#because to me it means he's desensitized and probably in the moment distancing himself from the gravity of what hes dealing with

[l4zyb0n3s]

do i think leon's one liners are stupid and dorky? yes

do i think him saying shit like "wish id brought some cheese" and "nighty night knights" is so very important to his character? also yes

[jokerthepotatouwu]

Okay, I have a certain scene stuck in my head, so I might as well try to write it out

For context, none of the other protagonists know about Leon's powers, and Leon doesn't like using them because they make him feel like a freak. That, however, doesn't mean he won't use them if given a chance, especially when people are in danger.

Now, onto the show:

Chris winched as he saw Leon hit the wall before falling onto the ground limply like a ragdoll. He could still see the other breathing, but chances are that the coalition with the wall probably earned the younger a good concussion and knocked him out.

Chris grit his teeth as he looks back at what threw Leon into the wall in the first place. Glenn Arias, or at least what was left of him after his grotesque mutation and fusion with Diego, was grinning widely as he started to walk towards the limp man.

Quickly checking that Rebecca's mask was still in place and that the antidote was doing its job, Chris carefully laid her against the wall before distancing himself from her and starting to shoot the BOW, trying to catch his attention. It did the job well, as Arias turned towards him with an almost annoyed frown, as if looking at a particularly persistent fly. Chris supposed that in his eyes, that's what he was now. Nothing more than an insect to be stepped on. Though, as to why he was the insect and Leon the interesting toy, he couldn't understand, even if it was on brand.

According to Leon himself, he seemed to be a magnet for big, humanoid Tyrant-like BOWs. There was simply something about him that screamed "pick me up and squeeze me till I can't breathe before throwing me into a wall". Which was, ironically enough, what just happened mere seconds ago.

Arias turned fully towards him, starting to walk before quickly picking up speed. Realizing what's about to happen, Chris quickly rolled out of the way before, the very next moment, a fist met the place he was standing in.

Backing a few steps away, Chris shot out a few bullets before dodging again. In this new form, there was only so much Arias could do, making him predictable. Chris confidently sidestepped another one of the monster's attacks, easily bringing them away from Rebecca, only a halfway distance to Leon, keeping them both safe. If he could just keep Arias busy till backup arrived, they will be fine.

It shouldn't be too hard. Chris had enough bullets. He was pacing himself. He could do this, no problem.

And that was his mistake.

He got confident.

He let his guard down.

He forgot that this wasn't another simple mindless Tyrant. Arias archived every Umbrella scientist's wet dream. He turned himself into a thinking intelligent monster that still had its sense of self.

He should have expected the second attack that followed the fist. He should have seen it coming. Should have been fast enough to get out of the way.

But he didn't.

Whether it was his age finally starting to catch up to him, him slowly becoming desensitized to battle, or simple mental and physical exhaustion, he'd have to think about it later. The fact of the matter was, he got predictable as well, and Arias took advantage of that.

His giant hand met Chris' body, and he was slapped back and across the rooftop, rolling to a stop just a few meters from the glass railing.

He grimaced at the pain in his side where the palm met his body, before slowly pushing himself to look up at the approaching BOW, elbows barely supporting the weight of his upper body. He could feel the blood sliding down his forehead and brow, and tasted metal in his mouth. Hopefully he still had all his teeth in there.

As he looked at the monster in front of him, he could see it smiling to itself in satisfaction, before slowly, deliberately, starting to make its way towards him. For a second, he wondered if Arias could still talk.

It didn't matter, because even if it could, Chris still had to kill him, and for that he needed to get up.

Sparing another glance at the BOW, he saw it still taking its sweet time to get to him. It was confident that Chris couldn't recover quickly enough to get away. Chris was afraid to admit it might be right.

Yet, when it was only a few feet away from him, Arias suddenly stopped mid-step. For a second, he just stood there, foot in the air, not stepping forward or backward. Chris frowned as Arias looked at himself in confusion. What is going on? Can he not move? Why?

Then, as if pulled by an invisible hook, Arias' body flew into the wall, slamming into it. Chris gasped as he looked at the BOW, now pinned against the wall by an invisible force, feet dangling in the air. He could see Arias trying to move, to peel himself away from the wall, but he couldn't. Whatever had him up again the wall was holding him firmly and tightly, barely letting him move an inch.

Labored breathing caught Chris' attention, making him look away and back at where Leon had been laying on the floor. Except, he wasn't on the floor anymore. No, he was standing now, hunched over a bit, clearly hurting, but still standing. And moreover, he was looking at Arias. But he wasn't just looking. No...

He was glaring.

There wasn't a single hint of confusion or surprise on his face at what he was seeing. He was just glaring, as if Arias had personally offended him.

Chris frowned in confusion. This wasn't right.

Then, slowly, Leon raised his right arm at his side. It took him some effort, probably because of his previous injury, but he managed to do it pretty smoothly nevertheless.

Slowly, a sound caught Chris' attention. It was a steel pole not too far away from Leon's left side. It wasn't particularly long, and by no means was it wide. It was actually a little bent, with its edges sharp, as if it's been ripped off. And it was rattling on its own.

Chris watched, eyes widening, as the pole slowly started to float in the air, wobbly at first, before it seemed to settle and turn its edge towards Arias.

Then, with a simple motion from Leon, who never once touched the thing, it flew right into the BOW stabbing into its second head like a spear.

Arias looked down at the piece of metal now prodding out of the said second head before he suddenly wailed out in pain that seemed more emotional than physical.

"Diegoooo!"

Leon's frown simply seemed to deepen as he watched the BOW across from him. His hand moved back to the side again, still outstretched, now pointing at the staircase door.

It wobbled for a second, as did the door, before suddenly ripping itself off its hinges. Leon brought his hand closer to him as the door flew over, now suspended in the air behind him. Chris only dully noted the blood starting to drip from his nose, down his lip.

"Don't worry..." Leon spoke in a cold voice filled with ice rage that could make hell freeze over, "You'll be joining him soon enough..."

With those words, the door behind him started to spin, slowly before picking up speed. Then, just like the pole before, it followed Leon's arm as it raised up above his head before falling down in front of him, in almost a chopping motion. It reminded Chris of a general, giving his squad the go-ahead to shoot.

Still spinning, the door flew out at incredible speed, almost like a shuriken, before finding its new place in the body of the BOW. Chris could see how it stabbed through both the heart and the head, cutting it in half. The body fell limp, its arms by its side, now looking more like an insect pinned to the board of some collector. He knew there was no receiving from that, no matter what kind of a monster you are.

Arias was dead.

He looked back at Leon, now panting, seemingly drained of all his energy.

Slowly, carefully, quietly, he stood back up. It all happened so fast, yet at the same time, it seemed like it lasted for hours, every detail burned into his mind with perfect clarity.

Leon was still looking at the pinned corpse, out of breath.

Chris didn't know what to think.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he called out. "Leon...?"

The other blinked, started out of his thoughts, seemingly remembering for the first time that Chris was still here. He looked back at the older man. "Chris..."

"Leon, what was all that just now?" Chris asked, suddenly desperate for answers. "Was it you...?" he said, now in a quieter voice, only slightly louder than a whisper.

Leon looked at him, still trying to catch his breath. Blood was still slowly tickling down his lips and chin. "Chris... I promise I'll explain everything, just... God..." He looked up at the sky, now looking somehow even more exhausted than before. "Just let me catch my breath a little... Please..."

Chris was silent for a few seconds before sighing and shaking his head, slowly starting to make his way towards the agent. "Fine. This probably isn't the best time either. We still need to distribute the antidote and get Rebecca to safety." Leon seemed to relax a bit at that before Chris gave him a stern look. "But don't think this means you're off the hook. I still want an explanation as soon as we're done with all this mess."

Leon smiled a little, still tired, but now breathing a bit more easily. "You got it, Cap."

And that's it.

