the library, was a bench with cushioning. The bench, which was more adjacent to a cabinet, was pushed up against a wall of books.

"Lay down on it." Nightmare instructed, "I have a book I've been wanting to read, so you can use my lap as a pillow."

Dream did just that. He slipped his boots off before climbing onto the cushion, of course, since he didn't want to get it dirty. The moment his head hit Nightmare's lap, a wave of fatigue hit him. His eyes shut before he could figure out what was happening.

The last thing he remembered before prompting passing out was the feeling of Nightmare running his hand through his fire-red coils.

Then, there was screaming.

It was startling and Dream rolled off the cushion, landing hard onto the floor. His eyes darted around, but Nightmare wasn't anyone in his vision.

Shit!

What had happened?

On the opposite side of the library was a large group of people, shouting and arguing. He stumbled to his feet and slipped his boots back on.

The other side of the library was Opal-Ann's room. Panic surged through Dream as he rushed to the other side, shoving his way through the people in front of the door.

Opal-Ann was in her bed. Dead. Her face was peaceful, and she looked like she was asleep. But the feelings of those around him told him otherwise.

"What...happened?"

"That witch killed her!"

"WHAT?!" Dream was in shock. He was angry too. Nightmare adored Opal-Ann and her library, there was no way that he would hurt her! He couldn't, wouldn't, believe that Nightmare would do such a thing. "Nightmare wouldn't do that!"

"You're under her spell, of course you think she wouldn't."

"Opal-Ann was under a spell too, that's why she was unable to see her death coming."

"Poor woman..."

Dream couldn't stand being there anymore. He ran out of the room, out of the library. The situation outside was even worse than the one inside.

All of the villagers were crowded, shouting and talking amongst themselves. They had torches and pitchforks and oh shit.

They were going to kill Nightmare.

Where was Nightmare?!

After forcing his way through the crowd, Dream got a glimpse of Nightmare's black hair from the top of the hill. He ran up at a speed he didn't know that he could go. Before he reached the top, he stumbled and slammed down into the ground.

"Nighty..." Nightmare looked down at him, a determined look in his eyes. Dream inhaled sharply as he saw one of the black apples in his hands.

What was he planning?

"Nightmare, what's going on? They want to kill you, tell them you didn't-"

"Shh." Nightmare crouched down, putting a finger against Dream's lips. Dream looked up at him helplessly, blushing at the sight of him, despite the circumstances. God, he looked good in pants. "There's nothing either of us can do now. Do you remember the promise you made me?"

With the finger against his lips, he couldn't respond properly. But Dream nodded anyway.

"Good." Nightmare took a deep breath and helped Dream to his feet. He gently pushed back one of Dream's coils behind his ear, before sighing deeply. "I hope you find it in your heart to forgive me for this?"

"For whaAHG-?!" Dream rolled down the hill, still in shock as Nightmare pushed him. He tumbled down the hill, getting grass and dirt in his mouth. He looked up, the sun barely peaking over the hill and the tree. He couldn't see Nightmare's face.

But he could hear him.

This moment seared itself into his mind. It would never leave him, even years after.

The world stood still, and the wind began to howl. It wasn't cold, but goosebumps rose on Dream's arms and he shivered.

Bile shoved its way through his esophagus as Nightmare bit into the apple in his hands. The negativity was overwhelming. How was that even possible? Nightmare had only eaten the one!

Nightmare was clever though. Always was.

Especially good with magic too. There was a reason he was called a witch after all. Dream's only guess was that Nightmare had, somehow, allowed one apple to hold the power of multiple?

No, that was stupid.

How did he...?

There wasn't any time to ask as screams rang out and the mob of people trampled over him.

The valley erupted into chaos.

Dream struggled to get to his feet, and almost immediately regretted it when he did. Hot, red blood splattered against his face and he felt dizzy as he saw it on his hands.

With his heart beating heavy in his chest, he began his ascent up to the tree, and to Nightmare. He kept his head down, using his right arm to block his face. He could hear the screams, the squelching of blood and guts splatting against the ground.

A scream of his own came as the tree came crashing down, a large branch being flung at him. Dirt and muck came flying up and he dove to the ground.

Once his eyes opened, the golden shimmer of an apple greeted him. As his world crumbled around him, it called to him. He cradled the apple in his hands, feeling its warmth.

The sound of screams and buildings being torn down echoed in the background. Dream didn't want to look. He didn't want to associate those sounds with Nightmare.

A tear slipped from his eye as he glanced up the hill, the decimated remains of the tree being the only thing up there. The apples that once glowed in shimmering blacks and yellows were now on the ground, rotting.

Dream brought the apple to his mouth, and with a crunch all too familiar, he bit into it.

It tasted positively delicious.

The juices from it split down his chin, and he almost forgot where he was and what was happening. Sheer power surged through him, and suddenly he felt more reckless than he ever had before. He got to his feet, the gravity of the situation hitting him once more.

It was worse than he thought. Nightmare, who was barely recognizable due to being nothing but a purple and black blur in the air, had killed and destroyed everything.

How was he supposed to react? Was he supposed to be angry? Scared? Proud? He felt like he should be angry. He felt like he should be enraged at Nightmare, or paralyzed as he watched his unfold.

Unfortunately for Dream, he was neither of those things. He felt nothing but the adrenaline pumping in his veins and the need to stop Nightmare at all costs.

Violence wasn't necessary, at least Dream didn't think so. If he could just talk to Nightmare, maybe everything would be okay. Maybe they would have to leave town forever, considering the damage. But he would figure it out.

He always did. He had no other choice.

Nightmare was in the center of town, horrible black tentacles thrashing behind his back. Blood was splattered on his pants and arms, but none of it appeared to be his own.

Bodies were torn apart and the final survivors were trying to stand their own. It didn't do them much good though, Nightmare was powerful. Too powerful. He had to stop this before Nightmare got rid of everything!

The steepness of the hill didn't stop him from running down it, keeping his balance the entire time. Power ran through his veins, and the suffocating negativity radiating from Nightmare became easier to manage.

"Nightmare!" He called.

No response. Nightmare didn't even turn to look at him.

"Stop it! Let's talk about this, please!" There was desperation in his voice that he didn't realize he was feeling. As he approached, the feeling of adrenaline was replaced with fear.

Never had Nightmare made him feel like that. The person who had lived with him for century after century was making him afraid.

Dream was terrified.

Terrified of Nightmare.

"Nightmare...!" Despite his fear, he kept running down the hill.

"NIGHTM-!"

The last thing he saw was Nightmare whipping around and glaring at him with bright, teal eyes.

It was safe to say that the Guardian of Positivity died that day.

Becoming stone isn't what most mortals think it is. It's not a state of unconsciousness that most think it is. Dream will tell you that.

It wasn't a sensation like sleep or being in a coma. It was nothing. No thoughts, no movement.

Perhaps death was too harsh. Perhaps Dream and Nightmare didn't want to word it that way. Being turned to stone, in Dream's own words, was like being trapped in time.

And when he woke up?

"-MARE!!!"

It was like no time had changed at all.

Dream crashed and collapsed into someone. This was a surprise. Especially considering that he should've been running down toward Nightmare. Nightmare, who was destroying their world.

Sweat trickled down his back. Why? He knew that people were cruel, that they hated Nightmare. But why didn't he talk to Dream about it all? He could've done something, anything!

There was a new scent in the air, on the body his face was smooshed up against. He couldn't describe it. It was unfamiliar and strange.

The stranger's hands were gentle with him, lifting him by his forearms. Dream craned his neck upwards, and stepped back, yanking his arms away from the stranger.

Stranger? No no, this man wasn't a stranger.

Those teal eyes, how he parted his hair. He could recognize it from a mile away.

The man's eyes, Nightmare's eyes, were soft. To Dream, the change was instantaneous.

From a glare to a soft look. It was jarring.

"What-?" Dream took another step back. The village was no longer in ruins. But it wasn't back. It was destroyed, and nature had taken it over once more.

Nightmare, at least Dream assumed this was Nightmare, was vastly different. First and foremost, he was tall. Too tall, Dream thought. How dare he? His hair was short, and he looked handsome as ever.

The crown he always wore was missing. Replaced with silver accents on his black and teal suit.

"Who...?" Dream didn't back up as Nightmare took a step forward. He was treating him like a frightened animal. "...Nightmare."

It wasn't a question.

Of course he recognized him.

How could he not?

"God I've missed you." Nightmare, whose voice was significantly deeper, used the back of his fingers to caress his cheek.

"Nightmare what- what is going on?"

There was a beat of silence, and Nightmare took Dream by his hand and led him up the hill. He sat down on the stump of the Tree, and gestured for Dream to sit down next to him.

The stump was covered in moss and bugs, nature climbing over it as it did on everything else. Dream plopped down, looking around at all the damage.

"I have something for you."

"Hm?" Dream perked up.

Much to his surprise, Nightmare draped half of the flag that sat around the Tree around his shoulders.

It must've been destroyed when Nightmare attacked the Tree since only half of it was here. But that didn't explain anything! One moment, the village smelled like blood and guts, and another it was dead quiet.

"What do you know?"

"About what?"

With a small scoff, Nightmare rubbed his forehead, "About what happened that day."

"You mean what happened just now? Or, what should've been just now..."

Nightmare put a hand on the bottom of his mouth, thinking. "Shit, you probably wouldn't..."

After a moment of thinking, Nightmare decided to just tell it straight. "I turned you to stone Dream. Around," he waved his hand around, "Eighty or so years ago?"

"EIGHTY YEARS?! What were you DOING??" Dream shouted, grabbing onto Nightmare's shoulders. He shook his head, rattling together his thoughts. "What happened? One moment you're, you've got long hair and are my sized and now you're tall as shit!"

As Dream spoke, Nightmare nodded along. "How fascinating...You don't have any memory of your time in stone?"

"Not at all."

Dream watched as Nightmare thought (something he often found himself doing), leaning in as Nightmare gently ran his hands through his fire-red coils.

"Nightmare?"

"Yes?"

Averting his eyes, Dream shifted on the stump. "Why did you do...this?" He gestures towards the town.

"I was angry." He sat back, "They called me a monster. So I figured I'd give them one."

"You could've talked to me. You didn't have to do it so suddenly! We could've, I could've done something."

"Oh, Dream." Nightmare tilted his chin upwards, "Always so hopelessly optimistic."

"Hey!"

"That wasn't an insult! It's cute."

Blood rushed through Dream's body, his cheeks flushing as it did so.

This wasn't the first time Nightmare had called him cute. In fact, Nightmare called him that all the time! This time though? This time felt different. Maybe it was the confidence and the power exulting off of him, or maybe it was the height difference?

Whatever it was, it made Dream's heart race.

"I had been planning this for a long time. You remember my grimoire, yes? In that book," Nightmare didn't even give him the chance to answer! "It tells the story of someone from before our time, don't look at me like that, who gained power from the negativity apples.

"He, of course, was killed by the power, due to his body being unable to handle it. I knew that I could, of course. I figured that the results would be the same, and if they wanted a scapegoat. Might as well give them one."

Dream huffed, leaning into his legs. As much as he wanted to say to Nightmare that doing that was an awful idea, what else could they have done? Nightmare was blamed for the death of Opal-Ann.

The worst part about it all was the fact that it was something Nightmare had been planning something and he didn't know about it!

It was all too much.

Wordlessly, Dream scooted closer to Nightmare and put his head on his shoulder. It had been a long day. Or, he supposed, a long eighty years! He was exhausted.

"Here. Let's get you home." Nightmare scooped Dream up with ease, carrying him bridal style.

"I am home...?"

"No, you're not."

And he refused to elaborate.

That wasn't new to Dream. Nightmare was always the type to say shit and then never explain it.

It was one of his least favorite things about Nightmare. It made him insufferable sometimes.

"I'll explain everything later, alright?" Nightmare spoke, gently poking Dream in the cheek with a tentacle. For a moment, Dream was startled by it, but he didn't shove it away. "Rest now. I've got you."

Dream didn't need telling twice.

While Dream might've been a light sleeper, which made sleeping during storms difficult, he was quick at falling asleep. It was...incredibly impressive actually.

Without any time at all, Dream was snoring softly in Nightmare's arms. He couldn't help but bask in it. He never thought that he would hear that sound again.

As he walked down the hill in great strides, he contemplated how to tell Dream about all that he had learned in the past one hundred years.

Yes, he had lied, you'll have to forgive him for that.

It was unlikely that Dream would've been so forgiving towards him if he said that he was left in stone for a whole century. He knew that Dream could handle knowing that he was trapped away for eighty years.

Anything higher would send him into a tantrum.

And honestly? Nightmare was not in the mood to deal with that nonsense.

The discovery of the Multiverse and all of the universes inside of it was something he found incredible. There was more knowledge to gain than he had ever known! It would have blown his mind at four-hundred years old!

However, the issue was Dream.

How would he who cared too much about everything and anything handle the knowledge that there were billions upon billions of universes with an infinite amount of people in them?

Nightmare was afraid that it might kill him!

He supposed that the answer was to take it one step at a time. Slowly introduce him to his surroundings, new technology, and whatnot.

It shouldn't take long. Dream picked up on things quicker.

A golden hair caught his attention and he stopped at the base of the hill. In the middle of Dream's bright red hair was a shimmering blonde hair.

That isn't right.

Nightmare squinted, as he looked closer he could see the forming of more blonde hairs. If he was right, and he always was, Dream should be exactly as he left him.

No weird, stray golden hairs.

Unless...

With a quick pivot, he turned on one foot, glaring at where the tree used to be. Despite his many years of planning, when he followed through with his goal, he was very out of it. It took his body many years to fully adjust to the sheer amount of negative energy power in him.

The majority of that century was spent dealing with the high that the apples gave him.

It was entirely possible that Dream managed to get his hands on a positivity apple.

At the moment, there were too many factors to tell it precisely.

It could've been an apple, or the stone he was trapped in, or Nightmare leaving the universe. Only time would tell, and Nightmare had plenty of it.

If was an apple, it was likely that Dream would get taller and would gain more powers of some kind. Nightmare would keep an eye on it all.

He pressed his lips against Dream's forehead.

God, how good it felt to be back together once more.

[chidoroki]

Heavenly Delusion EP3

 aka: body swap

“September 12, 2034: Ten years since the calamity.” Ah we’re a little bit ahead of the Promised Neverland timeline hm? No wonder pfftt but at this time the fullscore trio is born, huzzah!

The electric go kart profession from last time was actually true?

Who’s this nice looking Robin dude? ..Was that the same guy Kiruko was looking for? Either way, he’s got a nice kick.