Let me know what you think. Feel free to ask questions if you have any or just want to talk. I have a bit more stuff I was thinking about for this AU, so I might write some more. But in the meantime, enjoy this one shot. ( @beeisnotdead thought you might like to know about this, sorry for the tag if that's not okay)

Thinking about an AU where Leon is telekinetic, but can't really use his powers because he doesn't have any grip on them, they only show up when he's very hurt/on a brink of death/when adrenalin spikes up even more than usual

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 244: Have You Read This Book

Previously on BnHA: Deku visited his mom on New Year’s Eve and was all “here’s a new letter from my ever-expanding fanclub of adorable preschoolers whom I saved from trauma” and Inko was all, “I’M SO PROUD OF YOU IZUKU I FEEL LIKE I DON’T HAVE TO PROTECT YOU ANYMORE” because she doesn’t watch the news at all or keep track of ominous plot developments I guess. The next morning, a.k.a. New Year’s Fucking Day, while other kids their age visited shrines or sat at home watching TV, Izuku, Shouto, and Katsuki were bussed off to go be child soldiers at Endeavor’s hero agency. Katsuki was all “HEY ENDEAVOR YOU’RE KIND OF A DICK,” and Endeavor was all “SHOUTO IS THIS VULGAR AND PUGNACIOUS YOUTH REALLY YOUR FRIEND” and Shouto was all “TOO LATE DAD, YOU SAID!!” and Endeavor hmmphed and booked it out of there and the kids all followed him and there was this old dude with a beard floating around screaming about END TIMES!! and Hawks was there and, what?? Seriously does anyone actually know what’s going on?

Today on BnHA: Endeavor chases down the old man (who may in fact be an actual prophet, though? Horikoshi what games are you playing) and sets him on fire and tackles him and it’s all very violent. Hawks then appears out of nowhere and breaks up BakuDeku’s tag team effort all “SAVE IT FOR THE MOVIE YOU TWO!” and is then all “hi Shouto” and “hi, you must be Midoriya, Tokoyami told me all about you, I wanted to work with you too, BUT -- [stares off angstily into the distance].” Then, because I forgot that Hawks never shuts up, he’s all, “Hey Endeavor have you ever heard of this book, ‘Paranormal Liberation Front’? Don’t let the really dumb-sounding title put you off, it’s actually a rousing tale full of hidden clues about all the bullshit I’m actually up to. I highlighted the relevant portions if you can’t be assed to read it, well anyways, Hail Hydra.” “Well that was a strange conversation,” Endeavor thinks to himself as he stares uncomprehendingly into the void. Sob someone please help them why are they so bad at this oh god.

(All comments are my unspoiled reactions from my initial readthrough of the chapter. I did a quick edit for grammar and clarity immediately afterward, and added a few ETAs in the process, but aside from that there are no changes.)

so thanks to that little stunt Horikoshi pulled two weeks ago, our chances of finding out Bakugou’s hero name any time within the next dozen chapters are slimmer than ever. probably he’ll reveal it at the end of the arc instead. it’s like he doesn’t even care about the databook. whatever I’ll have plenty of time to sulk more about it after I get to readin’

anyway the title of the new chapter is “Recommendation”, so... actually that does sound fairly promising, though? am I just eternally doomed to get my hopes up? is this referring to Shouto pestering his dad to take on his two best friends as fellow interns? what’s going on here

anyway so we’re opening with this

I love that it’s the two supposed goody-two-shoes kids who are actually being vocal about blatantly disregarding Endeavor’s orders. Shouto is just not having it to begin with, whereas Deku at least is trying to rationalize his own reckless behavior. Katsuki meanwhile is too focused on doing this fancy kick move to switch his suitcase from his left hand to his right to bother talking right now. reminds me of him playing with the soccer ball as a youngling

also the fact that his case is number 17 and Deku’s is number 18. have I talked about this before? I think I have but it was with some other numbered thing. anyways love the symbolism of him trying to stay one step ahead of him and Deku always being right on his heels. or maybe I’m reading too much into it but anyways rivals, yay

damn Endeavor is really determined to get ahead of them though

uh oh Horikoshi how much action did you pack into this chapter. starting to run out of time to finish all your panels again huh. you had a whole extra week! how fucking insane is this arc going to be holy shit

anyways Endeavor way to leave your brand new interns behind minutes after meeting them for the first time smdh. this is exactly how it went down with Hawks and Tokoyami

okay so like, I know a flash fire is an actual thing, but for a second I started wondering if in this kind of context (with him speeding off), it might also be a reference to the DC hero. then I remembered that the name of Endeavor’s technique is different in Japanese and the pun probably doesn’t translate. ah well

anyways dude is fast. but I wouldn’t count the kids out yet, they’re all pretty fast too!

so now we’re back downtown with Old Man Doom And Gloom, and oddly enough it seems that this isn’t actually an out-of-the-ordinary occurrence?

fucking quirk society. you guys are just so desensitized to the most bizarre fucking things. but I guess we in the 21st century are hardly ones to talk ourselves sigh

anyway now he’s being a bit more extra than usual and they’re starting to worry

?? the fuck is that? that sure as hell isn’t Hawks or Endeavor lmao. IF IT’S SLIDIN’ GO I SWEAR TO GOD

or wait, is it still the old man talking? should I actually be paying attention to his ramblings, my bad

is that a fucking Spirit Bomb

(ETA: in truth this is the most badass attack name that has ever existed or will ever exist and I should give it its proper due actually.)

so now I guess he’s hurtling it at them??

...hold up one sec

“revelations from the universe, I have received. flee, flee good citizens. the Dark Lord’s lips curl into a wicked crescent” -- holy shit, this all tracks?? IS THIS DOOMSDAY CRACKPOT MOTHERFUCKER ACTUALLY RIGHT ON THE FUCKING MONEY HOLY SHIT. ARE YOU A WITCH GOOD SIR. DID YOU WRITE A BOOK OF HIGHLY ACCURATE AND DEVASTATINGLY WITTY PROPHECIES BY ANY CHANCE

“the end is nigh! the wicked stars are conspiring against us! we must stop them! the earth is on the verge of being engulfed by darkness! flee, my fellow citizens! I am the one who shall destroy this source of darkness! be revealed! servants of the dark lord, come forth!”

okay listen. if he’s aiming this fucking thing at Hawks, though, after a speech like that? fuck it, I’m a believer. I’m sorry old man, I wrote you off without a second thought and here you are being the only one who’s actually like “HELLO!!!? PEOPLE!!!? THE LEAGUE OF VILLAINS!!?! THEY HAVE AN ARMY!!? AND NOUMUS!??! FUUUUUUUUCK”

and I don’t know where you’re getting your information, but those are some legit-ass universe revelations. fucking even talks about the “Dark Lord” specifically only describing his lips. because he doesn’t have anything else to describe nowadays, face-wise. shit that is spooky

anyway so that sure was unexpected. let’s see what shenanigans Master Roshi here is gonna get himself into next

did my boy just get fucking flashfired. jesus Endeavor show some fucking mercy

...

someone want to explain to this man the concept of a proportionate response? anyone? ...

fucking Todorokis I swear to god. if they weren’t all so good at being amazing superheroes, they could easily fall back on a career of being dramatic bitches for hire instead

anyways when did Endeavor change his clothes. this dude was wearing a turtleneck and slacks thirty seconds ago. did he literally just burn them off. how. what. fucking plot holes left and right

lol imagine if like on the next page the interns finally catch up and they’re like holding his fucking jacket and looking peeved

-- holy fucking shit, Endeavor

not cool, dude!! what the fuck. this isn’t a fucking Noumu for fuck’s sake THAT IS A HUMAN PERSON

(ETA: I guess he ended up being okay, but shit, for a moment it looked like we were going full blown Raiders of the Lost Ark over here. anyways the moral of this story is that Endeavor is terrifying, fuck.)

so now of course Nostradamus is trying to get the fuck out of there, because if he sticks around Endeavor apparently has no qualms about burning him alive. fuck me Endeavor, I’m still rooting for your redemption arc my dude, but tbh if Dabi happens to pop up out of nowhere here looking for some revenge I’m not gonna say no to it right now. quit burning people alive!!

so now 12/21/2012 is zooming down an alley and Endeavor is zooming after him and telling some extra with a sword to stay and lead the evacuation

oh??

Endeavor have you flown yourself right into a trap?

oh my god what the fuck is this

it’s like Dabi VS the Liberation Army all over again. fucking check all these motherfuckers who apparently want to get themselves deep fried. this one guy really thinks he’s going to clock the Number One with a piece of fucking PVC pipe

LMAOOOOO

LOOKS LIKE WE GOT OURSELVES A RUCKUS, BOYS! you better believe I have the Powerpuff Girls theme song playing in my head right now

-- !!!

HAWKS!! I WAS STARTING TO WONDER IF YOU REALLY WERE THERE TOO OR IF THE PANELS IN THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER WERE DELIBERATELY MISLEADING

LOOOOOOL

pour one out for these poor sobs who somehow got themselves caught up in an accidental pincer attack between the dynamic fucking duo and fucking Angry Bird here. where the fuck is Shouto btw. or is he the one that got stuck carrying Endeavor’s jacket

loool look at Hawks out here making friends

SURPRISE BITCH

oh my god though you guys look at this??

HELLO SURPRISE NEW FAVORITE SERIES OF PANELS, CAN I JUST TAKE A MOMENT TO LOVE ON YOU A BIT HERE, BECAUSE

1. Bakugou and Deku IN PERFECT SYNC, not even thinking about it. just effortless. that was an amazing tag team thing you guys had going on before SOMEONE stepped in and ruined it all omg. do you want me to talk to Hawks for you. I’ve been meaning to discuss some other things with him anyway so it’s not like it’d be going out of my way. can you believe this fucking pigeon blocked my number. WHERE IS JEANIST YOU BASTARD

anyways 2. “I thought Endeavor might have been in a tough spot” that’s a funny way of saying “I was lonely and missed my angry arson dad”! and fucking look at this ridiculous bantering between them. “did it look like I was in a tough spot?” I FUCKING CAN’T YOU GUYS PLEASE STOP

and 3. Shouto just watching. is he impressed by his dad? or just trying to figure out whether Hawks is his dad’s adopted son or boyfriend. I’m pretty sure it’s the former, Shouto, but I don’t blame you for being confused, Hawks just has that kind of energy with everyone

oh my god

somebody arrest this man. I can’t fucking deal with your cheeky fucking face Hawks

is Skeptic getting all of this?? are they sitting there with bowls of popcorn back at the League of Pliff HQ trying to figure out whether Endeavor and Hawks are dating

...and shit, I just realized the League officially knows now that the disaster trio is interning with the number one. so that’s fucking great. not that it would have been a secret for long, but still, things are officially starting to get real. in hindsight, after the Kamino arc we had a nice long stretch of chapters in which Deku, Kacchan, and Shouto were not in immediate danger from the main fucking villains, so that was nice while it lasted I guess. those days will soon be behind us

ahhhklkljkl

fucking shit Hawks could you be any more ominous. oh my god this arc really is going to kill me

so now we’re cutting away to somewhere. Pliff?

-- oh, nope, still in the same place, we just fast-forwarded to the part where the police came to haul all the bad guys away

and now the manga is being all clever and foreshadowing-y and would you look at this

BUT IS HE TALKING ABOUT ENDEAVOR, OR HAWKS omg. or hell, he could even be talking about Deku. or AFO even though he’s not actually there. point is, you know he’s not actually wrong. but what is he actually trying to tell us ahhhhhh Servant of the Stars please reveal your secrets

(ETA: in all seriousness you guys, I’m fully down for counting this as a prophecy. it’s already canon that future-seeing quirks are a thing, so. the only problem is that this is some Game of Thrones-level ambiguity as far as who he’s actually talking about. it seriously could be anyone. anyways at least we’ve got some shiny new theory material to play around with here so that’s nice.)

LMAO

HAWKS YOU BASTARD, JUST LIKE THAT I’VE FORGIVEN YOU FOR THE FUCKING JEANOCIDE

how does every single person Deku meets not greet him this way?? I sure as hell would. “well if it isn’t the kid who just. fuckin blew up his own hands on live television, multiple times. salutations”

anyways where’s Katsuki, the boy whose previous hero mentor you murdered in cold blood but he doesn’t actually know that yet. when are we gonna start in on that?

Hawks says he’s heard about Deku from Tokoyami. and he even says he would have liked to work with Deku too, wow. that’s high praise

ffffff here it comes, THAT GOOD HAWKS ANGST. WE WERE WAITING FOR THIS BUT IT’S STILL BRUTAL GAH

is this entire arc just going to consist of Hawks saying cryptic things with double meanings known only to him and then glancing sideways at the camera all broodingly omg

AH, THERE HE IS

Katsuki’s natural instinct to dislike 100% of newcomers on sight might work out to his advantage here. Hawks’s maxed-out Charisma stats VS Katsuki’s middling Perception stats which nonetheless have a tendency to land high whenever he performs an ability check! I might need to back off from this metaphor though before it becomes really obvious that I don’t actually play D&D

lol

omg Endeavor can’t a guy just drop in on his grumpy pal out of the blue to make sure he’s doing okay without having some sort of ulterior motive? why are you so sure that Hawks showing up means that plot must be happening. because you’re not wrong, is the thing. but he’s probably just being standoffish for show

holy shit and now Hawks is just pulling out the Liberation Army’s book just like that?? IS HE ALLOWED TO DO THAT

(ETA: “let’s see, what’s a subtle way I can try and clue Endeavor in on the fact that I’ve become an undercover agent in the Paranormal Villain League of Liberation Front Armies. ... ...shit I’m not good at this.”)

and since when was this book called “Paranormal Liberation Front”?? did they change the title to match the new name?

and what’s Hawks’s game here, though? is he going to play it as though he’s secretly investigating Pliff? you know, like he actually is doing? is this some kind of hiding in plain sight thing or what

guys. is Hawks just... actually really bad at being a secret agent. omg

so he’s all “DESTRO’S IDEALS ARE EVERYTHING WE COULD ASK FOR” and lol what. fucking look at Endeavor’s face though

this motherfucker could use a boost of his own wisdom stats, fff

(ETA: swear to god he’s two seconds away from a Katsuki-style “hah?!”)

oh my god

fucking fuck me. he better have highlighted a really obvious section of that book, because otherwise I’m not gonna hold out hope for this message getting across at all. at least we know what that “recommendation” title was referring to now I guess

(ETA: Endeavor: [reading the highlighted section backwards] “‘‘it’s fun to smoke marijuana’!? what in the --”)

loooool

the fate of the world now rests upon Endeavor’s abilities to See Underneath The Underneath and somehow decipher that when Hawks says, “ENDEAVOR I CHASED YOU DOWN IN ORDER TO GIVE YOU A COPY OF THIS BOOK THE VILLAINS WROTE, I THINK IT’S REALLY KEEN AND YOU SHOULD CHECK IT OUT”, what he’s really saying is, “ENDEAVOR I NEED YOU TO INVESTIGATE THIS SUSPICIOUS ‘LIBERATION FRONT’ THAT’S BEEN COINCIDENTALLY GATHERING A LOT OF ATTENTION SINCE THAT SHADY INCIDENT IN DEIKA CITY WHERE ‘TWENTY GUYS' BASICALLY DESTROYED AN ENTIRE TOWN. IF YOU’RE TOO DENSE TO PICK UP ON ANY OF THAT, I HIGHLIGHTED THE RELEVANT PORTION OF THE BOOK SO HOPEFULLY EVEN AN OBLIVIOUS DUMBBELL LIKE YOU CAN FIGURE IT OUT.” jesus christ

at least Endeavor now has some nerdy interns who fucking love to read. hell, Deku has probably already read the book. please help this dumb jock to understand his bird son’s coded message, Deku-Wan Kenobi, you’re our only hope

and that’s the end of the chapter! except that I heard there was a new poster for Heroes Rising that was released as well! how come it wasn’t included here now I have to go hunt it down

son of a bitch is this really the best quality that’s available? damn

well all right. not really much going on here that’s a big revelation or anything, aside from the surprise inclusion of Hawks in the upper right hand corner. did we know he was going to be in this? and like, even if the anime does make it as far as his debut in season 4, will it have reached that point by the time the movie premieres in December? glad I caught up beforehand if they’re gonna start spoiling things like this

so that’s all she wrote for this week! databook is due out next week so that should be fun! we’re finally going to get Hawks’s real name from what I understand. so I can start yelling at him using his full name like a disappointed mom. I have a feeling that’s going to come in handy a lot during this arc. go to your room young man

(ETA: and just watch it be the Japanese equivalent of “Judas McMurder” or some shit. smh. y’all. we stan a shady bitch.)

[adamsvanrhijn]

If you’re still doing the directors cut, would you be willing to do “strange how I fit into you (there's a distance erased with the greatest of ease)” from “York , October 1933” to as far as you want since it’s a long passage? Thanks!

moroh boy oh boy oh boy

ok wel it IS a long passage, so we’ll see how much i get through!

strange how I fit into you (there's a distance erased with the greatest of ease) by smithens

under cut for discussion of suicide + length

York, October 1933

so i chose october to be the Rough Month mostly because octobers i think... can be pretty rough? it’s the middle of autumn and things are starting to really turn colder and grayer, so the seasonal element hits harder, and that’s a factor here for thomas... an extrapolation from canon but not one that i think requires mental gymnastics.

The door creaks on its hinges as it shuts.