Hold up! The white jacket Kiruko wears is the same as Robin’s!

Okay well, now this Haruki kid has it. I’m still so lost on what’s going on and who all these new people are.

We get to see more of Kiruko’s doppelgänger Kiriko as well. Is she from the same place as Tokio?

My memory is so bad right now, but is this doc guy the other person Kiruko is trying to find?

“Currently in use by Funayama Orphanage.” ...Do I need to say it? HMMM???

“Ten years ago, Robin had a sister my age. He lost her in the Great Disaster.” So wait.. the calamity and great disaster are two different things, right? Because we’re still currently in a flash of some sort with Haruki? Or are they just two different names for the same event?? Y’all if I don’t get answers soon about what’s happening in this world I’m gonna go insane.

These man-eaters can turn invisible? That’s troublesome.

Wait wait wait, while this creature is absorbing Haruki, does it have any relation to that other Hiruko monster from last ep? Asking only because Kiruko and Kiriko have similar names and there’s something going on there.

Oh damn, the boy really got eaten.. halfway but still.

Um I need more info about that random gunshot please??

So now we got a flashback within a flashback.. and some head surgery. Fantastic..

OHHH.. they put Haruki’s brain in Kiriko’s body, which gives us our main protag Kiruko. Am I understanding that correctly?

“I think that the shock of her brother’s death has led her to believe that she is her brother.” Or maybe not?? Fuck man I’m so lost.

No but it really is him in her body, isn’t it? Did she sacrifice herself to save him? That must be it.

Ah, good, so it was indeed Robin and the doctor Kiruko mentioned she was looking for.

“I won’t find a girl I get along with this well.” “That’s because we’re both guys.” Alright well that all makes a lot more sense now, thank you Kiruko. Feels nice to understand something in this series for once!

What a coincidence we got both Hell’s Paradise and this ending their third episode with our heroes encountering a strange fish looking to kill them.

Oohh post credit scene though.. again with Kona’s strange drawings.

“Real babies don’t have faces. Want to go and see it?” I beg your pardon??

… oh. OOHHH! Is it gonna be that weird one from one of the last trailers? Ah shit.

[banesbottombitch]

[Kicks open a door]

If AHS: Apocalypse is supposed to be set 2019~ish and revolve around the end of the times or in the very least, nuclear war, then how the actual fuck was Hotel’s (based in 2015) final moments set in the future where Scarlett Lowe is an older teen and the year is supposedly around 2022 if you check Marcy’s (the Real Estate agent from Murder House and Hotel) wikia page and read that as a ghost she has changed her personality over her time at the Cortez and by 2022 she had grown into a fairly evovled person.

If the Cortez is still standing and Bille Jean Howard is filming the same time as Scarlett is and older teen and Marcy’s character is developing over the years shes been inside the hotel, then it begs the question as to what the fuck kind of timeline the AHS world is dealing with.

Also- Michael’s aging is hardly linear if we agree that the body he is in as actually his own. Ryan even tweeted that he has his mothers hair and fathers eyes and it nails the description of the Michael we see on screen perfectly enough, so we can assume he is in his OWN body and not riding some random meat suit. In Murder House he came out of the womb at 5-6 months old as a full grown infant instead of a fetal mess which points to aggressive age progression in the very least- BUT, the season finale spaces three years ahead and he is shown to be an older toddler of about 3-4 years old physically.

It almost makes me wonder, if, in theory, he ages how he prefers to.

Hear me out;

A lot of scenes that involve Vivien and the twins she was carrying almost all revolve around Michael. He gives her nightmares about a clawed demon (which, good on him for showing his true colors ahead of time lmao) in her womb, a nurse has a mild heart attack after seeing Michael’s visage on the ultra sound, and as Viven is sitting on the tour bus for the Murder House tours she has a blot of spotting that lasts until she gets back to the house- showing that whatever is inside her is connected to the home and only feels safe once shes inside.

He kind of plays the game a bit too well. Pushing his birth giver to her limit, taking life from his twin, its mostly about his survival and what makes him comfortable. He is the catalyst for his mothers death, the hemorrhaging and early birth, the birth I’m sure he caused because he somehow knew and understood that the moment Vivien and the family left the house that he wont be returning to the Murder House ever again.

When we see the flash forward to three years, he is found by his grandmother Constance after he murdered and played in the blood of his caretaker. Before Constance finds him, she steps over and passes a jar of cookies, a box of popsicles and other treats. Treats a kid would want, things they would throw tantrums over and be upset if they weren't given. I’d take a pretty big step and argue that Michael kept himself at the age he was last seen as just so that he could get whatever he wanted from those around him without question.

Everyone wants to see a happy child, and Constance is no less eager to have her precious grandson beaming up at her and loving her. She would undoubtedly spoil him, as he would be her second chance at raising Tate, and this time, raising him right. She doesn't want her surrogate son to love her, and would supply to all his demands, and a cute little toddler is a good mold to use to pull and take what a demented little antichrist might like.

As for why he seems older now, I’d think that maybe there was an instance where Constance might have told him “No”. While im sure she would spoil him as much as she could, I’m sure there was a breaking point for her, a time where she was fed up with giving into everything he wants. The final foot being put down, that last straw that was to come. Maybe he had killed one too many nannies, or maybe she was tired of giving in to all his demands and wanted him to grow up a little- or, you know, maybe she was starting to realize “oh, well, thats right, I’m raising the literal Antichrist”.

From there I think he would have aged, or at least progressed enough to be an adult and have his own authority and to be in complete control without question.

Thats just a half assed theory though, but its all I can guess if the timeline is anything to go off of and why Michael Langdon is walking around looking like a twenty something who got lost in the vampire-romance section of barnes and noble.

[thebiscuiteternal]

(Throwing this out in the ether to see if it’s interesting enough for me to continue.)

“Your Shadow Holding Hands With Mine” Alternate Timeline, Sangxian, Accidental Living Saber Nie Huaisang, Canon Typical Violence, Signs of Mutual Insanity, Referenced Torture

__________

He was pleased to say that the guards on the walls had never seen him coming. 

He had already slipped through the gates when the screaming started, and a humorless grin crossed his mouth as he made his way from building to building, setting the red girls on anyone who moved fast enough that they might escape the waves of corpses clambering over the walls.

"Did you see something interesting, jiejie?" he asked when one of the red girls returned and draped herself against his back, arms around his neck.

~"A strange one,"~  she whispered, all cold breath against his skin. ~"One like you."~

He frowned. "Like me?"

~"Once gold, now dimmed."~

His frown deepened into a scowl at the implications of the description. "Show me."

She giggled and floated off, and he left the rest of the compound to the ever-increasing army of corpses as he followed.

The trail ended at what had to be the outpost commander’s residence, since it was much higher quality than the soldier's dwellings. 

He didn't have to search long before finding a small, heavily bound body curled up and unconscious on a narrow backless couch.

At the sight of the greens and greys of Qinghe Nie, he sucked in a breath through his teeth.

Surely not-

His stomach sank when he rolled the figure over and found himself staring at Nie Huaisang.

His friend was in terrible shape, far too pale and his breathing was weak. He was badly bruised in some areas and his skin had been scraped raw and bloody in others.

Remembering what the red girl had said, he carefully tugged the other boy's outer robes open, trying to ignore the sight of even more bruises and scrapes, and pressed his fingers to the dantian.

Oh. Oh, he knew the hollow coldness that greeted his careful probing all too well. He'd felt the same thing in Jiang Cheng after he’d been rescued from Lotus Pier, which meant this could only be the work of one particular Core-Melting Jackass.

But there was something else. Something weird.

Curious, he fed a little more resentful energy into the other boy's body and...

Wow.

He did it a third time and marveled at how, once more, the resentful energy just melted into Nie Huaisang's meridians like honey into hot tea. 

He was a little jealous at how easy it was for Nie Huaisang to absorb it. It sure as fuck hadn't been this simple for him, having to practically let the resentment shatter and reconstruct his meridians over the course of months.

He'd heard before that Nie cultivation was… a little unorthodox, compared to that of the other sects. Maybe...?

A crash from outside alerted him that he was still on a mission. "Jiejie, the chains?"

The red ghost gave a wide grin full of needle sharp teeth, then slashed her claws through the lock. Once the bindings fell away, he laid Nie Huaisang on his back, then sent a much stronger and sharper pulse of resentful energy through his body.

Nie Huaisang jerked and gave a violent gasp, then green eyes fluttered open and stared up at him fuzzily. 

"...Wei-xiong...?"

He smiled, all bright and violent cheer. "Welcome back, Nie-xiong. Ready to help me finish burning this place down so we can go hunting?"

"Hunting for what, exactly?" Nie Huaisang asked, squinting at him warily.

His smile grew. "The assholes who did this to us, of course."

---

Lan Wangji felt numb and slightly lightheaded as he exited the house, having been soundly dismissed by Wei Ying to go liase with his assistant.

The screams echoed behind him and he had to close his eyes and take a deep breath against the sudden wave of nausea that rose up in his stomach.

"Hanguang-jun?"

He opened his eyes in surprise and stepped back from the person who had just... appeared far too close for comfort, and only the realization that it was Nie Huaisang, of all people, kept him from drawing his sword.

...Wait.

"You are Wei Ying's assistant?" he asked, unable to keep his disbelief from leaking into his voice.

Nie Huaisang smiled, and the hair on the back of his neck prickled.

He dismissed it as a consequence of the still-ongoing screaming.

“Eh...sort of? I mean, he really does all the fighting, I just take care of the sabotage. Trying to make it a little easier on him, you know?"

"Easier."

"Mmhmm! Cutting bow strings, poisoning rations, that sort of thing. So he doesn't have to work so hard  at killing them." Nie Huaisang leaned to the side, staring up at the window behind him, then gave a soft whistle. "Wow, they're really getting into it. Must be someone important."

Lan Wangji swallowed hard. This conversation was getting more unnerving by the moment. "Wei Ying told me to find you," he said past the knot of discomfort in his throat.

"Oh? Well, I've already finished my part of the job, so he must want me to start on food. Come on!"

He didn't want to be here. He especially didn't want food, between what was going on upstairs and Nie Huaisang's far too casual remark about poisoning people.

He followed anyway.

Fortunately, the stew that Nie Huaisang cobbled together from the stores he hadn’t laced proved to be harmless, and the other boy had even been polite enough to cook the meat separately so he wouldn't have to eat around it.

The gesture had done little to soothe his uneasiness, however, especially when Wei Ying and Jiang Wanyin returned in high spirits and liberally spattered in blood.

"Really? After I just did laundry yesterday?" Nie Huaisang asked, as if that was the most pressing problem.

"Aw, but it was worth it, Nie-xiong," Wei Ying said in a sweet, affectionate sing-song that he'd never heard directed at anybody before.

Not even Jiang Wanyin, judging by the slightly incredulous look on his face.

"You should have come to watch!" Wei Ying continued, heedless of Nie Huaisang's squawk of disgust when he threw an arm around his shoulders, promptly transferring blood to his clothing as well. "Wen Zhuliu turned such pretty colors when Chengcheng got hold of him with Zidian!"

Nie Huaisang blinked, then looked at Jiang Wanyin. "Did you really?"

Jiang Wanyin smirked. "Made him dance, then took his head clean off," he said, then his expression turned serious. "Wei Wuxian told me what happened on the way back here. Are you going to be okay?"

The question earned a flinch and the other boy’s hand reflexively going to his dantian. 

Ah. That explained quite a bit about why he'd been able to sneak up undetected. Or at least that was what Lan Wangji was going to convince himself.

"I'll be fine," he said, waving off their expressions of concern. "I was lucky enough that Wei-xiong found me before we could make it to Nightless City, so... I'll be fine." 

"Tch. Ever the optimist," Wei Wuxian teased, but Lan Wangji didn't miss the glint in his eyes, nor the way his arm tightened protectively.

Possessively.

Suddenly the stew was far too heavy in his stomach, heavy enough that he lay staring up at the sky long after he should have been asleep.

"Wei-xiong, you've really overstretched yourself this time."

At the sound of the murmur, clearly pitched to avoid waking anyone, he turned his head to find Wei Ying and Nie Huaisang sitting on the other side of the low-burning fire. Wei Ying had tucked his face into the curve of Nie Huaisang's neck and had a hand resting against the other boy's stomach. Resentful energy writhed around them, apparently flowing from Wei Ying's body into Nie Huaisang's.

What... what was...?

"I know, I know, I shouldn't have called up so much for this," came the muffled sound of Wei Ying's voice. "But I have to practice working with larger numbers if we're going to make a difference, you know that."

"True, but if you tear yourself apart, then we won't be able to do anything at all."

Wei Ying pulled back just far enough to give a sharp-edged grin. "Then it's a good thing I have you to make it all better, isn't it?" he asked, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

"You're awful. Horrible, even. An absolute brat," Nie Huaisang said, giving Wei Ying a swat that made him yelp in protest, but his tone was all fondness as he drew away and fixed his robes, then got up to extinguish the fire.

Mind a whirl of confusion and apprehension-

Making him better? With resentful energy? How was that even supposed to work? Could Wei Ying potentially be in danger from what he was letting Nie Huaisang do?

-Lan Wangji didn't sleep for the rest of the night.

[killemwithkawaii]

Hey there Sally *hug* so I know the glitches are weird. Hopefully the great minds that follow Mitchie's blog can figure out something soon. But hopefully you're enjoying your time with Mitchie Classic™

The boys and I are glad that your nails and dokis grew back without incident. We, ah, still have Dumb Shit... Toby built him a reinforced room after escape attempt #"We Lost Count" (I got a new job and am away from home more, and Jeff can be a little careless). At least we finally got DS to stop trying to look like you, it creeped my Sal out a bit too much (btw how are you coping with the fact that another one of you made it here?)

Love,

Grace (and Toby, Jeff, and Sal)

Mitch(1): Grace? And her boyfriends Toby and Jeff…? That sounds like Grace from my ‘Intro to Biology’ class… No way!

L.S.S.: Heh, I told you you might find some people you know. I guess she goes into medicine in multiple timelines.

Mitch(1): What does she mean by, ‘Her Sal,’ though...?

L.S.S.: He’s another version of me that showed up in that universe. I think it’s like… he’s an alternate universe me that also got universe hopping powers, did his own thing for a while, and then we somehow ended up in the same timeline at the same time by random chance? We don’t really know how it works, but we’re rolling with it. He’s cool, we hang out sometimes.

Mitch(1): So wait, are you… dating Grace at some point, too, then…?

L.S.S.: No. Well, technically yes? But not this me. Different me. We’re parallel, not the same entity. At least we don’t think we are.

Mitch(1): Okay….. um, wow, this is confusing….

L.S.S.: Tell me about it. 

Anyway, thanks Grace, we’re having a great time. Except for the whole ‘being trapped in a crappy motel room’ and ‘not knowing for sure if I’m going insane and/or ruining my own anniversary’ part. But otherwise, yeah, it’s been nice spending time with her again.

Mitch(1): And it’s been nice spending time with Sally for the first time, too, even with all the weirdness! He’s as sweet as I thought he would be~

 L.S.S.: And you’re as sweet as I remember…~

So, D.S. is still in custody… Okay, well at least that rules out “Dumb Shit is fucking with us (part 2)” as an explanation for all this.

Mitch(1): ‘Dumb Shit’? That doesn’t sound very nice… Whos that? Why does Grace have him locked up?! And what did they do with your nails and… ‘dokis’?

L.S.S.:  He’s, um… god, that’s a long story. Basically, he’s a rabid fan of Mitchie number six that decided to terrorize slash torture us during our anniversery last year. He pretended to be like, my evil future self that wanted to steal Mitch away to go on a murder spree? He got us pretty good. It was as embarrassing as it was traumatic. Grace and her boys are keeping him locked up so he can’t hurt anybody else.

Mitch(1): They are? … imprisonment without trial doesn’t sit very well with me, Sally…

L.S.S.: Trust me, he deserves everything he’s getting. Nobody would have believed us if we would have turned him in. We did what we had to do.

Mitch(1): …..

….

…. I guess that does sound really scary… but why on earth did you believe what he said in the first place? You’re not evil..!!

L.S.S.: No, but… immortality does some crazy shit to your mind, Mitchie. I’ve gone through a lot, and it’s changed me. I’ve done things that I never thought I was capable of a few thousand years ago… I was afraid that he was me way, way, waaay down the road, when I finally snapped under the weight of it all. It was like seeing my worst nightmare coming true.

Mitch(1): …Do you think that’s really going to happen…?

L.S.S.: … I hope not. I think that whole thing is going to keep me scared straight for a while. The current Mitchie has helped reign me in, too. I was… not my best self when we met. But, they stuck with me, and we’ve grown and learned a lot together. I’m a better person because of them, and I want to stay that person for as long as I can.

Mitch(1): …

I… well, I’m… glad they could help you, and that you’re doing better now.

L.S.S.: Thanks, Mitchie. It's been hard, but it's way worth it.

Mitch(1): Ha, yeah… well, it was nice hearing from you Grace, even if you’re not the same Grace…. Um, take care!

L.S.S.: Bye Grace, say hi to the boys and tell D.S. to eat shit for me~

Mitch(1): …

[i-like-writing-stuff]

seconds [five hargreeves x reader]

request: Hello, I saw that we could send in requests. I was wondering if u could do a 5 fic (with Same AU about them having worked in commission)Five realizing he has been/is in love with reader and decides to tell them but everything goes sideways. It can be around S2 remembering the times they spent together with the “One could fall in love in seconds” talk that he and Hargreeves had, or them physically older in commission in a case. U decide what goes, there r just ideas incase it was too general ☺️

a/n: sooo i tried my best to follow the request and i hope this turned out alright! it may not be my best work, but i guess i am pretty pleased with the way it turned out?? i suck at angst, btw- i am a sucker for fluff sorry >:(

summary: five realizes it is time to be honest about his feelings... but, it may not be the best time

“So much can change in a matter of seconds.” Reginald said, watching the boy before him carefully, “One could overthrow an empire.” He paused, reading into his next gestures, “One could fall in love.”

Five shifted into his seat, letting the advice sink in. He knew the old man was not that far off, he might have had a point, especially after his last example. I mean, he did fall in love with Y/N in just a matter of seconds the first time he saw her, didn’t he?

It always plays in the back of his head the moment he first laid eyes on you all those years ago on his first day working with the Commission. You had just returned from one of your missions, exhausted and overall a mess, but not once you dared to drop the small reassuring smile on your lips- you didn’t want your co-workers to know what was going on through your soul, you wanted to seem tough. You wanted to show them you still got it at your age.

Even now Five could recall that day perfectly. He was in the Handler’s office, waiting to be assigned his first official task, when you stumbled in, holding a small briefcase which, unbeknownst to him, contained the hand of your unfortunate victim- it was a personal business your boss had sent you on to take care of for her.

“Sorry to barge in like this, but you told me to hurry.” You told the Handler, putting on a small smile as you lifted the briefcase.

“Ah, Y/N!” The Handler grinned, taking a soft drag out of her cigarette, “You’re a doll, did you know that?”

“Well, I’ve been told before.” You answered her proudly, slightly shrugging your shoulders as she motioned you to leave the briefcase by the door.

Not even now he could not understand what was it about you. Maybe it was the way you spoke nonchalantly to the woman with the biggest power in your organization, or maybe the way you had a smile on your face, even if the collar of your white shirt had been stained with specks of blood.

Within a matter of seconds from just seeing you, he forgot he had lived a long life, he felt like a kid again. Your eyes gave away reassurance and life experience- he found them comforting. Spending all that time in solitude, that’s all he wanted to see from a person- comfort.

It was a matter of time until the Handler trusted you to show him around and take him under your wing, trusting you as one of her best agents. For the first few missions, you and Five were partners, you always treated him like an equal, even if you had more experience.

Spending all that time with you, he definitely fell deeper in love. He knew there was no way out, but he also knew there was no way in hell he could act on those feelings. He still wanted to go home to his siblings, back in time, to save the world.

So... he took you with him.

At first you thought he was insane- you didn’t have a reason to betray the Commission, it never wronged you.

However, you disagreed with Doomsday.

“Did I say something wrong?” Reginald asked Five, noticing it had been a few seconds since he last spoke, having his look fixated on his drink.

“Uh, no- I was just thinking.” Five quickly said, looking back at the man, “The acorn, right?”

Five had been through a lot of shit these past two weeks. He returned back to his siblings with the person he secretly loved, tried to stop the apocalypse in 2019, only to fail and have to go back in time to 1963, where another apocalypse was waiting on him as well.

He needed a break.

Really, all he wanted was to go home with the people he cared about and have everything be alright. Deep down, he yearned to be held in your arms, while his brothers and sisters were all safely scattered around their big house. He needed peace and quiet, just for once in his life.

After the light supper 1963 Reginald Hargreeves invited you and his... future-adoptive-children, things did not entirely go as planned... He was your only hope, but he was not much help, as he managed to break Diego with a psychology lesson, ignore Luther after he showed him his body, and quickly dismiss you, Allison and Vanya- well, you tried to behave yourselves as well as you could after Klaus had a literal convulsion at the table.

Reggie only told Five to stay a while, seeing that he was the only sane one. The rest of the Hargreeves just left in their business, but you decided to wait by the elevator, knowing that he might not be in the best state of mind after having spent time with his maniac of a father.

“Y/N?” Five raised a brow, as he was making his way towards the elevator with his hands casually rested in his pockets, “You... waited?”

“Of course.” You smiled, folding your arms over your chest, “I figured you shouldn’t be alone after... that... dinner.” You frowned, unsure of what to call the disastrous meeting.

Five fought back a smile, pressing the elevator button. He never understood how you, of all people, became an assassin. You were just too good, too sweet. He never thought you actually had it in you to take lives and be an agent of the Commission, not with that gentle smile and adorable spark in your eyes.

Well, he never understood either how he could fall in love that easily, but that was besides the point. What mattered to him was that the world was still gonna end in a couple of days, and now the only solution he had left was the deal with the Handler- big surprise, his father was not that much help.

“Hey, Y/N?” Five spoke up, as the two of you entered the elevator, “Thank you.”

“For... what?” You knitted your brows in confusion, pressing the button as the doors closed, taking you two down.

“For being there, I guess.” He shrugged- Five never was the sentimental guy, but he felt like you deserved some praise. You followed him, you trusted him, you left your job at the Commission.

But it never occurred to him why. He never spent much time thinking why in the world would you trust him? Sure, you’ve known each other a while and he knew you saw him as a dear friend... unless, you saw him as more.

Five widened his eyes in realization, as you let out a small chuckle at his sudden gratitude, not looking at him.

Holy shit, Five thought, as his mouth hung open, slowly looking to his right, watching as you smiled softly, looking at nothing in particular, This is a far fetch, but... could she actually...?

All this time, he buried his feelings deep within him. He figured you didn’t need that kind of thing on your mind- it never seemed to be the time for him to be honest about what he felt. But now that he thought about it...

All those missions the two of you have been on, how could he not see it earlier?

The way you blindly trusted your life in his hands, or the way you worried for him, cared for him. You always scolded him for not being to careful and letting himself get injured, but he never read into it too much.  Or the way you accepted all his schemes and shenanigans and respected all his weird peeves.

“Are you okay?” You frowned, turning to Five once the elevator doors opened, noticing the shocked look on his face and the silence surrounding the two of you, “You look like you’ve seen Ben.”

Five quickly shook his head, stepping out of the elevator with you, trying to regain his train of thought. Maybe he was thinking too much into this... but what if he wasn’t? What if, for once in his life, something could actually go right?

Without another word, Five cupped your cheeks, pulling your face softly closer to his, capturing your lips into a kiss. You were taken aback in the beginning, freezing in your place with your eyes wide opened, trying to make sense of what was going on,  but you realized you shouldn’t be wasting this opportunity.

It was about time, you thought, melting into his touch, finally responding to the kiss.

Pulling away after a couple of moments, Five looked at your face, trying to read your emotions. However, he was pleasantly surprised, watching as your lips curved into a smirk, taking his hands in yours, slowly swaying them as you looked at him;

“Took ya long enough.”

Five scoffed amused, shaking his head in disbelief, “Better late than never, right?”

“Are there any words to come with that gesture?” You perched a brow curiously, “Or am I supposed to try and deduce...?”

Before Five could properly confess his feelings, his face fell once he laid eyes on the round clock displayed on the wall behind you. Shit, he thought, reading the time.

“I gotta go.” He suddenly declared, making your frown, “Shit, I gotta go right now!”

“What?” You wondered, as Five took his hands away, running his fingers through his hair stressed out.

He completely forgot about his meeting with the Handler- his only option still standing to save the world and go back to your timeline.

“Y/N, I am so sorry.” He genuinely apologized, as you were still trying to make sense of what was going on, “I gotta go!”

“Five!” You yelled, watching as he ran out of the building, “Get your butt back he- and, he’s gone...”

What the fuck just happened?

[agoddamn]

Oh, hey, clone trooper numbers. I've heard there's wank about this so let's keep track.

Halleburton: "I propose the Republic purchase an additional five million clone troopers."

No indication of what the current numbers are but Bail at least doesn't say "are you fucking insane", so it's probably not ten times the current amount

I thought this Rodian was dead? Is this a timeline thing? I guess so

This assistant's name (Teckla) doesn't rhyme with Padme's :0 disloyal??

>"We cannot afford ammunition" ok so ammo exists

Again, it feels so weird that the politicians are bleating about how awful the war is when we've been seeing the clones on the front lines experiencing basically a light-hearted action show.

Like...we COULD be having direct, visible consequences showing how bad the war is when we see the soldiers, but instead the soldiers are cannon fodder to enable cool Jedi flips and the comfy politicians are the ones going 'oh nooo so many people are suffering in war :(' c'mon, mate, figure out what you want to say about war already

For real, even this episode about politics shoves Padme into fisticuffs because Guns Are Cool, fuckin' pick one

Droid cops once again

Padme inventing the revolutionary strategy of "what if you talked to literally one poor person", which apparently nobody else in the galaxy has tried before. You see what I mean when I complain about fake conflict? Sometimes the politics are more rounded, but then there's cases like this of "everyone else is just fucking stupid". Padme's victory doesn't feel all that earned when it's a case of everyone else being a Scooby Doo villain.

Security with the sperm-helmets standard to the Rebellion. Alderaanian design?

THAT ENTIRE HAIRPIECE IS A HELMET?! DEEPEST FUCKING PLOT TWIST

This solar sail design of Asajj's ship originated from the Tartakovsky Clone Wars, as far as I know

Oh, sick, they finally went back to the Tartakovsky-style hakama outfit for Ventress as well. Really does look so much goddamn cooler

These official subs spell Tyranus with one 'n', but I was under the impression it was Tyrannus?

--aaand by the time Ventress is solo they managed to have her ditch the cloth again. Disappointed but not surprised

All these bitches cosplaying Psylocke

[I could not remember Psylocke's name]

[ah yes, thank you]

[if you're not here from comics she's a white British lady who ends up taking the body of a Japanese woman, yes, I KNOW]

....................at the risk of being Comic Book Guy how did Asajj get a kyber crystal to build her own saber if they were stuck on one planet

Oh yes, this plan is INCREDIBLE. Sneak up on him and poison him so you can safely sneak up on him. I can't see this possibly failing

...how come all these women have normal heads but Talzin is a conehead

I guess this lady is the primary customer for that lightsaber black market

DOOKU HAS A YAOI BED

I am truly fucking losing it, what is the purpose of this massive bed

He's got monogrammed jammies, god (but no blanket, because, again, cloth instantly kills the TCW engine)

He's...really dumb enough to mistake them for Jedi? Really?

Talzin addresses the women as sister, but they call her mother

>Dooku sources his assassins from small, women-led organic Dathomir farms

[glitchlight]

castlevania s4 thoughts

this is basically a live tweet thread but I didn’t live tweet it because a) spoilers for something fairly fresh and b) [ASSHOLE]’s name is all over this, as he was apparently fired after his role had wrapped up anyways.

the tl;dr for s4 and the whole of the series imo is “Incompetent Writing Well Executed” because there are frankly juvenile editing and pacing mistakes everywhere but the animation, voicework, and design are often exceptional.

i also think it’s constructive for creators to develop a strong editorial eye and to be able to see what the flaws in other works are, and what works well, a lot of my thoughts are specifically tied into that, and also criticism since I basically watched it because I have friends modestly interested in finishing it but not wanting to touch it because of [ASSHOLE]. this contains modest spoilers but a lot of the later plot details i refer to only obliquely.