Before Thomas can think about what this means for him — all those lies he'll have to keep up with, more stories to get straight, it's never ending and he's just so tired — the bed is shifting underneath him and there's something (Mrs Ellis's knitted Afghan, or Miss Baxter's quilt) (no, there's yarn on his cheek, it's the Afghan) more round his shoulders.

Not just the blanket.

"What'd you need?" Richard murmurs. He is very, very close. "What can I do?"

one sensory element of being up to your eyeballs in depression & brainfog.... everything is hypersensitive but also you’re not entirely aware at the same time, so everything that happens to your body prompts another little mental loop that you’re too exhausted to deal with... that’s what’s going on here

richard could be better at being comforting; he second guesses himself... wants to get it right but the stakes are high if he doesn’t, so he errs on the side of caution and ends up overwhelming him more by making another Decision, although he does figure it out eventually

Thomas shakes his head. Tears prick at his eyes again, but he keeps them shut tight — seeing is the only thing he can put a stopper in, no matter what he'll still have to hear and feel things. No matter how much he wishes otherwise. Not much to see even if he wanted, though, it's the sun's just about gone down and he didn't bother to turn on a lamp before. Dark and cold, even with the curtains open. The days just keep getting shorter; working nights doesn't help. Maybe if it were summer…

more of the seasonal element; more of the sensory element

thomas in this scene is pretty high up on the suicidality scale (i’m leaving what happened before this starts up to interpretation bc that’s an important part of the scene) but he has come down a little now that richard is present. the headspace he is in here is more “i want to go to sleep and never wake up” rather than planning/desiring to actually kill himself, and he’s thinking Around it but not actually getting sucked in again, which is good but still a difficult and exhausting mental position to be in

"What can I do, Thomas," says Richard into his ear. He lies down behind him all the way and slings his arm across Thomas's chest, and the weight of it is soothing as much as it is suffocating.

He wishes he had it easier. That he could only feel one of those things at a time.

He wishes all of this were easier.

"What's happened? Has something happened you've not told me about?"

more richard not entirely Getting it... i think a big part of his character in this is he’s an answers guy, he tends to follow patterns, and as this richard has never been depressed he associates Sadness and Despair with something happening, whereas for thomas it’s almost the opposite where it’s associated more with inertia and malaise, everything’s bad and it’s all blending together, so thomas can’t exactly answer the question properly because while he did have a switch over he can’t pinpoint it, but he’s aware of his mental state as well as that richard doesn’t entirely understand it and that awareness doesn’t help him very much here

also i think spooning can be a very good comfort position so in this verse it’s a coupley thing that they do... the big spoon gets to be the comforter and the little spoon is the comforted

He shakes his head.

Richard takes his mangled hand out from under the blanket and holds it, squeezing tight. It makes his third and fourth fingers cramp, but that's something to feel that isn't dull and numb and nothing, so he doesn't mind it.

He does mind when Richard's thumb traces up on the inside of his wrist.

"Don't," Thomas chokes out.

He lets go.

"If," Richard starts, "if I hadn't come home when I did…"

richard is thinking what if and his actions are betraying that before his words are; thomas doesn’t like that it’s being drawn attention to

he strongly dislikes being vulnerable and finds it very viscerally uncomfortable even with richard, who is the only person he allows to get this close to him anyway

"But you did."

"Yeah," he says after a moment. "Yeah, I did, I – God, Thomas," and he buries his face into his back and shoulder and tugs him tighter with his arm, breathing heavily. "Oh, Thomas."

"It's too hard," Thomas whispers.

A small kiss at the nape of his neck, beneath his ear, at the corner of his jaw.

He barely feels them.

"I wish it weren't."

"I can't."

"I know."

desensitized! this is also when it finally clicks for richard what thomas’s needs here actually are and what the situation is at this point

It's Tuesday. Eventually they get out of bed. When he thinks Thomas isn't paying attention Richard jams the door latches and takes the shaving kits out of the washroom, rearranges the cupboards in the kitchen. Apparently he can't even be trusted in his own home.

the day of the week is brought up in the first four scenes of this fic (monday > friday/saturday > sunday > tuesday) because the anchor of the fic is domestic chores & the process of doing laundry; in this time period there was still an established order to doing this that like, both their mothers and every other woman they know would have followed (which is why it works for richard’s sister to do theirs for them in the first scene) and that thomas implements, so that’s the structure here. tuesday or wednesday is pressing & steaming.

thomas is attributing a sneaky element to richard’s actions here that doesn’t actually exist. richard is fully aware that thomas is paying attention when he does these things because he’s not taking his eye off of him for a second; thomas is in a frame of mind where he thinks that richard will assume, based on him being catatonic, that he is not paying attention, and thus will not pay him any in turn, because that is his experience when he is depressed... but that’s not how richard is, nor how their relationship is

richard is following best practices here but it’s the sort of best practices that makes the suicidal person feel like shit, lmao. eliminate opportunities for privacy + remove methods, “rearranges” is code for hiding/getting rid of poison and sharp things. also the shaving element in this & the companion piece is like a thinly veiled masculinity thing in addition to the mental health thing it also has

it is because richard knows, loves and trusts thomas that he is doing it, not because he doesn’t, but thomas isn’t in the right place to figure that out here

"You won't let me be useful," Thomas mumbles. He's seated on the floor at Richard's feet, a pathetic heap, wrapped in a blanket and with a mug of tea within reach, though he's let it go cold. The sofa is right there, and that's where he'd started, but sitting properly feels wrong, and he's not going to laze about in bed all evening. A few hours ago that was all he wanted. Things can change so quick sometimes.

sitting on the floor... the mood. he’s been there a little while, that’s what the tea is meant to indicate. he’s now conscious of himself and his surroundings enough that he’s back in to being Cognitive, analysing what is around him and what he wants. what he wants is to be useful and feel like he’s contributing, because he’s put a lot of his self-worth into that in the first months of them living together (they both have! it’s a source of conflict!) and now feels like that’s been taken away

one of the big parts of thomas’s canonical depression & suicide attempt is to do with him lacking a sense of purpose and feeling like he cannot contribute; in this scenario he feels that he has manufactured his contributions and he has tied his self-worth to them entirely. he’s very much given himself the impression, due to past experiences, the brain making patterns, that if he’s not useful (if he’s not perfect, in how he sets standards for himself) richard’s not going to want him around anymore. he thinks he’s made up his own worth basically and he expects richard to leave him / feels like he’s deceiving him, and that’s what prompts the spiral, it’s sort of about getting-it-over-with, and that’s also the element of his depression that contributes to the lack of sexual desire & interest that is referred to in the next scene of this fic as well as seen in richard’s pov in the companion piece... big feelings of fraud/imposter syndrome here

Richard doesn't look at him. Too busy pressing a collar. "You do this every week, Mr Barrow," he says. He only ever calls him that when he's flirting or trying to cheer him up or such like.

"And?"

pressing and steaming day! 

"And you might let me for a change," nonchalant in a careful sort of way. "You've just been burning the midnight oil a bit too often…"

"I've been working at midnight," mutters Thomas. They're short of staff: more nights for everybody. He had today off, and he'll have tomorrow off, and then he'll go in Thursday night and make himself useful somehow.

"You're not going back to work for seven to ten days," Richard says sharply. He sets down the iron. It probably needs to be heated again but he won't leave Thomas alone to do it. That's all they need, is him doing a shoddy job of the ironing… "You're ill."’

"I'm not ill – "

"No use arguing about it," interrupts Richard. "Settled it when I telephoned, wasn't even my suggestion."

Flu Lie.... richard telephoned thomas’s job

the iron is made of metal (iron!) and has to be manually heated to work

thomas’s concern about their household is still present even in the circumstances...

ok i’m getting sleepy i’ll publish this now bc you can’t really save asks as drafts properly and then i’ll get to the rest like, tomorrow lol

"Because you lied…"

"Thomas, you and I lie every day of our lives – "

He stops talking at the first sniffle. Somehow he manages to sit even after Thomas has slumped over with his head against his calves; he wraps his arms around him and takes his head into his shoulder. Thomas doesn't know whether he should feel guilty for allowing him to sit on the floor like he is or thankful that he wants to or both. "I'll take the week off, too."

"We can't afford – "

"We've got family," Richard says softly. We, he says, not I. "They'll look after things. That's what they're for, isn't it?"

"You can't quit everything for just me," Thomas says, hoarse. He's not sobbing; he doesn't have the energy for it. But he's not dry-eyed either.