-boy it doesn't feel great seeing [ASSHOLE]'s name as the first name on the title card. I get giving people their due in writing but you could've had a slighly longer title card to elevate the people who worked on it aside from [ASSHOLE] so we can celebrate them. -you could teach the first half of the first ep as what not to do in setting up plot threads it's that blatantly obvious -lenore and hector are basically different characters from s3 because [ASSHOLE] needed to introduce more intrigue to Carmilla's court. -Women need trauma to be villains hack shit. -must we introduce a morally grey androgynous woman of color badass who doesn't care about the deaths of her allies -fly demon becomes a character just cause people liked his scene lol hack shit -isaac remains easily the best and most interesting character in the series (aside from the problematic elements of his character) -fantasy "i'm blocking your number" scene is funny -Vampire Lady Hot -THEY GENDER FLIPPED GRANT??? -boy the animation budget for episode 4 got slashed for no reason?? it looks way worse than the preceding material. -cool st. germain's back and the girl he's into is literally a voiceless random badass-- the fourth such one this season? [ASSHOLE] is a hack but come the fuck on. - I personally liked the implications St. Germain was from a different physical reality than ours or at least a different timeline (such as with the triangular notebook, which I know was a real thing but serves a different purpose as shorthand in a series when it passes without mention like that) but him being from europe still is boring. - the library dimension is fun but would be less jarring if it weren't so visibly 3D in a series that ostensibly aims to be 2D - Yet Another Nameless WoC Morally Grey Badass Facilitating White Male Plot huh. - I get that we're doing a "St. Germain is of the same as Dracula" plot here and that "in service of love people do terrible things" but it's undercut by how much I hate St. Germain as a character and don't give a shit about him. - also, furthermore, i just straight up hate narratives that have to tell you a villain's motivations in detail by giving them perspective. it's hack shit.   - the infinite corridor is a weird plot element that doesn't really add anything to this story beyond a fabled otherworld and some cool aesthetics. -god lenore you interupted hector last season saying "the real people are talking" and now you care about him?? [ASSHOLE] is an idiot. - this entire series of fights is rendered toothless by remembering alucard can literally control his sword with his mind and is just holding it for plot convienence. - this scene of sypha and trevor both, separately, doing what they do best is a good scene. i've been critical of a lot but this is a good scene. - we're triggering the endgame now? like right now? Carmilla's been in one scene. Like I know the prior seasons have been criticized for being too much set up but this is literally set up into climax already?? - well here's where the money from episode 4 went. - You spent all that time in season 3 setting up the sisterhood and then didn't make them the villains of season 4 huh. Fuck off. That's so fucking stupid. - AND HECTOR AND ISAAC?? YOU HAVE FOUR MORE EPISODES YOU ABSOLUTE CLOWN - I am Russian I am Soldier - Soldier boy having the same rant as carmilla we get it vampires are bad -stock-child-laughing-soundeffect.mp3 - "Of course I'm insane!" "The fuck what now?" is actually a kind of fun line. - [ASSHOLE]'s writing style isn't so much a puzzle box plot, one of many moving parts intricately sliding together, so much as heaps of mud being flung at the page from a half dozen different hands. It all sticks together but it does so messily and only with great violence. - this is just a kaiju -Where did this second vampire army even come from, who the fuck is Dorgon or whatever? Was this written for Carmilla's army then got changed because that would make way more sense than this rando -Boy I'm not comfortable with this slur being thrown around even if it's usage is complicated. -the inversion of the invasion in dracula's castle hall is a nice touch. - they did the op as fight music thing. - ah damn this guy has the same fight gimmick as a character i was gonna do dope though - Sypha continues to have the best fight scenes which makes up for her not having a character arc this season in [ASSHOLE]'s eyes. - That plot twist is okay I guess but it's very funny that he talks like that. And says Fucked Up. - I can't believe that after one of the biggest critiques of season 2 was that there were a bunch of vampire fights with nameless voiceless vampires who don't matter and you don't care about, it ends the exact same way. at least the fights are weirder and better than the kind of lifeless scene in S2. - This trope is so common but still works. - This ending is, par for the course in this adaptation of Castlevania, rather anti-climactic - You had to make the shoutout, and i bet you felt so clever [ASSHOLE] - Is that finale worth it in the end. like hell yeah good animation but fuckin didn’t make a lick of sense. - that bit of cleaning up got me to cry but only because i'm a tender-hearted idiot. - this ending is far too tidy (Hack shit) and the sequel hook is bullshit dumbfuckery. - FEET

[thelastspeecher]

Superhero/villain AU - Playdate

I was looking through my AU Word docs for Inspiration for Stanuary, and stumbled across this scene that I never finished.  So I decided to finish this scene.  It stars Emmett McGucket, who sort of inadvertently became the star of the Superhero/villain AU lmao.

Enjoy.

———————————————————————————————————–

              Emmett opened the door to his house.

              “C’mon in,” he said nervously.  Carter punched his arm.

              “You don’t need to be anxious around me, man.  Hell, I’m the one who should be nervous.  I might get to meet a famous supervillain.”

              “…Probably not,” Emmett said, stepping aside so that Carter could come in. “Ma’s at her day job and Uncle Lute got called in to help his crew.”

              “That’s unfortunate,” Carter remarked.  He entered the house.  “Oh, well. At least I get to meet your dad and your sisters.”  He grinned at Emmett.  “I’m a bit curious about whether they’re actually as wild as you say.  I mean, compared to you, just about anyone’s wild.” Emmett flushed.  “I’m just teasing, relax.”

              “Yeah, I, uh, I knew that,” Emmett said weakly.  He closed the door.  “I’m glad your mom said you could finally come over.  You didn’t get lost on the way, did ya?”

              “Nah.”

              “And did you walk or-”

              “I biked.”  Carter eyed Emmett.  “Do you really wanna talk about how I got here, or show off your house a bit?” Emmett smiled.

              “Good point.  My room’s upstairs.”

              “Awesome.  Oh, before you show me your room, my mom told me to bring something over.  Apparently that’s the nice thing to do or whatever. So…”  Carter removed his backpack and dug around in it.  “Ah ha!  Here!” He handed Emmett a large candle. “You can give that to your dad.”

              “When he gets home, I will.”  Emmett brought the candle into the kitchen and set it on the counter.  When he returned, Carter raised an eyebrow.

              “He’s not home?”

              “Nope.”

              “But…he’s a stay-at-home dad.  Where is he?”

              “He, uh, he had to go run some errands,” Emmett fibbed.

              “He’ll be back before I leave, though, right?”  Carter grinned at him.  “I’m starting to wonder if he doesn’t exist or something.  You’re so secretive about him.”

              “Nah, he exists.  He’s just a bit uncomfortable with the whole villain thing,” Emmett said with a shrug. Carter shook his head.

              “That’s so weird.”

              “Hey, Emmett!” a voice shouted from the second floor.  Footsteps thundered down the stairs.  Daisy stuck her head around the corner to stare at Emmett and Carter.  Her eyes widened.  “Ooh, you have a friend over?”

              “Yes,” Emmett said.  “Ma and Dad said it was okay.”

              “Hmm.”  Daisy approached the two boys.  She crossed her arms.  “You’re short,” she said flatly to Carter.  Carter grinned.

              “I’ve seen you guys’ mom before.  I’m not nearly as short as her.  Or as Tsunami.”

              “True.”  Daisy continued to look Carter up and down.

              “Did you want somethin’?” Emmett asked.  Daisy shrugged.

              “Yeah, but since you’ve got a guest, I’ll just harass Emily about it.” She burst into flames and flew away. Carter’s jaw dropped.  He turned to stare at Emmett.  Emmett smiled weakly.

              “I told you my sisters were all elementals.”

              “Yeah, but-”  Carter chortled.  “Man, I wish my family had cooler powers.  When we show off, it’s not nearly as fun.”  Emmett’s smile strengthened.  “Anyways, do you have any fun video games?”

              “I don’t really play many video games, but my dad and Danny like to play Need for Speed.”

              “Hell yeah!  Lead the way.”

-----

              The video game session was interrupted a few times by Emmett’s sisters, who were incredibly curious about his friend and not bothering to be polite about it.  Eventually, Emily settled down in Stan’s favorite armchair in the living room, silently reading a book on pyrotechnics and occasionally glancing over at Emmett and Carter, playing video games from the floor.

              “So, Emily, do you think you’ll be the next Sirocco?” Carter asked after winning yet another round.  Emily shrugged.

              “Maybe.  Depends on when Ma decides to retire.  I don’t wanna steal her codename while she’s still usin’ it.”  Emily turned a page in her book.  “Dunno if I’ll go the full villain route, though.”  Carter whipped his head around to stare at her.

              “What?  You’re thinking about being a non-villainous Sirocco?  That’s insane.”  Carter shook his head.  “See, this is why it was stupid that your parents didn’t send you all to Sycamore Grove. Now not all of you will be villains!”

              “Well, Dad’ll be happy about that, at least,” Emily muttered.  Carter set down his controller and leaned back against the couch.

              “This mysterious ‘dad’ again,” he drawled.  He looked at Emmett.  “Seriously, where is he?  He’s not doing a very good job of being a stay-at-home dad if he’s not home.”

              “He’s got other things to do,” Emily said.  “And we’re old enough to watch ourselves anyways.”

              “Fine, I’ll drop it,” Carter muttered.  He turned his attention back to the game.  “So, Emmett, you said all your sisters were elementals.  Emily’s an aerokinetic, what about the others?”

              “Danny’s a cryo, she gets that from our Ma’s grandma,” Emmett said.  “And Daisy’s a pyro, she gets that from Dad.”

              “Your dad’s a pyro?”

              “Yeah.”

              “Honestly, I didn’t even realize he was a super,” Carter commented.  “Why isn’t he a villain?  He married one and he’s got the right power for it.”

              “Not all supers are masks,” Emmett said.  “I mean, I don’t think I’ll wind up being a mask.”

              “But to marry a mask and not be one-” Carter started.  Emmett paused the game.  He looked at Carter.  “You guys are pretty touchy about this.”

              “Well, yeah,” Emily piped up.  “You think we haven’t heard this same line of questionin’ from Ma’s coworkers?”  After a moment, Carter nodded.

              “Fair point.  So-” Whatever else Carter was about to say was interrupted by a loud crash in the backyard.  “What the hell was that?” Carter asked, getting up.  Voices carried from outside.

              “You almost crushed me there, Pines.”  Emmett and Emily exchanged a look.

              That sounds like Uncle Lute.

              “Excuse me for not having a perfect landing while I’m bleeding out, Gucket,” Stan snapped.  Footsteps sounded on the back porch, which led directly into the living room via a sliding glass door.  The door opened.  “Who put the curtains down?”

              “Prob’ly one of-” Lute started, pulling back the curtain.  He paused, catching sight of Emily, Emmett, and Carter, who were all staring at him.  “Um.” Before anyone could say anything, Lute suddenly tumbled out of sight with a yelp.  “Son of a- Emily, get yer father off me ‘fore he flattens me.” Emily jumped to her feet.  As she went to help, Emmett grabbed Carter’s hand.

              “We should prob’ly go upstairs.”

              “What?  Why?” Carter asked.

              “This seems like something that we shouldn’t-” Emmett started.  Danny and Daisy raced down the stairs.

              “We saw Dad crash in the yard,” Danny said breathlessly.  “Is Ma-”

              “Yes, yer mother’s on her way, but right now, we need to move yer father to the couch,” Lute said, pulling the curtain open.  The action revealed Stan, unconscious and pale, being partially lifted by Emily.  And, to Emmett’s dread, his father was in his superhero outfit.

              “Come on, Carter, we need to get out of the way,” Emmett said, pulling Carter up from the couch and dragging him upstairs.  His power dampener beeped.  Once they reached the landing of the second floor, Carter pulled his hand free.

              “Did you try to control me?” Carter asked quietly.

              “What?  No!”

              “Your power dampener just lit up.”

              “I- sometimes when I get worked up- I still wear the dampener for a reason,” Emmett stammered.  Carter looked back down to the first floor.  “No!”  Emmett’s dampener beeped again, making him grimace.

              “What the hell is going on?” Carter demanded, still looking into the living room from above.  “Is that- is that your mom’s archnemesis?  That looks like Flamethrower.”  Emmett broke into a nervous sweat.  “Why did your uncle bring an unconscious superhero to your house?  And why-”  Carter’s eyes widened.  “Your uncle called him your dad.  So did your sister.  And you said your dad was a pyro, which Flamethrower is.”  Carter swore softly.  “Your dad…is Flamethrower?”

              “Can- can we talk about this in my room?”

              “Yeah.  Sure.”

-----

              Once Emmett had closed the door to his room, Carter looked at him expectantly.

              “Care to explain why your dad is a superhero?”

              “I…I don’t know, to be honest.”  Emmett crossed over to his bed and sat down.  Carter sat next to him.  “I told you the first day we met that I didn’t know how my parents met.  Which isn’t completely true – I know how they met. But I don’t know why they became a couple.  From what I understand, they didn’t get along for years, then, out of nowhere, they became a couple and had Danny and Daisy.”

              “What’s the exact timeframe here?” Carter asked thoughtfully.

              “Pardon?”

              “How long between your parents getting together and your older sisters being born?”

              “I…”  Emmett stared at his friend.  “Are you suggesting that my parents got together because my dad got my ma pregnant?”

              “It’s a possibility.”

              “But how would my sisters have gotten conceived if they were still enemies?”

              “Oh, like you haven’t noticed how steamy some fights get,” Carter scoffed. “You pin your enemy against a wall, their eyes stare directly into yours…”

              “Ugh!  Okay, I get it, just-”  Emmett grimaced.  “Stop makin’ me imagine that happening with my parents.”  Carter snickered.  “At the end of the day, though, the timeline isn’t important, and neither is the way my parents got together.  What’s important is that they’re married and love each other now.”

              “Yeah.”  Carter shook his head.  “That’s weird as fuck, man.  No wonder you’re always so cagey about your dad.”

              “If anyone found out…”  Emmett’s throat abruptly became choked up with fear.  “My uncle told me that, back when Danny and Daisy were still really little, one of Dad’s coworkers found out he married a supervillain.  The coworker went rogue and kidnapped Dad.  My ma rescued him, but it was a big mess.”  Emmett met Carter’s eyes.  “You can’t tell anyone.”

              “What would happen if I did?” Carter asked.  Emmett’s heart broke.  His expression must have shown this, because Carter quickly backpedaled.  “I won’t!  Sorry, I didn’t- I’m just so used to playing devil’s advocate that I said that without thinking.”

              “I don’t know what would happen.  But I would definitely never be able to see you again.”

              “Well, you don���t need to worry, ‘cause I won’t tell a soul,” Carter said firmly. Emmett smiled.

              “Thank you.”  There was a knock.  “Yes?” Danny opened the door.

              “Dad wants to talk to you and yer friend,” she said, looking directly at Carter with a cold gaze.  “Come on.” Emmett and Carter exchanged a look, then stood up and followed Danny downstairs.  Stan was on the couch, still wearing the bottoms to his heroing outfit, with a large bandage over much of his bared torso.  Thankfully, he was now awake and drinking a can of Pitt Cola.