"I can," he returns. "And I'm going to, Thomas."

"Why," he mumbles, "why, why, why," over and over, because that's the only question he's got in his head left to ask. He's not even sure he wants the answer.

"Because that's what I'm for," still so soft, when Thomas doesn't deserve that at all, "that's what I'm here for, love."

"'m not worth it."

Richard doesn't bother arguing with him. "I love you," he says. They don't say it very often; Thomas doesn't deserve him saying it now. "God, I love you."

"You shouldn't."

"But I do," breathes Richard, clutching him close. Nobody's ever held him like this before and especially not when he's feeling the way he is now. Somehow that registers for him. "I do," reassuring. "Fuck, I should've noticed – "

"Didn't want you to."

"I know, Thomas." He kisses his temple. "I know."

[goodlucktai]

#100 with Natsume and creepy Matoba??

drabble list100: ”i’m fine with where i am now.”

prompts are closed

x

There’s a weird-looking guy outside Natsume’s house. Kitamoto stops so abruptly that Nishimura walks straight into his back. 

“Owww, Acchan, what gives– “

“Who’s that?” he asks. 

“Who’s who?” Nishimura leans to the side to look around Atsushi’s shoulder. “Huh, I’ve never seen him around before. Tanuma?”

Their pale friend shakes his head, but a worried frown works its way onto his face. Kitamoto is right there with him. Any time a stranger has ever come looking for Natsume, it’s led to nothing but trouble.

True to form, Nishimura is the first to act. He shifts the handles of the bag he’s holding to his wrist, lifting his freed hand to his mouth and calling out, “Hey, you there!” 

The man turns. He’s smiling in a calm, self-satisfied way. Kitamoto has to fight the protective full-body urge to tug Nishimura out of his line of sight, because that’s just ridiculous. They’re in the middle of the street on a sunny August afternoon– what’s this guy gonna do, abduct all three of them?

“Are you looking for someone?” Nishimura asks. “The Fujiwaras are away until Tuesday, so you might wanna leave a message or something.”

“Is that so?” the man asks pleasantly. “Well, good thing it’s not them I’m looking for. Do you know if Natsume is home?”

“Natsume? Sure he is, that’s why we’re here. Gotta make sure our best buddy doesn’t waste away while his parents are gone. What do you want with him?”

Oh– oh, no. That’s his picking a fight tone. He doesn’t like this guy anymore than Kitamoto does, but the biggest difference between Kitamoto and his best friend is that when Nishimura doesn’t like someone, he isn’t quiet about it.

The man raises his eyebrows, looking amused, if anything. He opens his mouth to speak, but a loud meow cuts him off. They all glance over as one to the fat cat sitting on the low wall in front of the Fujiwara house, and Tanuma seems to go slack with relief. 

It should be silly, but Kitamoto’s relieved, too. Wherever that ugly cat is, Natsume is never far behind. Sure enough– 

“Matoba,” comes the chilly voice of one of Kitamoto’s favorite people. Natsume stalks out of his house like a wraith, green eyes flashing. Kitamoto has seen him this pissed off before maybe once, when a transfer student made fun of Tsuji for taking his class president responsibilities so seriously. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Hey, Natsume!” Nishimura says cheerfully. He looks delighted by the brewing conflict, and waves the bag in his hand like it’s a war banner. “I brought all your faves. Is it cool if I drop this off inside?”

It’s a little absurd, the way Natsume’s expression softens for him. It should look a little fake, when he smiles and stands aside to let Nishimura bounce eagerly past him into the house, but Kitamoto knows his fake smiles as well as he knows his real ones. Nishimura could get away with murder where Natsume’s concerned. It would be annoying if it wasn’t so funny to watch.

Tanuma is standing by Natsume’s shoulder, touching his arm with a gentle hand. It expresses “are you okay?” without a word passing between them. Kitamoto, for his part, leans against the wall by the cat. He’s not going inside while this weird guy is out here posturing and Tanuma looks this worried. 

“Looks like I’m outnumbered,” the man says, unbothered. “I’d hoped we could have a private conversation, Natsume.”

Tanuma frowns. It’s a little more convincing now than it was when they were first years, with his hair pulled out of his face into a long ponytail and his broad shoulders. He’s actually looking down an inch or two at the guy. But his gray eyes are so gentle, even now when he’s angry, that it’s sort of like watching an overgrown puppy stare down a snake. 

Kitamoto very forcibly bites down on a smile, keeping a straight face. There’s still a creepy guy in front of his friend’s house. 

“I’m really,” Natsume says with zero inflection, “really not interested.”

“I suppose we could have it here, instead? If you didn’t mind airing a few secrets. There are lots of ears around to overhear the sordid details, after all.”

“Sorry, but could you be a little more specific?” Kitamoto asks politely, in effort to hurry this along. “We haven’t eaten lunch yet, and the curry is going to take forever to cook. What secrets do you mean? Is it the yokai thing?”

For the first time, the man’s smile falters. 

“Oh, really?” Kitamoto rubs the back of his head. That was just a stab in the dark. “Sorry, he let that cat out of the bag a long time ago. No offense, sensei.”

Nyanko-sensei hmphs, eyes glinting with mean satisfaction. He’s definitely enjoying this. “I’m having a good day, so I’ll let it go this time, brat.” He hops from the wall to Kitamoto’s shoulder, who nearly staggers under the sudden weight. “What’s wrong, Matoba? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Tanuma huffs a quiet laugh at the awful joke, and Natsume looks as though he’d like Matoba to take the cat with him when he leaves. 

“They know,” the silver-haired boy says unnecessarily. “My parents know. You can’t threaten me with that anymore.”

Threaten? Kitamoto’s eyes narrow on the man, whose odd smile is back on his face. 

“It was never a threat, Natsume.” Nyanko snorts derisively, but Matoba continues unperturbed. “I like to think I’m a little more refined than that.”

“You’ve kidnapped me, tied me to a chair, locked me in a cell, and tried to kill my cat,” Natsume recites tonelessly. Being around Shibata really hasn’t done well for his attitude problem, but Kitamoto’s kind of delighted by it. “On numerous occasions. And you shot me with an arrow. I still have a scar on my arm.”

“What the hell?” Nishimura yells from the doorway. He’s probably been inside calling Taki, telling her to hurry over for the show. Now he’s teleporting the distance from the entryway to Natsume’s side, glaring at his arm like he can see the scar through the sleeve. “That’s where that came from? Should I have been on the phone with the police?”

Knew it, Kitamoto thinks, at the same time Tanuma says, “Wait, you were on the phone?”

Matoba says, “And you think your friends are all the protection you need? Or your family? They may believe you, they may care for you, but they can’t even see. What good will they do when you need them?”

“You should rework your tactics for the next time a strong seer comes along, because they failed you with my brat,” Nyanko says with that vicious cat’s smile curled wide across his face. “Befriending him would have been the quickest way to win. That’s what Natori did, after all, and now Natsume’s name sits on his family registry.”

“Please quit talking about me like I’m an impressionable child,” Natsume says, looking pained by this entire conversation. “His clan adopted me on paper,  because Taki wanted access to exorcist materials and he’s the only exorcist I like. I’m not going anywhere or joining anyone. I’m fine with where I am now.”

Matoba looks truly agitated now, but in a quiet, restless way. Kitamoto wonders what he thought he was going to get out of this conversation, and why he came here in the first place. Was it to ask for help? Or was this a recruitment pitch? This mysterious person might once have been impressive, with his strange eyepatch and long dark hair, but Kitamoto is a little desensitized to the whole thing now. 

“So that’s it?” Matoba says quietly. “You’re satisfied to place your bets on the losing side?”

“It’s not like we’re at war,” Natsume tells him. He sounds weary of this, like it’s something he’s said a hundred times. “There are no sides.”

“And if there were, the winning side would be whichever side we’re on,” Nyanko-sensei says, eyes glinting bright green in the fading sun. “No bets.”

Matoba stands there for a long moment. He looks very human, for all his shadowy secrets and strangeness. Then he bows his head in a brusque nod, and turns toward the dark car waiting for him at the end of the street. It’s an abrupt goodbye, and they all stand there watching him go. 

Unsurprisingly, Nishimura breaks the silence.

“Sensei,” he whispers, “that parting line was so cool.” 

Nyanko-sensei fluffs his fur out, looking pleased with himself. Natsume rolls his eyes, even as he reaches over to lift his fat cat off of Kitamoto’s shoulders, and that’s about when running footsteps skid into earshot and Taki hollers, “I’m here, I’m here! What did I miss?” by way of hello. 