              “Glad yer okay, Dad,” Emmett said quietly.  Stan grinned at him.

              “Takes a lot more than what happened today to put your old man out of commission.”  He looked at Carter.  “Sorry about ruining your playdate with Emmett.”

              “Dad!” Emmett yelped.  Stan chuckled.

              “I’m just teasing, sport.  Seriously though, Carter, this isn’t how I planned on meeting you.”

              “Shit happens,” Carter said with a shrug.  Stan nodded.

              “I like that attitude.”  His easygoing demeanor abruptly vanished.  Emmett swallowed, recognizing the stony expression on his father’s face.  Stan was shifting into what Emily called “take no shit mode”.  “Look, kid, you can’t tell anyone what you saw or think you saw today.”

              “Don’t worry, I already told Emmett I’d keep it a secret,” Carter said. Stan looked at him doubtfully.  “I don’t want to mess up my best friendship. Or anger one of the most powerful families in villainy.”  Stan nodded.

              “Smart.  Even if Angie and I have to go into hiding with the kids, the rest of her family won’t have to.  And you know exactly how dangerous the McGuckets are.”

              “Yes, sir.”

              “You’re giving me your word that you’ll keep my secret identity to yourself,” Stan said.  Carter nodded.  “I need you to say it, son.”  Emmett noted with some amusement that the way Stan said his last sentence reminded him of someone.  He glanced at Danny, who, judging by her expression, had also picked up on it.

              He sounded just like Grampie Gucket.  Carter, somehow not quailing under the force of Stan’s stare, nodded again.

              “I give you my word that I won’t tell anyone your secret identity, Emmett’s dad.”  Immediately, Stan left “take no shit mode” and chortled.

              “You can call me Mr. Pines, kid.  That’s what Emmett’s sister’s friends call me.”

              “Ah.  Okay. Mr. Pines.  Your secret is safe with me.”

              “Good.”  Stan got up from the couch, poorly stifling a groan of pain.  Danny crossed her arms, scowling.  “Princess, don’t give me that look.”

              “You shouldn’t be getting up, Dad.  If you need something, I can get it.”

              “Nope.  No dice.” Stan clapped Danny on the shoulder. “I’m gonna go call your ma to let her know I’m not unconscious anymore.”

              “Are my services as a human ice pack no longer needed, then?”

              “Yes, sweetie, you’re free to go.”

              “Great.”  Danny went back upstairs and ducked into her room.

              “Dad, I think Danny’s right,” Emmett said.  “You should be laying down.”

              “Nope!  You and your little friend can get back to playing.  Whattaya think for dinner?  Spaghetti? I gotta get started soon if it’s gonna be ready at a reasonable time.”

              “You’re making dinner?” Carter asked.  Stan raised an eyebrow.

              “I’m a stay-at-home dad when I’m not getting stabbed by villains.  Feeding my kids is my job.”

              “But you just got hurt.”

              “Eh.  I’ve had worse.”  Stan grinned. “My wife’s given me worse.”

              “Dad!” Emmett whined.  Stan chuckled.  He walked into the kitchen.

              “Why’s there some candle in here?”

              “My mom told me to bring a gift over,” Carter called.

              “Nice,” Stan said.  “Very classy.”  Carter looked at Emmett, amused.  Emmett shrugged.

              “He’s right.  Bringin’ that was pretty classy.”  Carter laughed and punched Emmett’s shoulder.

              “You’re funny, ‘Met.  C’mon, let’s get back to me kicking your ass at video games.”

[lo-55]

Shattered Chains of Fate Ch. 5

Heart Breaker

(Spoilers for Fate/Apocry[ha Inheritors of Glory.

Also Achilles is Gay and you can’t change my mind)

Mash was turning out to be a real heartbreaker.

Right outside of Alcatraz and they’ve been accosted by Fergus and Diarmud, who is a Lancer her and not a Saber like Ichigo was used to. Not only were they now fighting two servants, but Fergus had the gall to propose to Mash.

Which is how Ichigo ends up breaking all rules of a holy grail war and he, the master, stomps over to their opponents and punches Fionn on the head as hard as he can. He would have done more damage to the brick walls but he thinks he gets the point across because -

“She’s a kid! Don’t go proposing to someone like that you goddamn creep! I’ll kick your ass!”

Medusa has to catch him in her chains and forcibly drag him back to the group while he threatens bodily injury to the opposing servant.

“And for that matter stop being a dick to Diarmud! Asshole!”

“Well now that’s a foul mouth. Are all masters like you?” Fergas rubs his head, looking unruffled and honestly? Ichigo’s pretty sure he just broke his damn hand. Totally worth it.

“There are no other masters,” Ichigo scowls. The ground rumbles as a whole army of celtic warriors crest the hill. They’re caught, between the sea and the army and the servants. And to top it all off, there’s a crack in the sky. Along with the ring of solomon, a jagged smile rips through the sky and crawls with dark teeth. A monster crawls out and Kyo grimaces.

“If you keep releasing your reitsu like that, you’re going to summon a whole army of them here,” he said frankly. Ichigo stares at him.

“Huh?”

“You didn’t even notice, did you?” Kyo looks him over, something thoughtful in his eyes. “I suppose you wouldn’t. You’re only human, isn’t that right?”

“Uh yeah. Just human.”

“Master,” Cu elbows him, “It’s time to fight.”

“Right,” Ichigo turns to the living and clenches his fist in front of his chest, his command seals burning against his skin. “Let’s take them down! Rama, show us what that sword of yours can do!”

“Yes!” Rama helfts his blade and fire erupts, scorching and hot. He grins, a king and a warrior at one and-

Throws it like a frisbee.

Ichigo stares, mouth open, as it rips through the enemy like an overpowered saw blade. That was on fire.

“So that’s his Noble Fantasm, huh?” Ichigo runs his fingers through his hair. He can feel it draining his mana, but he could probably stand for it to be released a few more times before he collapses.

“Okay,” Ichigo focuses on the battle again, his mind whirling. Two lancers, and they have one Saber, one Berserker, on Lancer, one Rider, one Shielder, one Caster and Ichigo himself. Lancers were weak to Sabers, and strong to Archers, which they don’t have.

He can work with this.

“Mash, get ready. Cu, you too,” he keeps his plan quiet, his directions firm and the world focuses down to this point, this battle. Diarmund and Fergus are stronger than them by far but Ichigo will not accept defeat or failure. Together, they can drag victory out of their jaws.  

By the time the fight ends he realizes that Kyo is staring at him intently. Ichigo scowls at him in return.

“What?” he asks irritably.

“I was just wondering… What on earth is happening here?”

“Huh? It’s a holy grail war,” obviously. But the ghost just stares at him, and Ichigo realizes that he’s going to have to explain. About the singularities, about the incineration of humanity. About the end of the world that they’re trying so hard to prevent.

By the time he’s done, Kyo is pale and his mouth is drawn tight.

“That’s- that’s insane! If the living world ends, so will the worlds of the dead!”

“Oh yeah?” Ichigo hums. “That’s fucked up. But, we’re not gonna let that happen. Even if our assination attempt failed, we’ll just have to meet them head on.”

“You say that like it will be easy,” Rama comes to his side and looks vaguely in the ghosts direction. “The truth of the matter is, even with all of us, our chances at winning are still going to be slim.”

“So?” Ichigo crosses his arms over his chest. “This isn’t our first rodeo. We’ll win. We have to.” He says it like it’s simple. And to him, it is.

“If that’s the case,” Kyo eyes Ichigo speculatively. “You might want to suppress your Reitsu. How you still have it when other people are eating it is beyond me… You’re like a fountain, still bubbling up even as everyone drinks from you.”

“Couldn’t you make a less weird analogy?” Ichigo frowns at him. “And how do I do that?”

“What do you mean ‘how’? You take your reitsu and draw it into yourself.”

“... I have no idea how to do that.”

“Well, if you don’t figure it out you’re going to keep attracting those monsters,” he nods towards the fading corpses he’s left after his fight. Ichigo recognizes the dust they leave as a type of magic ingredient. Void dust. How weird…

“Fine then. I guess until I figure out how to do that-” Ichigo grabs the ghost by the wrist and starts dragging him towards the east. They need to find Robin, fast.  

“You’re coming with us.”

*

“Sorry but, uh, who the fuck are you?” Ichigo asked when he finally regained consciousness. “And more importantly why the fuck are you in bed with me?!”

Which is a sentence he never thought he’d have to say. But here they were. Because fuck everything.

Instead of answering him the man, one of Urahara’s associate’s if he remembered, started shouting right next to Ichigo’s ear for ‘Tenchou’. Whoever that was, Ichigo planted his foot into the man’s chest and shoved him viciously off. A twinge of pain shot through his back, but he pushed past it. He was well on the mend, and he’d always healed fast.

He closes his eyes and takes a breath. The coldness of Rukia’s energy inside of him is gone, and he’s only a human once more. A human with high reitsu, but still a human nonetheless. What had happened?

Ichigo looks up when a more familiar face walks into the room. Urahara.

“You shouldn’t move around too much. Your injuries could still kill you.”

Ichigo snorts derisively. “Not at this point. If I was gonna die, I already would have. You were the one who saved me, right? There was someone else there too, another kid about fifteen-”

“He’s fine,” Urahara interupts. “I fixed him on the spot and he left. In fact, he asked me to take care of you.”

“Huh? Uryu did?” Ichigo can’t help the start of a smile. “I knew he liked me. He was just in denial.”

“He also said, ‘the only one who can save Rukia is probably Ichigo’.”

“Ah? That’s a lot of faith,” Ichigo crosses his legs under the sheets, staring down at the wrinkles in them. Uryu didn’t even know everything he could do, everything he had done. No one alive did and he was starting to regret it. To save Rukia though… How was he going to do that? “I’ll have to find a way to Soul Society… And, I couldn’t do it on my own. I wonder…”

He didn’t have enough mana to keep a servant around full time. Normally the holy grail maintained most of them. And during his tenure at Chaldea Chaldea’s system had managed about eighty percent of the upkeep. He definitely didn’t have the mana for a summoning, which took more all at once than just having a servant by his side. Otherwise, he’d have called someone to his side ages ago.

It didn’t help that he didn’t really have any catalysts. Almost everyone he’d ever summoned had been pure luck. And now he had nothing of any of theirs. Waver might have something, but still.

Would he even be able to take his servants into the afterlife? Or would they be drawn back to the throne of heroes?

What about Ereshkigal? Where was she in all this? The age of gods was over, and they had faded from the earth, but was she toiling away in the afterlife? Trying to bring beauty to Kur?

“I should have asked Rukia…”

“If it’s any consolation, I know a way into Soul Society.” .

“Do you?” He wasn’t even remotely surprised. No, this guy seemed like someone who would know a way to traverse dimensions.

Ichigo made a private vow to never let him anywhere near Merlin.

“I do,” Urahara was giving him a strange look from under his mask, but Ichigo was too tired and in too much pain to care. The only thing that mattered was saving Rukia. Once he figured out how to get there, he could set about figuring out how to get his servants too. If Renji and Byakuya were any indication, he should be able to make it with most of his closest allies. Assuming he could summon them.

“Alright. And what do I have to do to get you to tell me? I doubt you’ll do that for free, even if she is a regular of yours.”

“Oh my, do you really have such little faith in me?”

Ichigo just gives him a look, and the airy smile starts to fade.

“Alright. The condition you have to meet is simple. Starting now, for ten days, you have to train with me.”

Ichigo cocks his head. “Do I have that much time? Rukia’s supposed to be executed.”

Urahara breaks down the timeline for him. A month, he has one month to get strong enough to beat Byakuya without Rukia’s powers to help him. Ten days to train, seven days to get there, and thirteen days to save her. There’s something else going on, Urahara has no need to help him this much, but he’s learned not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

There’s definitely something going on here that he doesn’t understand. And Urahara is using him for something else. But…

‘A scumbag who will do anything to win.’ That was what Roman had called Merlin. And this man, his eyes are just the same. Willing to do anything to win. To win what? He’s missing something big. Had Rukia had something important to him? Was she more than just a customer?

So far, Urahara has done nothing but help him. So Ichigo has no reason to distrust him.

“Alright. How do you plan on training me? With weapons? Or magic?”

“Shinigami call it Kidou,” he says helpfully, but Ichigo knew that already.  “And if you must know, I plan to restore your shinigami powers.”

“That’s not possible. Rukia’s powers are gone from me now. I can’t feel them anymore. It’s not cold like it used to be.”

“Cold? I see. So you could feel her zanpakuto the entire time. That’s quite impressive.”

Ichigo just shrugs. “If you say so. I was only a demi-shinigami, so it’s only natural that I can’t feel her power inside me anymore.”

“A demi-shinigami? I’ve never heard it called that before. Substitute is the proper term.”

“I don’t really give a shit. The point is, I don’t have those powers anymore, so there’s no way to ‘restore’ them.”

“That’s true. Perhaps I should have put it this way. ‘I will make you into a shinigami in your own right’. Without Rukia’s powers. Only your own.”

Ichigo freezes. Because what? How will that even work?

“My own power.” He repeats. He’s never-

The concept is so foreign. Never has he fought only with his own power. It’s always been someone else's. Mash’s, Cu’s, Medusa’s, and the dozen other servants that have fought at his side. Rukia’s power, snow through his veins.

To fight with just his own power… To go toe to toe with Byakuya and Renji using his own strength.

Is it even possible?

“Aren’t Shinigami dead?”

Urahara is strangely quiet.

“Yes. They are.”

“So for me to be a shinigami, you would have to kill me.”

“Yes.”

He’s honest, at least. “Give me a day to consider it.”

A day to talk to Waver, a day to try and summon his friends, a day to decide what he’s going to do. Because Servants run on Mana, life energy, and if he’s dead-

Will he ever see any of them again? Will he ever dream of Merlin again? Will he be able to keep his promise to him, and break him out of his prison at the end of time?

“Of course. Go to school, have some time alive. Then come back tomorrow, and give me your answer.” It sounds like Urahara thinks he already knows the answer. And maybe he does, but Ichigo needs a while.

He leaves an hour later, wrapped up like a mummy.

* *

Ichigo is a time traveler. He is in the middle of time travel right now. So, it shouldn’t be too much of a stretch to say that alternate timelines, along with time travel, are a thing.

That doesn’t mean that he expects to be pulled into one in the middle of an already difficult singularity. He’s still not one hundred percent sure who is one his side, if anyone is besides the three he’s come with, but Nightingale seems to be willing to follow him, and Rama as well. And Liz is here, again, and as much trouble as she can be she’s still pretty reliable in a pinch. And Kyo was at his side now too.