“So much,” Nishimura calls back. 

“Nope,” Kitamoto says, ready to put the whole conversation behind them. He starts herding people inside. “Lunch first. We can talk while we eat.”

Natsume stands back to let his friends file in first. His long hair frames his face like silver moss, and his eyes are dark and deep, and he watches after them the way a traveler might watch people in a foreign city where he’s still new to the language, where he’s on the cusp of belonging and only still fumbles one or two of the words.

Then Tanuma bumps shoulders with him gently. It shakes Natsume out of it, and he steps inside to join them with a much more familiar smile.

[callboxkat]

Infinitesimal (part 14)

Author’s note: This chapter is a day late because of the whole log-out thing, but I hope you guys enjoy it!

Warnings: Food mention, nervousness, talk of illness and injuries

Word count: 1756

Check the notes for the masterpost!

...

Roman had made something called ‘tacos’ for dinner. He set a saucer before Patton with a flourish, which held a smaller version of one of these weird foods: a very flat piece of bread topped with some kind of meat, cheese just as soft as what Logan had brought him earlier, and lettuce. There was also a bit of some kind of red sauce off to the side. Roman handed Logan his plate and then showed Patton how to eat the taco, by rolling up the bread—the ‘tortilla’—and eating it that way.

“That’s called ‘salsa’,” Roman said, seeing Patton eyeing the sauce. “It’s spicy, and I wasn’t sure if you’d like it, so I left it off to the side.”

Patton hesitantly reached towards it, dipping the tip of his finger in the sauce.

“Just try a little,” Roman warned.

Patton licked the tip of his finger, and he immediately jerked away, making a face. What the heck was that?

Roman looked like he was trying not to laugh. “No salsa, then,” he commented, sounding amused.

Logan shook his head with a sigh. “I told you he wouldn’t like it. He likely doesn’t have much experience with spicy food. A taste for foods containing capsaicin is built up over time—no one is born desensitized to it.”

“I just thought he could try it!” Roman defended himself. “You never know.”

“No, but I had a strong hypothesis and supportive evidence. You had neither.”

Roman gasped, putting a hand on his chest and looking affronted. “You’re the one who said we shouldn’t make assumptions about him! Or did you forget that?”

Patton was starting to feel on edge, until he noticed that both humans were grinning as they argued. It wasn’t a serious fight. He released his breath slowly, picking up a piece of cheese to get the taste of the salsa out of his mouth.

…

Once Virgil had finished mending his and his brother’s clothes, he made his way back to their bedroom. Emile, still curled up in bed, mumbled something in his sleep. He looked pretty cozy, nestled there in the blankets.

Since Virgil was planning to go out tonight, he should probably get some rest beforehand. Right?

That was all the self-motivation he needed. He set his crutches to the side, removed his shoes, and crawled into the nest, curling up at his brother’s side. Emile tended to move around in his sleep, so as usual, Virgil made sure his left foot was away from his brother so that the odds of him accidentally bumping into it were small.

Curled up in that warm bundle of blankets with his brother sleeping peacefully at his side, Virgil closed his eyes.

…

Patton decided that he liked tacos. He wasn’t exactly a fan of the salsa, but the tacos themselves were pretty tasty. They had cheese, anyway, which he had decided he very much liked.

“Have you finished eating?” Logan asked after a while.

Patton looked down at his plate. There was quite a bit of food left on it, in addition to the all-but-untouched salsa; but Patton didn’t think he could eat any more. He nodded, and Logan reached to take the saucer.

When he walked out of the room with all of the plates, Roman turned to Patton. “Hey, Pat?”

Patton looked up, already apprehensive, but Roman just smiled reassuringly at him. “I just wanted to ask how you were feeling.”

Patton shrugged. He was okay. He still had a headache, and he was a little dizzy, but that was nothing new. Neither was as bad as usual, so he supposed that was positive. He was still tired, unsurprisingly, but he was warm with his blankets over his lap, his stomach was comfortably full, and he had a container of water that he could drink from whenever he got thirsty.

“Can’t complain,” he said quietly.

…

Emile had left about fifteen minutes ago to find more food for the pair of littles. Virgil was still waiting: he hadn’t wanted to immediately follow his brother out just in case Emile had forgotten something. It would be awkward if he returned and found Virgil missing.

After about twenty minutes, when Virgil had grown too impatient to wait any longer, he set out.

He made his way through the walls down to the apartment where Patton was being kept, and then to one of the entrances into the room he was in. He snuck carefully out, glad to see that the room was as dark and silent as he had hoped to find it.

Virgil emerged from the hidden doorway in the wall, pushing the piece of the baseboard back into place once he was in the room. It was precisely cut so that when the pieces lined up right, the humans would never be able to tell that a doorway was hidden there. One he was sure the pieces were properly aligned, Virgil pushed aside the curtain that trailed down to cover this portion of the wall and looked towards the table where he expected to find Patton. He could see part of the cage from here, but he couldn’t see the little yet.

Virgil made quick work of getting to the base of the table, wanting to be in the open for as short a time as possible, even at this time of night. When he got to the table leg, he looked around once more, just to be extra sure he really was alone, and then started to fasten his crutches to his back. He leaned on the table leg as he got them secured, not looking to stumble and accidentally put too much weight on his bad foot.

Then, he began to climb.

…

Virgil hoisted himself up onto the table, panting. He quickly loosened the string around his waist and looked around for Patton, only to pause.

Patton wasn’t in the cage, but was instead lying on the table just outside of it. At least, Virgil thought it was him. He was underneath some blankets, which were pulled up to nearly cover his head. Virgil cautiously moved closer. For all he knew, it was just a doll wrapped up in fabric, an attempt to trick him into thinking it was the little.

“Patton?” he whispered.

The form under the blankets shifted, pale hands pushing the blankets aside as Patton’s eyes flickered open. He squinted sleepily. “…Virgil?”

Virgil sighed in relief. “Hey, there. It’s me.”

“You came back,” Patton said, his words somewhat slurred. He sounded happy about it, even if he was still half-asleep.

“I did,” Virgil confirmed.

Patton’s eyes had started to drift shut again. Virgil closed the remaining distance between them and gently shook his shoulder. “Hey, wait. Don’t go back to sleep yet, okay?”

“Mmm.”

Once Virgil was sure that Patton was paying attention, he asked, “How are you doing? Have the humans hurt you?”

“I’m fine.” Patton sounded more alert than before. “They haven’t hurt me.”

“Do you know what they’re planning to do with you?”

“No… I don’t know what they’re planning. It’s weird… like they’re not planning anything. They said they’re gonna let me go.”

“Patton, you have to know that they’re not really going to let you go.”

“I know,” he mumbled, breaking off to yawn. “But they let me stay out here tonight.”

Virgil knew that this choice was probably only because Patton would have a hard time escaping at the moment. Sure, he had made it to the floor before, and the humans didn’t know that he had had help, but they probably also assumed that Patton didn’t have an escape route from the apartment itself.  Virgil supposed that might even be true, since Patton wasn’t familiar with the pathways and hidden doors in the building. The humans probably saw it as a nearly risk-free way of tricking the little into trusting them. But judging by Patton’s subdued tone, he already knew this, too.

“I’m not going to leave you here,” Virgil promised.

Patton started to sit up. “Are we going now?”

“No,” he said regretfully. “Whatever the humans want, I think they want you healthy first. So, if it’s okay with you, I’d like to wait until you’re feeling better to get you out of here. You barely made it down to the floor last time. I just want to make sure that we get you out of here in one piece.”

Patton pouted, but he nodded his consent. Virgil blinked, having expected him to at least try to change his mind, to insist on getting out of there sooner.

“In the meantime, I need you to act sick,” Virgil eventually continued.

“But I am sick,” the other little mumbled, confused.

“I know. But the longer the humans think you’re sick, the longer I think we have until they do anything.  So just… act a bit sicker than you actually are. Just so we can be sure to get you out in time. I won’t wait long, I promise.”

Patton hesitated a moment, but then he nodded.

“Do you need anything?” Virgil asked. He’d prefer not to stay here longer than necessary, but he wanted to make sure that Patton would be okay while he was gone.

There was a long pause. Virgil quirked an eyebrow at Patton.

“Could you stay?” he finally asked.

Virgil glanced back the way he had come, then turned his gaze to Patton again, giving him a doubtful expression. Patton retaliated with puppy-dog eyes, and Virgil sighed. He nodded in reluctant agreement. He could stay for a while, he supposed.