So there’s a few people on his side, and he’s glad for them, but the american’s are a pain in the ass and the celts are trying to end the world, and he’s had a hard enough time falling asleep when an honest to god dragon appears before him (in his dream, he thinks) and whisks him off to a castle and a city and an alternate timeline where apparently Fuyuki never even happened and instead a bunch of giddy millenials (or whatever the fuck their names was) stole a grail and fought a saint and now inside the grail the war is starting again.

Which - what?

How is this even his life?

But the dragon turns into a human, and then there’s a sorta-centaur trying to teach them how to fight and Achilles is so. Very. Gay.

“A chariot isn’t meant for just one,” and a cocky smile and Ichigo is pretty sure he wants to punch him. But he takes his hand instead, stands at the head of the chariot with one arm buffering him on each side and they fly.

They’re lightning in the sky, all divinity and invincibility and power. They mow down the opposing faction like they’re cutting down grass instead of heroes from ages past and Ichigo knows at once that as soon as he can he needs to find a way to summon this hero.

Even if it meant dealing with bad flirting. And his weird aversion to fighting with women. And his stupid, cocky attitude.

Ichigo can work with a lot of things. Plenty of people (mainly Kiyohime) are already trying to get in his pants. What’s one more person? Especially such a powerful rider.

Powerful Rider.

And that puts mental images in his head that he did not need, thanks all the same. He can’t look at Achilles for a full three hours afterwards.

The dragon, Seig, turns out to be a homunculus, created by the Young Millennials or whatever as a sort of battery to power their mage craft. Which is beyond fucked up, and Ichigo privately vows to strangle any of the ones he meets.

On top of that, when he wakes up the next morning there’s a little kid at the edge of his bed, covered in scars, not wearing any proper clothes and calling him ‘mommy’ and Ichigo decides then and there that alternate universes are more trouble than they’re worth. This kid, he's met her before. Jack the Ripper, and she calls him 'mommy', again.

“I’m not even a girl damn it!”

But the kid’s persistent, and cute in a really creepy way, so Ichigo can’t really do anything besides constantly telling her not to call him ‘mommy’. But that works as well as trying to get anyone else to use his given name instead of ‘Master’.

They end up having a picnic in a garden hosted by a berserker and a Saber he’d met in london. There are a lot of people he'd met in London here. The little girl, Jack, the Saber, Mordred, and Fran too of course.

They didn’t recognize him. Why would they? These were memories of servants, and technically they’d never met Ichigo at all being from another timeline. And only existed in the dream he’d been having for like three days.

He was going to make his head hurt if he kept thinking of all this.

They fly to the Hanging Gardens, and take their owner onto their side. Ichigo is starting to get used to the idea of beating someone’s face in and them being his friend afterwards.

Together, they finally reach the center of the chaos. A mad man who had turned himself into a servant before being killed. Darnic Prestone Yggdamellenia. One of the people who had made and tried to kill Sieg. Ichigo has to fight not to strangle him when he offers to fulfill the wishes of all of his friends. Bribing them with what they want most, if they only surrender to him.

It’s Achilles who steps forwards.

“I hate to break it to you, but I’m gonna have to pass. I woudln’t really be a hero if I went along with you now, would I? We’re meant to live life to the fullest. If we stumble along the way, that doesn’t invalidate what happened before the fall, or after. And reproduction or now. Servant or not. As long as I’m still me…”

“I’m not doing anything a real hero wouldn’t do!”

Mordred scoffs at Ichigo’s right. “For once, you carrot looking weirdo, we’re on the same page.”

“Carrot looking weirdo?!”

“I can’t exactly say I got the cleanest hands around here, but there’s still no way I’d side with you! Even I’d feel gross going along with your plan, asshole.”

They each step up, one after the other. Denying their dreams, denying immortality, for the sake of staying true to themselves. What is a dream worth if you lose yourself along the way?

They fight. They fight against the castle, they fight against themselves, they fight against reproductions that will not quit spawning, one copy after the other until even Mordred is nearing exhaustion. But they do not falter, they do not stop.

And in the end, they are saved by a vampire. The Gardens collapse and the dream has to end, but before they leave, they say their goodbyes, their thanks.

Achilles even goes so far as to pull his orange sash off and drape it around Ichigo’s neck like a scarf that matches his hair.

“You know, it’s kind of nice,” he says, his smile half cocked. “Even though this is the end of our time together… When I was alive, I never could relax after a battle because I knew there was always going to be another one on the way right after. But now…”

“I’m satisfied. We won, and there’s no civilians around so we didn’t have to worry about massacres or any other atrocities. That’s nice. Oh, and Hektor’s not around! That’s good.”

Hektor. The one who’d shot him down.

“You must hate him, huh?”

“Not exactly,” Achilles frowns, “But if you ever summon us at the same time, I’ll find a way to get around it. We’ll work it out, we just have to think positive. But,” he shakes his head, “That’s not what I really want to say.”

“Then just spit it out already,” Ichigo orders. Achilles grins at him.

“I’m trying to say, I hope you summon me again. It’s been fun fighting alongside with you! So if you ever find yourself in a tight spot in Greece, just call for me and I’ll come running no matter when or where you are. And that’s a promise!”

Achilles grins at him, and disappears in a cloud of gold glitter.

When Ichigo wakes up, the scarf is still around his neck, and Kyo is staring at him like he’s grown a second head.

* * *

There’s a cat across the street from his house.

Not his house, but the house that is his and not his families. The one that is empty, and not meant to be lived in. It’s… hard, to be around his family. To be around people who don’t understand war and pain and loss and trying, trying, trying, and still losing so much even if you win in the end.

There’s a cat across the street from his house and a plain brown package on the doorstep.

Ichigo pauses, the keys in his hands, and turns to the cat. Pitch black, with gold eyes. It trots across the street towards him, neatly avoiding the only car coming along, and Ichigo kneels down in front of it. He offers his hand, and the creature gives him a dainty sniff.

It doesn’t have mana.

Any mana.

That is… not normal. No mana but reitsu. A soul in a body?

“Oh. Are you a familiar?” he runs his fingers along the crest of the cat’s head, scratching carefully behind the ears. “You’re not Wavers. Or anyone’s local. Are you from the Mage’s Association?”

Ichigo stands and moves to the house, picking up the box on his way in. The lock turns with a click and hums with magic before it let’s the door swing open.

“I hope this isn’t a bomb,” he says idly. “That would be a really sloppy way to assassinate someone, don’t you think?”

How mad must he look, standing on his doorstep and talking to a black cat.

To be fair, the cat seems to nod at him before making his (?) way into the house. A discrete glance and Ichigo changes his assessment. Probably a her cat. A lady cat? Did female cat’s have a particular name? Like a bitch or a cow or mare?

He shuts the door firmly behind him and makes his way into the kitchen, where he sets the package on the table. He puts a kettle on to boil water and pulls out a small carton of milk from the fridge for his impromptu guest.

Ichigo does not have a familiar. He had been lent Fou for a long, long time but he’d never had one of his own. They’re an extension of their master, an extra eye and ear and, Ichigo privately thinks, a way to battle off loneliness.

Mage’s are strange creatures.

Typically, they only have one or two children. An heir and a spare, no more. And even then, only the most promising of the two is taught the family mage craft and given their magic crest. Mage’s are viciously protective of their secrets and their magic, even amongst their peers, and Ichigo has seen the life as lonely.

Ichigo, contrarily, is a pack animal.

He’s no chatterbox. He’s not bubbly or outgoing or honestly all that talkative, but he thrives on other people being nearby. They give him purpose and drive, they strengthen him.

That might be why he’d clung so hard to Rukia Kuchiki.

She had given him power, yes. Power to fight on his own, power to save his family, and for that he would always be grateful. But she was also a warrior, a survivor, and something in her was jagged and fierce. She was a survivor, even if he didn’t know what of.

She was, just a little bit, like him. In a way that no one else he knew was.

Ichigo was alone.

He had his friends. He had his family but they didn’t understand, they couldn't understand.

They wouldn’t understand his sudden need to sit with the door in plain sight and the window’s far from his back. They wouldn’t understand the abrupt change in his priorities list, that put ‘survive’ on top of everything else when it used to be ‘take care of the girls’. They would not understand the sudden feeling of weightlessness that comes from stepping out from under the weight of the world for the first time in years and loss that came with that same victory.

He has no servants. He has no Romani, no Da Vinci. No Mash.

Ichigo is utterly alone.

He is alone, and Rukia had alleviate that in a way that even Chad, his best friend, his partner, couldn’t.

War has alienated Ichigo from the very people he fought in it to protect and doesn’t that just fucking figure?  

Ichigo stands in the kitchen, watching the cat finish her milk.

“I’m going to bed,” he announces. Maybe Merlin will have some ideas.

He completely forgets about the package that is hopefully not a bomb.

* * * *

Ichigo is getting sick of all of their potential allies trying to kill him at first.

It seems like every time they turn around someone wants them to ‘prove their worth’ or test them in battle or something equally annoying. It doesn’t help that this is scathach and the second she showed up Cu started acting like a totally different person.

And by that, he means he’s jumpy like a beaten dog and ramrod straight like a student on the shit list.

And, she can totally see Kyo.

Even if all she does is throw him a wink that had him bristling.

She’s… bewildering. She’s fierce and vicious and Ichigo is very glad she’s not the enemy. She’s one of the only people he’s seen that might be able to go head to head with Cu Alter and win. Instinct tells him that she’s dangerous, that she’s darkness in a way that threatens to draw him in. He can see, in the way they move, in the way they fight, how she might be Cu’s mentor.

The queen of the shadow lands, and doesn’t that have Kyo’s attention?

“That fool,” she looks to the east, “That pitiful fool. I’m sure he’s only this way because of the wicked queen’s wish. He found one thorn unbearable. To be covered in them must be torture. He must he out of his mind, burdened with a thousand.”

“But by paying that price, he has surpassed even me. They say an idiot without hesitation is strong, don’t they?”

A warm hand lands on Ichigo’s shoulder and he looks up, to his Cu, his faithful watchdog, his Caster. “All power has their price, Master. Think about the weight of a sword before you draw it.”

All Ichigo can do is nod. What is he meant to say to that? His heart hurts for the Cu so alike and so different from his owns suffering. He didn’t ask for his position anymore than Ichigo did. But, he will not hesitate when he has to fight him. He needs to win. He needs the grail.

If he doesn’t win, he’ll never see his friends again. He’ll never see his family. His father, his sisters. They’ll all be gone. And he won’t let that happen, no matter what kind of sympathy he might have for the enemy.

“Right. We should get moving soon. Before the enemy catches up with us.”

It still doesn’t sit quit right with him.

“You’re troubled,” Kyo notes, falling into step with him.

“Yeah,” Ichigo can’t deny that. “Each one of these wars gets more and more complicated, and each time the people we face are stronger. I feel like I’m trying to pull apart headphones from my pocket sometimes.”

“...excuse me?”

Ichigo ends up explaining to Kyo, and apparently to everyone else too, how headphones work, what a cell phone is, how they work (and honestly all he knows is there’s satellites and that brings about a whole other conversation) and by the time he’s exhausted his already limited understanding of radiowaves and electric currents they’re in the desert and Scathach wants him to fight a pack of wyverns off with his bare hands.

He (somehow) manages not to die, and he suddenly understands Cu’s attitude towards his teacher.

* * * * *

“Do you know-”

“I’m in a dream, Merlin,” Ichigo interrupts him before he can even get the full sentence out out, and the mage cocks a brow in question. Ichigo sits up and leans on his shoulder. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“My, your life never is dull. Why don’t you tell Merlin all about it?”

“...Are you going to start talking in third person if I do?”

“No. You’ll probably hit me.”

Ichigo manages a wan smile. “You know me so well.”

Ichigo does end up telling him what happened with Rukia. About almost winning but getting his ass kicked and his borrowed power ripped away. And Urahara’s offer to kill him.

“If I die, would I even be able to see you again?”

Merlin cocks his head. “Well. If you’re asking me what happens after you die, may I remind you that I am one of the least qualified individuals to answer that question, being an immortal. If you had more time I would suggest you make a trip to scotland, or even greece. Places where the afterlife have been reached in the past. But, I suppose that’s out of the question.”

“He said I have a month before she’s executed.”

“You’ve done more with less time. ”

“And significantly more backup.”

“True. You could always ask that Quincy boy to give you a crash course in your mother’s powers. Although…”

“What?” Ichigo narrows his eyes at him.

“This man said he can give you Shinigami powers. I doubt that they’re something that can just be taught. Like mage craft, I’ll bet it has to be inherited, or brought on by mutation. Perhaps it’s only a lingering spark from your little friend, but in any case, I don’t see why you’d need to die. You’ve projected your soul out of your body a half dozen times before.”

“This isn’t ray shifting. And even if it was, I don’t have Chaldea or a coffin to help me.”

“No. But I suspect that the answers are somewhere inside of you, instead of merely with this shady shopkeeper.”

“... like you have room to call anyone shady. “

Merlin laughs, a soft breath on the wind.

“No, I certainly don’t. “

He’s still staring at Ichigo.

“What?” It makes his skin crawl when Merlin does that. When he seems to read Ichigo like he’s a book. Easy to flip through and find the information he wants.

“That’s not all that troubles you, is it? I know you’re not afraid of dying, but you’re hesitating. You never do that. “

“It’s just like I said.” Ichigo draws one leg up to his chest. “If I die for real, I don’t know if I’ll ever see you, or any of the others again. I don’t have enough quartz to summon someone to help me, and if I let Urahara do what he wants, it might not matter. I can’t summon my friends if I don’t have any mana. “

“But if you don’t, another friend might die. Quite the dilemma. “

“You could stand to sound a little more torn up about it!”

“Huh? But I don’t even know the girl! Besides, you’re not exactly weeping yourself. “

Ichigos mouth shuts with a click and he looks away, his stomach turning. Merlin isn’t wrong. He’s not crying. He’s not even panicking.

“... Ichigo?”

“It’s. It’s pretty fucked up. But when she showed up I was relieved. For the whole tone between Chaldea and her I felt like I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. For the next disaster. Like I was gonna get a call saying there’s another singularity, or someone else was trying to end the world. Going to school? Eating dinner with my family? I just felt lost. I didn’t know what I was doing. I don’t even remember what I wanted to do when I graduated anymore.”

“But then Rukia came. And I fought hollows but they’re not strong enough to give me a real challenge. And then she was taken and everything is just-“

“Clicking into place. It’s horrible, but it’s been so long, I don’t remember how not to fight anymore. I don’t know how to not be at war. And this… this choice between life and death. This mission to save her. It’s almost comforting. Isn’t that fucked up?”

A warm hand cups his cheek. Long sleeves, heavy with the smell of gardenias, brush across his shoulder.

“Ichigo,” Merlin begins, his voice strangely genuine. “Whatever happens, I know that you’ll figure it out. And that eventually, you’ll find your place. You always have one more crazy idea, one more play, one more chance. Once you get your friend back, you’ll figure out how to be human again. Or, something close to it. In the meantime, you can always find me here. I can’t exactly leave.”

Ichigo is so struck by Merlin, if all people, being candid and complimenting him that he wakes up catching flies. But, he at least has an idea on what to do now.

* * * * * *

[moirai-au]

11. “Oh god, you’re bleeding” 10. “Please, don’t leave me alone” Anti

Timeline: middle of Arc 3: Aster, a few weeks after he gets his human body.

Warnings: blood, serious injury

@immabethehero @bupine​ @tabbynerdicat @i-maybe-exist @its-ethan-bro @sandinthetardis @honestlyitsjustkenna

Oliver knew of Aster’s weird views on pain; he apparently found it hilarious, being so different than the kind of pain his original body had known, back in his own realm. He and Mars often had to keep an eye on the fiend, or else they’d find him ‘playing’ with a kitchen knife or banging his head against a wall.

Hence why the subject of ‘Aster-proofing’ the mansion had come up a few times lately.

And whenever he went out -despite all their efforts to stop him- he always came back beaten and bloody, a manic, sharp-toothed smile on his tumefied face. Ollie had lost count of how many times they’d dragged the insane demon into Cecil’s new improvised office, the doc looking absolutely done every time.

But today was different. It looked like Aster had pissed off the wrong thug this time around.

The demon was lying prone at the end of an alleyway, hissing and snarling at him in warning. His black shirt was damp, his hands stained with blood.

Ollieie marveled at the sheer luck of the encounter; he’s been on his early evening patrol when he’d spotted the fiend’s writhing form in a dark alleyway. The vigilante usually would’ve left to his own devices -that deranged asshole- but the fact that Aster wasn’t masking his more, inhumane features had tipped him off to the fact that something was seriously wrong.

Ollie frowned, kneeled down next to the fiend. “Jesus, that’s a lot of blood. Did you take the knife out?”

“What if I did?”

“That was a stupid move. Now you’re gonna bleed out!”

Aster growled, curling up tighter around the stab wound on his stomach; his pitch black arms wrapped around his midsection, sharp claws digging into his sides. He’s reverted back to his base form a few minutes prior, not having the strength to keep up his disguise.

Physical pain had been new and strange for him, having been inhabiting this human-ish construct only for a few weeks. He’s been seeking out the thrill of novelty, the high than came with the sharp pain of a cut or the throbbing, dull ache of a bruise.

But this? This was too much. His body felt heavy as lead, compromising his ability to move around. He couldn’t think, couldn’t analyse, couldn’t parse the flow of information coming from his abused nerves. And he hated it.

This pain wasn’t fun. It was excruciating.

“Couldn’t leave it in,” he hissed, “Would’ve healed around it, and then it would’ve been a bitch and a half to remove.”

Ollie swore, fishing his phone out of his pocket and typing something rapidly. Aster stayed prone on the ground, twitching and hissing every so often as his healing factor kicked it, slow, frustratingly slow. Blood kept leaking out of the wound, forming a growing puddle under the demon, staining his clothes and pallid skin.

“There,” Ollie said, putting his phone away before reaching out to Aster. “I texted the doc, he’s on his way. Now we gotta-”

“Dont fucking touch me!” the imp sneered at the red-clad vigilante, scooting back against the wall. “I don’t need the good doctor’s help. I told you, I can regenerate.”

“Does your healing factor replenishes your blood too?”

Aster stayed silent, his black and acid green eyes burning holes into Ollie’s skull. The hero tsked. “Didn’t think so. Now if you won’t let me help, take this,” he handed a large piece of cloth to the injured fiend, “and press on the wound, hard.”

The demon stayed still for a few seconds, eyes darting between the human’s face and the cloth. Finally, he snatched it out of the vigilante’s hand and shoved it against his stomach, using both of his hands to press it in. The pain spiked again, drawing a yowl of agony from his throat, and for a split second all he could see was darkness.

He came back to a very startled-looking hero shaking him, his hands and hoodie smudged with dark crimson. He felt dizzy and nauseous, he noted with disgust; stupid fleshy human body. So fucking fragile and weak.

“Hey!” Ollie snapped his fingers in front of his face, catching his attention again. He let out a breath when he saw Aster’s eyes open blearily, acid green orbs among a sea of black. “Good, you’re still here. I thought you just up and died or something.”

“Why do you even care?” the imp drawled, slurring slightly; he really was out of his depth here, as much as he hated to admit it. ”You hate me.”

“I don’t like you, that’s for damn sure.” the human scoffed. “You stole my friend’s body and made me do a freaky ritual that you knew could’ve killed me.”

“I told you you could do it,” Aster smirked through the pain, “and that was the truth. You never asked me what would happen if you did.”

“A lie of omission is still a lie!”

“I beg to differ. I never lied to you, you humans are just stupid.”

“Fucking hell,” Ollie groaned, running a hand through his lime-colored hair. “You’re such a dick. Do you want me to leave you bleeding out here?”

“Why aren’t you?!” Aster snapped, annoyed and aggravated by the human’s illogical behavior. “You know the terms of our Deal. Nothing in it is binding you to do a damn thing to help me, so why?”

Ollie tilted his head, unfazed by the imp’s anger. “Because I’m a hero!” he said, his chest puffing up with pride. “And heroes don’t leave anyone behind. Even narcissistic assholes like you.”

Aster blinked, dumbfounded. He let out a sharp, mocking “HA!” before coughing, a few specks of blood landing on the ground next to him. “That was the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Doesn’t make it less true.” the red-clad hero shrugged. A chime from his pocket diverted his attention; he grabbed his phone once more, glancing at the screen. “Ah. Cecil texted back,” he explained, sitting back against the wall a few feet from the injured demon. “He’ll be here in five with some spare blood. Don’t know where he got it, not gonna ask. Think you can hang on ‘til then?”

“…I’ll be fine,” Aster croaked out, “you can hang around. But if you come any closer I will rip out your throat, Deal or no Deal.“

“Is that your way of asking me to stay?”

“Fuck you.”

“Bitch.”

[welllpthisishappening]

Like Being Submerged in Your Contradictions

She supposes she’s not surprised.

Clarke probably should have expected it. After all, her romantic track record is not really all that impressive. But. She hoped. And to say that she’s a little disappointed to find out sex with Bellamy is not as great as she wanted it to be is an understatement.

So now he wants to talk about it. Figures.

—

Rating: Mature Word Count: 4.4K AN: I have no excuse for this. Also, timeline? Background explanation? Never heard of them. Also, also…writing canon terrifies me on the reg and I binged this show very quickly, so if things are wrong let’s just…assume it’s canon divergence. Deal? Deal. I have far too many fic ideas and not enough time. This is also my first @bellarkebingo​ fic checks off setting: sanctum and future prediction fic. 

|| Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam ||

She’s sweaty. 

And out of breath. 

The sheets keep sticking to the back of Clarke’s left leg. Only her left leg. Which is admittedly kind of weird, but she’s also admittedly preoccupied with how much all of this absolutely, positively sucks to be too worried about the state or location of the bedding. 

Damn.

It was supposed to be better than this. 

Easier. Great. Time for themselves and a guaranteed few hours with no interruptions. No rush. No pressure. Less...whatever this was. Not easy. 

Not great, honestly. 

Pretty awful. Bumped knees and scrunched noses, no rhythm, hardly any friction, just—quick shifts and kisses that were over before they really began, like they were racing towards the finish line if only to say that they’d crossed it and she can’t cry. 

That would be insane. 

In the grand scheme of everything, this is not the worst thing that has ever happened to Clarke.

It doesn’t even crack the top ten. 

And yet. 

She’s marginally worried that she’s going to bite a hole through her lip, twisting it between her teeth while she tries to figure out where this went wrong and how this went wrong and it makes so much sense. They make sense. 

Together. 

They should have worked together. 

God, maybe she sucks at sex because her vocabulary is also pretty lacking. God, she hopes she’s not the one who’s bad at sex. No one else has ever mentioned that before. But, then again—most of the sex she’s had has been...fuck, she seriously can’t come up with descriptors right now. The disappointment that has taken root in the pit of Clarke’s stomach is far too heavy for her to do anything except acknowledge it, lips pressed together and breathing turning shallow and there’s a considerable amount of space between them. She’s at least seventy-two percent positive Bellamy is half hanging off the bed. 

Her right leg is starting to cramp up. 

She does her best to move without making it obvious, a slow shift and gritted teeth, but Clarke can’t help her hiss of pain when her calf muscle seizes up and maybe she’ll just stare at that one, particular spot on the ceiling for the rest of time. 

That seems like the only reasonable response. 

The bed creaks. 

“So, uh—” Bellamy starts, every letter sounding strained. “That was, uh—” “—Oh my God, stop it.” “No, Clarke, c’mon, that was—” “—I’m going to punch you, I swear.”

He laughs. 

Clarke’s neck doesn’t appreciate the way she snaps it towards him — and maybe this whole thing is just a commentary on how old she is, or at least how old she feels and that second thing is ten-thousand times more depressing than any sort of disappointing sex with the guy she’s been wanting to have sex with for more than a century. 

Shit. 

Shit, shit, shit. 

“I don’t know what to be more offended by,” Clarke sneers, “you laughing at me, or everything that’s happened in the last fifteen minutes.” “Ah, c’mon, it was longer than fifteen minutes.” “Maybe we should have timed it.” Bellamy stops laughing. 

And Clarke feels bad — she does. But the disappointment appears to be evolving into something a little bitter and a little angry, clawing its way up her throat and threatening to spill out her mouth and she can’t believe this. 

Well, no—she can. That’s the problem. 

She can believe the shit and the garbage and something else that didn’t play out exactly the way she never should have let herself imagine it could be. 

Melodramatic idiot. 

“Yeah, that’s fair,” Bellamy mumbles. “You want to talk about it?” “About what, exactly?” “Clarke.” “Saying my name over and over again is not going to help.” “Yeah, I picked up on that weirdly enough. I, uh—that sucked, right?” “Did we get to the sucking?”

He lets out a strangled noise that almost immediately turns into something far closer to a groan, an arm splayed out over his still-tilted head. “No,” Bellamy agrees, and that’s a strange way to do that. “I don’t think we did, actually.” “Lame.” “That’s a word for it, yeah. Why?” “You’re really determined to talk about this, aren’t you?” Clarke asks sharply. He shrugs. He still hasn’t moved his arm. “People are going to be back here soon and they’re going to need—” “—They can wait a couple minutes.” “Really got a high opinion of your own in-bed prowess, huh?” Bellamy’s arm might be marble for all the moving it does, but Clarke can still see the dots of color that explode on his cheeks, in between every freckle and the few scars that have lingered on his skin. 

She’s not just Sanctum’s biggest idiot. She’s this place's biggest asshole. 

“Obviously not,” he grumbles. “Although, I haven’t heard many complaints before. And I—all I’m saying is that maybe that’s our problem. Thinking about...expiration dates. Time limits.” “Speak English.” “I could say it in Trig if you want.” Clarke might growl. The sound scratches at her throat and leaves her gnashing her teeth, one side of Bellamy’s mouth tugging up at the sarcasm. “Is this your way of flirting? Because it could use some work, honestly.” “That’s—this isn’t what I thought would happen.”

Clarke blinks. Once, twice, opens her mouth only to close it and, grand scheme, it is ridiculous for that to be the thing. But it is and has been and it’s been a goddamn century. “Have you?” she whispers, voice barely that. “More times than I’d be willing to admit.”

She cannot cry. She will not cry. If Clarke keeps repeating it — in her head — then she’s sure, eventually, she’ll believe it. She won’t cry. In bed. With Bellamy. In her room. 

Their room, really. 

Because that’s been happening too. In the days and weeks and months since the end of everything else — since shaky peace treaties and only kind of understanding the anomaly, of losses and the destruction of the flame and the creation of this, a tremulous calm that Clarke still can’t entirely believe is real, with cabins and curtains on windows and books on shelves that Bellamy built himself, there’s been this growing...thing. Unspoken, unacknowledged, because it didn’t really have to be. 

Just was. Like always. Intertwined live and his boots sitting just inside the door and her head on his chest when he’d fall asleep because it’s easier to breathe that way. 

And yet. Part two. 

It’s an exaggeration to suggest that Clarke has grown impatient — couldn’t possibly, not after already waiting so long, several lifetimes worth of pent-up emotion, but she might be a little greedy and the words felt like they’d fallen out of her. 

Maybe we could spend some time together. Just me and you. 

And Bellamy had smiled. That smile. The one she’d let herself think about sometimes, when everything else was going to shit, when the world was, quite literally, coming to an end, more than once, Clarke would let her mind drift and she’d remember that smile, the way it would stretch across his face, lighten the color in his eyes and leave the skin there slightly crinkled like it couldn’t possibly contain all the emotion there. 

For her. 

Emotion he felt for her. 

She really is Sanctum’s biggest idiot. 

“You might as well say them out loud,” Bellamy mutters, practically jerking Clarke out of her reverie and they’re going to have to wash these sheets. 

She can’t imagine how they got quite this damp when nothing really...happened. 

“What?” “Out loud,” he repeats. “If you’re going to be thinking such obvious thoughts, you might as well tell me what they are.” “I’m not thinking anything.” “It is rude to lie.” Clarke huffs — frustration mixing with something else that feels a little bit like betrayal because she’s starting to find it insulting how endeared she is by him. And his awful jokes. And the overall length of his hair. 

“I’ve got a question,” Bellamy announces, flipping onto his side so he can prop his head on his head. It makes his hair shift, curls that drift dangerously close to his brows, and Clarke’s moving before she’s really thought about it, fingers ghosting over his forehead and his eyes flutter shut. 

He exhales softly, some of the rather obvious tension around them dissipating.

“Just one?”

“At least one that’s been bothering me for the last century or so.” Clarke doesn’t respond, can’t over the rising dread in the back of her brain, the feel of it creeping up her spine. Bellamy grins. 