Patton moved his blankets aside, clearly wanting the other little to join him. Virgil lay down beside him, and Patton scooted back to make more room. The two ended up lying under the blankets together, sharing a pillow. Virgil gingerly put an arm around Patton, unsure if he had any other injuries that he wasn’t aware of. Patton made a little pleased sound and snuggled closer.

“Hey, Patton?” Virgil asked quietly.

“Hmm?” Patton seemed to be already well on his way to falling back asleep.

“If the humans didn’t do this to you… what did happen? You don’t have to tell me, obviously, I mean; I don’t want to press. But…” Virgil trailed off.

Patton shifted, keeping his eyes shut.

“Sorry, that was stupid. I shouldn’t ask things like that. Just go back to sleep.”

“No,” Patton mumbled. “It’s okay.” He opened one eye. “I’ll tell you what happened to me… if you tell me what happened to you.”

...

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[icharchivist]

one thing that bother me in your metas, is when you bring up Killua using "Kite" name as a trigger, your pov is that Killua obviously knew that Kite was dead and just didn't want to snap Gon's out of his denial. That's a valid interpretation, but, I kinda see it as Killua actually wanting to believe Kite was alive ? as @mimzilla mentionned in her meta, people tend to forget that Killua actually took a shine to Kite really quickly and pretty much fanboyed over Kite even more than Gon did (1/?)

(2/3) And the affection went both ways since when Kite think of the good hunter qualities that Gon have, he thinks ‘good with animals’ and 'have extremely good friends’ (cue to Killua), and Kite was being a senpai to Killua and Gon equally. Killua was desensitized to death and acknowledged that Kite was dead, and felt really damn guilty for that happening, and was really guilty and down after that (and not just in the 'Gon may hate me’ aspect). But Gon was pretty much estabilished as Killua’s

(¾)Positiveness and happiness in life and allowed Killua to be less pessimistic/cynical and more hopeful just by being his friend. So when Gon said “Kite is alive”, we don’t see Killua thinking 'omg this is fucked up how do I explain’, but instead him being snapped out of his self-loathing, then smiling then refering to Gon as his light (and I ship Killugon too, but if you don’t think Killua wanted to believe Kite was alive that scene kinda come out of the blue). Also while us fans saw Kite

(4/5) be decapitated by Pitou and we knew he was 100%dead, Gon AND Killua didn’t so Killua probably only thought Kite was under the effects of a really powerful mind control, AND IT WAS THE DAY AFTER HE PULLED OUT THE NEEDLE, so Killua was pretty much a live example of someone who can recovers from being mind-controlled (though not to such an extent), in the palace, when Gon decide to use Komugi as a hostage, we see Killua pretty much believing that as long as they have Komugi, Pitou will obey

(5/5) we see Killua quietly waiting for Pitou to heal Kite and Gon to come back, and when Palm say that no Pitou isn’t going to heal Kite,Killua is just plain shocked, panic at the thought that Pitou is going to kill Gon when Pouf explain why and go after them. People should stop forgetting that Killua is a 13yo child and I die a little inside when people say that he purposefully used Kite against Gon “despite knowing Kite was dead”. just wanted to say it

Heyo!

Good point still, and i may get carried away because I see much more people get against Gon and everything “Killua has done for him”. 

I do think that Killua was in denial at first, i just don’t think his denial is as strong as Gon. Even if Gon’s optimism is carrying to him, I do think Killua isn’t 100% sure Kite is alive, like Gon is. But I do think he’s denial, that even when he saw the corpse and could maybe doubt it, he stood by Gon’s version of the facts and in Gon’s denial, and that he also wished that Pitou will be able to heal Kite. And it’s a good point to bring up that he did like Kite. 

That doesn’t change my point though that he had used Kite’s name purposingly to calm Gon down. And i’ve repeated that it’s not something to hold against him, not only because of his age, but because of his training, he sees a way to calm Gon down and he takes it without thinking about how it could affect him. But Killua generally brought Kite (or Pitou) up in order to stop Gon from doing things. And he does say himself to Meleoronin chap 286, “Don’t worry, I have the magic word, “Kite””: he is aware that the name itself has an impact on Gon. And that’s more what I mean when I say he triggers Gon.

My metas are almost two years old, so i don’t really remember what i put in them, nor what was really my thought process, but as for now, I don’t think Killua *knew* Kite was dead, I just think he was less in denial than Gon and saw the times Gon was losing it and knew that bringing up Kite would calm him in some way when he was being reckless. (whenever he wanted Gon to not follow him in his infiltration mission, and when he told Gon to stop against Pitou. And while for the former i interpret it, on the later one, right afterwardhe tells Meleoron that Kite is a magic word that will stop Gon. (precisely “Gon won’t budge, at worst we will die together. Just kidding, don’t worry, i have the magic word: Kite.” So this is litteraly int he context of Gon beign too stubborn in a way he would die, and Killua with him, where Killua says the alternative to stop him is using “Kite”.) The times he brought up Kite were not “sharing guilt” moment, it was always to stop Gon from doing something, knowing that bringing up Kite would slow him down. And I don’t think that when Killua says those he brings it up for Kite’s interest, even if he believes he’s alive. 

I really don’t mean Killua is purposing triggering Gon while “he knows better”. I really more mean that he uses it to calm Gon down without realizing it’s a trigger, and why would he? He’s a kid, and he’s specifically had been raised with people using his own triggers against him, things he doesn’t even realize are triggers. Even if Killua distances himself from his family and is more healthy there are still lines in the sand he doesn’t particularly know about. And I think i bring that up a few times that Killua’s actions cannot be judged because of that very angle. I bring up they’re kids all the time.

If I did say “he’s purposing triggering Gon” that’s how i meant it, not that he’s trying to trigger Gon into his trauma, but that he’s purposingly using something he knows Gon has strong reactions to, in order to calm him. Pushing him to trauma isn’t his intend, his intend is to calm him. He’s purposingly using it, but not to traumatize Gon further. If i did say that, it was a shortcut. (which you may understand as i wrote those stuff a lot, and often repeated myself.)

It remains just that Kite is a trigger for Gon more than Killua is anticipating. I generally especially bring that up when Killua told Gon to not kill Pitou because otherwise they will never see Kite again (again, which is followed by the time he justified to Meleoron as “I have a magic word, Kite” to stop Gon from being stubborningly reckless), where Gon was triggered litterally to tell Killua that famous sentence the whole fandom holds against him, telling him it’s none of his business. And I really mean it litterally: this is the sentence that pushed Gon to snap at Killua. The narrator even says that Gon’s anger was all over the place, not knowing who to aiming it at. Then Killua said that. That’s the moment Gon targetted him with his anger. Because Killua made him snap out of his killing frenzie by using Kite, therefore bringing up Gon’s traumatized way to deal with it. Which is, litterally, triggering him. Even if it wasn’t Killua’s intention. Triggering someone isn’t always an intention. It’s just a thing that happens. Killua wasn’t trying to Trigger Gon. But he was trying to calm him down. He was using Kite as a way to calm him down, and Kite’s sake wasn’t the priority when it happened.

That’s what i mean and say when i talk about the triggering instances. and i don’t have the energy to go back to all my posts about it, they’re ways too old for me to do so, so if i can’t garentee that was my thoughtprocess back then, it is mine now. That’s it.

Hope it clears my point up?

Take care!

[my-one-love-is-music]

It Takes Two Ch. 22

Here we are at the last chapter. Thank you to everyone who's read along while I was working on this. I was so excited to get started on it and I loved putting out every update for all of you. I'm sad to see this fic go, but I love how it came to be.

Also on AO3!

Jason groaned when he started coming to. He felt something hard under his back and shifted, feeling aches smart in his muscles. He wanted to huff and grumble about it at first, but he paused, finding relief in what he hadn’t realized he’d lost because of the scientist he’d been fighting with Tim.

“Master Jason, I’m glad to see you’ve finally returned to us.”

He pried his eyes open and found Alfred standing over him, kind smile pulling at his lips.

“You were out for quite a while. Master Timothy was worried but once we realized you were okay and just sleeping, we were all put at ease,” he continued.

Jason nodded and fought to get his hands under him to push himself up. The mattress of the hospital bed squeaked underneath him, and Alfred helped him lean forward to shove a pillow behind his back.

“How are you feeling?” Alfred asked when he was settled in place.

Jason lifted his hands and turned them over, looking at the skin pulled over his hands. It didn’t look any different than it had before, but he was tired, and his body was sore, and he was relieved that he could feel relieved.