“Why’d you put me on the list?” he asks, and Clarke is glad she hadn’t said anything. It ensures that she can gasp dramatically, eyes going wide enough that they actually start to water. His expression doesn’t change. Eventually she’ll think that’s important. “Because,” Bellamy continues, “I’ve been going over it and you didn’t even ask. I mean—there were plenty of people who could have been on the list and—” “—Are you kidding me, right now? This is what you want to talk about?” He hums, ducking down to kiss the bridge of her nose. Clarke may melt. That won’t help the overall state of the sheets. “Well, you didn’t want to talk. So—what’s that old Earth expression? I’m taking the floor.” “I don’t think that’s right at all.” “Ah, well, an attempt is at least being made.”

Clarke clicks her tongue, but she can’t quite get herself to be frustrated and that is...something. She supposes. Hopes, maybe. 

She wants to hope, at least. 

That’s always felt like half the battle. “Can I keep going now?” Bellamy quips, eyebrows jumping when Clarke pinches his forearm. “I’m going to take that as a yes.” “Was my threat of punching you not really that threatening?” “No, it wasn’t, honestly.” “God.” “Anyway,” he says pointedly, “my question is still the same. Why? Because I—there were people you left off, and I understand why you did, but what was I bringing to the table?” “Just full of Earth clichés today, aren’t you?” “Technically, it’s night.”

Clarke yanks on the blanket, quick enough that she manages to take Bellamy by surprise and she lets herself gloat about that for approximately two and a half seconds before her gaze drifts to his suddenly exposed body and—

“You are staring, Princess.”

She cannot keep bouncing through emotions like this. Clarke’s mind feels like it’s racing, plummeting through some kind of time vortex where they can have conversations like this and moments like this and—“I can’t believe you just called me that,” she mutters, pulling the blanket up over her shoulders. 

Like that will help protect her. 

It’s a dumb metaphor. 

And one she knows Bellamy picks up on almost immediately. 

He didn’t really have to ask her to voice her thoughts. He’s always been too good at that. Disarmingly good, even. 

“Big guns, or however the saying goes,” Bellamy grins. 

“You really think this is working for you, don’t you?” “Nah, if it was working, then we wouldn’t be having this conversation at all. But that’s kind of my point.” “Convoluted.” “A little. And you’re avoiding the question. Still staring, too.” Clarke hums, letting her head drop back to the pillow and she doesn’t try to mask the way her eyes move that time. She doesn’t actually move — is far too twisted in the sheets to even attempt that — but her gaze traces every inch of Bellamy, follows the curve of his shoulder and the slope of his back, lingers on the scars she knows and those she hasn’t mapped yet, more markers of time and years and they were supposed to have time tonight. 

Finally, 

And if this was all they were going to get, then—

“Clarke,” Bellamy presses. “I can’t actually read your mind.” “No?” “It’s weird, I know.” Her laugh doesn’t have much humor to it, is far shakier than Clarke would like it to be, but her lungs also don’t feel like they’re collapsing, so she assumes that’s a step in the right emotional direction. “Sometimes I used to think you could,” she whispers. “Those first couple of days after the bridge. Before the Ark came down and everything—” “—Went to shit?” “Always seems to, doesn’t it?” “I hope not. Still not an answer.” “You’re harping” “Curious,” Bellamy amends, sliding closer to her. There’s still space, enough that the heat coming off him isn’t more than a passing graze of warmth on Clarke’s cheek, and she’ll have to thank him for that at some point. For not pushing. For knowing. For understanding. 

Clarke licks her lips — dimly aware of the way Bellamy’s shoulders shift as she does, and she probably should have offered him back some of the blanket. 

She doesn’t. 

“I didn’t want to make it,” Clarke starts, and she can’t actually get her voice above a vaguely guarded murmur. He doesn’t blink. “I mean—you know that, right?” Nothing. 

She didn’t expect there to be anything. 

Her mouth is very dry. 

“But I—well, I just...we had to think about what people could do and what they’d bring to a bunker. You know—guards and engineers, doctors, all those things. I—” Clarke shakes her head, confusion rattling around her brain. “You know all of this.” Bellamy nods. “Yeah, that wasn’t my question, though. You picked ninety-eight names, let me fall asleep on that piece of garbage couch—” “—How long have you been holding that in?” “At least a hundred years? Can I finish now?” Clarke sticks her tongue out. He kisses between her eyebrows. “I do know all of that. Which is why it never made sense to put me on the list. Not really. Not after everything I’d done and—” 

Bellamy’s breath hitches, a sharp inhale through gritted teeth, and the emotion in the pit of Clarke’s stomach shifts again. She moves, arm darting out and palm flat on his cheek. He’d shaved a few days earlier, the growing stubble scraping at her skin and the feel of it is almost comforting. Grounding, even. Like it’s reminding her that he’s there and with her and that’s always been the case. 

She can’t believe the sex was so God awful. 

“I couldn’t,” Clarke rasps, “not—I wanted to do it right. After everything I’d done, too. Pick the best and make the right choice and I am...greedy.” “How do you figure?” “With you?” 

“That was a question.” “Yeah, well, it’ll sound insane otherwise.”

He chuckles, twisting his head so he can nip at the back of her wrist. It leaves another scratch of stumble against her, but Clarke’s lungs are evolving again and for as desperate as they’d been, now, twenty-two minutes earlier, this is somehow even better. This soft and almost tremulous thing, not quite cautious, but calm — all practiced ease and a distinct lack of personal space. 

She wants to touch every single inch of him. 

She wants him to touch every single inch of her. 

“Greedy,” Clarke says again, only a little disappointed that it sounds like an admission. Of what, she’s not entirely sure. Not yet, at least. “I couldn’t—no, that’s not even it, I wouldn’t do anything else. Because, well—you’re right, aren’t you?” “No applicable skills?” “I mean—no, that’s not true. You are—you can do so much, Bell, and you are...well, you won’t shut up about talking and people trust you. Way more than me.” “That does sound pretty insane.” “What did you keep saying? Will you let me finish?” 

He shifts again, crowds into her space like he knows he can now. Clarke’s fingers push into his hair — nowhere else to go, or so she will tell herself when she’s trying to forget about the less-than-ideal parts of this night — forehead finding Bellamy’s and there really more freckles on his cheeks she ever expects. 

“People trust you,” Clarke mutters. “And that’s—ok, yeah, I mean—” She stuttering now, stammering over words and explanations because both of those things are wholly founded in feelings and she’s still kind of coming to terms with that. 

Six years of radio messages are one thing. 

Actually living them is another. 

And she’s a pessimist. 

“Why, Clarke?” Bellamy asks, dragging the question across the curve of her jaw and her back arches when his teeth nip at her skin. 

“I wouldn’t have let anything happen to you.”

She doesn’t mean for the words to soar out of her the way that they do, half shouted and honestly meant and Clarke has to blink again. Her vision has gone a little glossy. 

Bellamy doesn’t respond. Which—yeah, that’s fair. He just holds her gaze for a moment before he noses at her cheek, a hand on her blanket-covered hip and Clarke wishes she didn’t close her eyes. She wishes she could watch every shift when he manages to inch even closer to her, the way his back twists and the muscles there tense, trying to do something without actually saying anything. 

So, she does, instead. 

“I picked people,” Clarke continues, “all those roles I knew we had to fill and I had—I was writing your name before I even really thought about.” “High praise,” Bellamy mumbles, mostly into the side of her neck. There are goosebumps on Clarke’s skin, breath coming a little quicker than it had a few moments before. 

“God, you’re annoying.” He hums, more kisses and wandering hands, and she’s got no idea when or how she moved onto her back, only that Bellamy’s forearms are on either side of her head and her fingers start tracing scars. On instinct. And something far deeper than that. 

“I just—” Clarke says, “it didn’t make sense not to have you on the list. To not give you…” “What?” “Time. To have a chance, just to...be. Even after the world ended.” “That happened eventually.” “Did it?” Bellamy nods, tugging lightly at the top of the sheet and Clarke doesn’t object when he pulls the fabric down. Maybe they should just throw it all away. Metaphorically. Literally. “What do you think we’re doing now?” he asks lightly, and Clarke genuinely isn’t sure how much more of this her spine will be able to take. 

She arches under him, certain her skin is actually starting to buzz, a low hum in the back of her brain and in between every single one of her ribs, like she’s about to burst from the inside out. 

“Having really bad sex?” Clarke quips. “Ha, ha, ha. What did I tell you before? When I woke up from the shitty couch.” “Why do you have so many opinions on this couch?” “An answer,” Bellamy says, but there’s a hint of something just on the edge of his voice and Clarke knows the goosebumps have betrayed her as soon as he laughs. 

“Bastard.” “Yes, that’s been fairly well documented over the years. Do you want a hint?” “Are you going to try and make out with me again or not?” He sighs — although Clarke can still feel the way his mouth turns up while he drags it towards her collarbone, alternating kisses with the soft graze of his teeth and the stubble that she’s really starting to be questionably into. 

“I told you if I was on that list, then so were you,” Bellamy says. “And I meant it Clarke. If you were trying to give me time to—” “—Live.” “Babe, seriously, the interruptions have got to stop.” Clarke has witnessed far more explosions than any single human being ever should, has dealt with radiation and death and destruction and an almost absurd number of apocalypses. Her body has been hers and not, some scars she doesn’t entirely understand yet, and even after all of that, the bullshit and the garbage and the distinct lack of time, nothing has prepared her for Bellamy Blake to call her babe while dragging his mouth towards the top of her right thigh.

She gasps. 

It’s a lame reaction, really. 

Although she had closed her eyes before. So, grand scheme. Again. 

“Yeah?” Bellamy asks, far too knowing against the jut of her hip. 

“I’ll kick you, I swear.” He chuckles, more warmth that fans across Clarke and her back almost audibly protests the contortions she’s putting it into, but something feels like it snaps in the very center of her and she can’t be bothered by the confines of normal human muscle mechanics. 

She tries to grind up, to cant her hips and force something — but that might have been their problem from the get. Forced into situations they couldn’t control, a distinct lack of options or time and now they’ve got both. 

And Clarke would pick Bellamy every single chance she got. 

“We’ve got time now,” he says, soft and so goddamn earnest Clarke is pleasantly surprised her heart doesn’t simply burst out of her chest. 

She’s glad. 

That would be messy. 

And probably the only thing that could distract her from what happens next — Bellamy sliding further down the bed, fingers brushing the inside of Clarke’s legs until his lips take over and she stares at that same spot on the ceiling. 

She doesn’t resent it quite as much anymore. 

“You know that right, babe?” Bellamy asks. “This is it. Every cliché we could come up with. The start of it all and the beginning of the end and—” “—Oh, that’s a good one,” Clarke interrupts. She’s a little breathless again, reaching a blind hand out to card her fingers into his hair. And hold him exactly where he is. He doesn’t seem all that inclined to move, honestly. 

“Yeah, I’m big on that one too. We get to go slow now. Be boring.” “Boring?” “Boring,” Bellamy echoes. “Linger, even. In every single thing we do. Get greedy with all of it because that’s what I want. I want to get greedy with you too, Clarke.”

“Yeah?” “Disappointing that wasn’t more obvious.” She laughs — soft and easy and the hope that rushes through both of her arms is barely contained by the tips of her fingers, a burst of energy and want and—“Just relax, ok?” Bellamy mutters. “Let me take care of you.” “What was that about things sounding insane?” “Rude. And the definition of insanity is doing the same thing while expecting different results, right?” “Yuh huh.” “So, let’s try something different.”

Clarke doesn’t get a chance to refute, no opportunity for the continuation of vaguely playful and slightly flirty banter. Every single word she’s ever learned, in a variety of languages, disappears as soon as Bellamy’s head drops and tongue darts out and neither one of them acknowledge that something in her back definitely cracks. 

Or how tight her fingers get in his hair. 

If anything, that second thing seems to spur him on. 

He makes this one, specific noise that Clarke will probably think about on rotation for at least the next one-hundred years, a rhythm that had felt impossible the first time they tried this. Although, to be fair, they hadn’t tried this. 

That was definitely their first mistake. 

Bellamy mouths at her, long swipes of his tongue that eventually turn to pressure and fingers and he must mumble something because Clarke can just make out sounds that almost resemble words and might be yeah, like that and fuck, you feel good. She closes her eyes again, can’t think of anything else to do when all Clarke wants to do is linger in the moment and the feeling. 

She rocks up. He pushes down. They settle into this and each other and it’s exactly the same as it’s always been, as it probably always should have been, but, for the first time, Clarke doesn’t feel like she’s running on borrowed time. 

She doesn’t even feel like she’s running, while everything is moving around her — she’s just...just. Content. Calm. She’s— “Oh, fuck,” she hisses, Bellamy's low chuckle far too pleased while she arches up and suggesting that she feels everything is absurd. Insane, even. 

And yet. Version three point oh. 

Clarke’s breath catches and her body goes tight before it all seems to shatter, a break that’s somehow overwhelming and perfect, rushing from the top of her head to the tip of her toes and Bellamy groans when her leg drapes over his shoulder. 

Both of her calf muscles are perfectly fine. 

And he doesn’t move immediately, lets the moment stay exactly the way Clarke wants it to, but then Bellamy is crowding in her space again and his mouth is on hers and it’s back to greedy and demanding, any sense of slow forgotten in how much they both want. 

Hope. 

“Smug does not look good on you,” Clarke mutters. It does not come out like the insult she wants it to, Bellamy’s lower lip stuck out when he nods. 

That makes it easier to catch between her teeth, though. So. Whatever. 

He talks even more as they start to move again, running his mouth with encouragements and promises and the word babe on loop, if only because Clarke’s hips jerk every time it happens. And it still might not be the best they could do — the nose thing is really going to be a logistical nightmare if they can’t figure out the proper angle to turn their heads for optimum kissing, but kissing also seems like something of an afterthought when it turns into just shared breath and shared space and Bellamy’s eyes close at some point. 

Clarke will also think about that.   

For a very long time. 

Which is what they have now. 

Together. 

She’s out of breath again, sweat clinging to the ends of her hair and the light that drifts across the floor is a little different than it had been earlier. The shadows stretch and the curtains flutter in a soft breeze, like the whole of it all is simply waiting for—

Clarke flutters her fingers, not much space between her and the arm next to hers and Bellamy’s wrist flips. “That was smooth,” he murmurs, hand finding hers. He’s smiling. She can tell. 

“Yeah, that was my plan from the beginning.” “Was it?” She hums, head falling to the side. She’d been right about the smiling thing. The same one she’d wanted when she asked for this and before she believed she could. Hers. Theirs, really. “Absolutely,” Clarke says. “You think it worked?” “I think it will.” “Yeah, me too.”

They do eventually put new sheets on the bed, but only after they’ve woken up from asleep in it, a tangle of limbs and feelings and the beginning of the end.