“I’m feeling, and I think that’s all we can really ask for,” Jason said, hands falling to his lap.

“I’m glad to hear it. Would you care for some water or something to eat?”

“Water would be great, thanks Al.”

Jason accepted the small cup Alfred held out to him and downed it in one gulp, the liquid cooling his throat. He looked around the Cave and found Bruce working at the computer. The other hospital bed that Tim had been on was empty.

“Where’s Tim?” he asked, nodding towards the bed.

“Master Timothy was moved to his bedroom once he was stabilized. Master Richard kept an eye on him for a while to make sure he wasn’t going to hurt himself or regress. The only reason you haven’t been moved to more accommodating quarters is because we were unable to move you,” he said with a small smirk.

Jason chuckled and stared at the empty cup in his hand. “Do you think I could go see him?”

Alfred plucked the cup from his hand and set it on the side table. “I think he would be glad to see you. He was very worried about your condition when we realized you weren’t waking up soon. Go easy and I can take you upstairs to him.”

Jason nodded. He straightened and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. His limbs felt heavy and exhaustion tugged at his limbs. He shuffled forward until his feet hit the floor. Alfred gripped his elbow as he stood.

He swallowed, feeling his spine and shoulders crack and pop. He rolled his shoulders and winced at the kink in his neck.

“Are you alright?” Alfred asked.

Jason opened his eyes and nodded. “I think so. Just sore and tired.”

“Perhaps we should get you upstairs and once you’ve seen Master Timothy, we can put you to bed for proper rest.”

Jason thought walking wasn’t going to prove to be an issue since he didn’t have an actual injury, but once he took one step, he stumbled, and Alfred had to right him with the hold on his elbow.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Master Jason?” Alfred asked, concern thick in his voice.

Jason offered him a reassuring smile. “I’ll be okay. I’m just weaker than I expected.”

Alfred nodded, and they shuffled towards the stairs. Jason couldn’t wait until he’d get the chance to change into something more comfortable. He was glad he’d removed his body armor earlier because his limbs felt ten times heavier than they normally did.

He stopped halfway up the stairs to the study to catch his breath before continuing on. He leaned against the wall while Alfred shut the clock behind them.

“Are you ready to continue on, sir?” he asked.

Jason nodded and pushed himself upright, taking a deep breath which felt like a harder task than it used to be.

He winced when they reached the landing to the stairs that would take them to the wing of bedrooms they slept in.

“We can rest for a moment if you would prefer,” Alfred gently offered.

Jason shook his head. “No. I don’t want to waste any more time before I get to see Tim.”

He braced his hand against the railing and dragged his feet up the steps, wincing at the pull in his muscles. The journey up the flight felt like it took an hour before they made it to the top.

Jason found renewed strength in being able to see Tim’s door and felt some of the exhaustion leave him even though his muscles and bones ached.

“I can take it from here, Alfred,” Jason said, pulling out of his grasp.

“Nonsense, sir,” Alfred scoffed, clasping his hands behind his back. “I’m sure Master Timothy has some dirty dishes that need to be collected and I certainly want to see how he’s doing. I am happy to accompany you the rest of the way.”

Jason breathed a laugh but strode as quickly as he could to Tim’s door. He hesitated a moment, his heart beating rapidly with his desire to see Tim whole and healthy. He knocked three times and waited, nervous energy swirling under his skin.

“Come in,” Tim called.

Jason turned the knob and pushed inside. He froze after taking a step. Tim was laying in his bed, wrapped in a thick blanket. Several pillows propped him up against the headboard. He looked exhausted and gaunt, but he was smiling, and his eyes were bright. It was so different from the memories of Tim writhing in pain on the hospital bed in the Cave.

“Jason, you’re awake!” he cried, reaching out for him.

Jason nodded and forced his foot to step forward. He didn’t close the distance as fast as he wanted, but he was happy to be at Tim’s side again nonetheless.

“I’m fine,” he said, clutching Tim’s hand tightly in his. “How are you doing?”

Alfred stepped up next to him and took the tray of dirty dishes that had been left before making his quiet exit.

“Better. A lot better. I had some soup earlier and Alfred brought me some tea too. What happened to you? Do you know why you passed out?”

Jason shook his head “I’m not sure. I guess it was the transition back. I feel so much more. I feel everything actually.”

Tim frowned, looking over him. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

“Nothing I can’t handle. Minor bumps and bruises really, but I hadn’t realized how desensitized I was.”

Tim nodded and shifted on the bed, suddenly looking nervous.

“What’s wrong?” Jason asked, searching every inch of his face.

“You still…I mean I know before…that first night when you said it wasn’t the bond that was making you do things, but…you still want…” Tim hesitated and swallowed, eyes darting around the room. “You still want to be with me, right?” he asked sounding small and hesitant.

Jason’s heart swelled and it was nearly painful. He stepped forward and cupped Tim’s cheek in his warm palm. “Of course I still want to be with you. If anything would’ve happened because of the bond, I probably would’ve lost interest in you while we were still bonded since all of the feeling was being sucked out of my body and pumped into you like some fucked up hormones.”

Tim let out a breath and a small smile pulled at his lips even though he still looked nervous.

“I’m not going to leave you,” Jason promised. “Not now, and not ever. We’ve been through too much for you to kick me to the curb, Babybird.”

Tim chuckled and slowly relaxed. “Okay, I…just okay.”

“Just okay?” Jason asked. “I would hope that it’s a little more than just okay.”

“It is, but at this point I’d rather not try to sort through my emotions and everything I’m feeling. I’ve had enough of that to last me the rest of my life. I’d much rather just experience it and let it happen as it goes.”

“I think I can agree with that. Relaxing is a much better idea than trying to analyze everything. I’m ready to take a shower and crawl in bed.”

“Then go shower,” Tim said, trying to nudge him back towards the door.

“I don’t want to leave you,” he said with a pout.

Tim rolled his eyes. “Go get changed and put on something more comfortable. I’ll be here when you get back and then we can nap or watch a movie or something. I don’t really care as long as it means I get to be here with you.”

Jason nodded. “As long as there’s cookies involved.”

“I’ll let Alfred know. Although he’s probably going to try and force feed you something healthy first.”

“I don’t think he’ll mind that much since he likes me,” Jason quipped.

“Keep telling yourself that,” Tim huffed.

“Heyyyy,” Jason warned.

Tim chuckled and sank back into his pillows. Jason didn’t remember the last time he even heard Tim laugh. So much had happened and it felt like more than a few weeks had passed since the chaos started.

“Go take a shower. I’ll be here when you get back.”

Jason nodded and gave Tim’s hand a squeeze. He backed away and held on as long as he could before he had to drop Tim’s hand to back through the door and shuffle the rest of the distance to his room.

He pushed inside and inhaled. It smelled like it had been recently cleaned and Jason almost wondered if Alfred had done that while he was unconscious in preparation for when he awoke. He shut the door behind him and pulled his shirt over his head, once again glad his armor had been taken off before he took the antidote.

He kicked off his boots and undid his belt, only now noticing that the gun holsters had been taken from his legs. He shoved his pants and jockstrap down and left them in a pile on the floor.

Jason grabbed a clean change of clothes and shuffled into the bathroom, leaving them on the edge of the sink. He turned on the water and stepped in without giving it a chance to warm. He shivered under the icy spray and clenched his teeth against their instinctual need to chatter.

The chill was almost painful, but Jason grabbed the bottle of shampoo anyway and squirted some into his hand, working it into a lather before he tangled his fingers in his dirty and oily hair.

He relaxed as the spray heated against his back. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, letting the flow of water run over the crown of his head and wash the suds from his hair. He ran his fingers through them, forcing the remaining soap free to slide down the drain.

Jason grabbed the washcloth that was miraculously in the shower stall and wet it under the spray before he lathered the soap into it.

He washed himself, eyes sliding shut in bliss at the feeling of the dirt and grime being lifted from his skin. The aches in his muscles alleviated under the water and he ran his fingers over the bruises dotting his skin, marking where he’d gotten hit.

Jason sighed and gave himself a minute to push everything from his mind, shoulders sagging under the warm spray as the soap pooled at his feet and washed down the drain.

He would’ve gladly lingered longer but he could already feel a tug in his heart to get back to Tim’s side. He almost would’ve been worried that the antidote hadn’t worked and he was still bonded with Tim but this feeling was different.

It was an ache in his heart that wanted to make sure Tim was okay and wasn’t suffering from any lingering effects. But he also wanted to curl around Tim and have dinner and watch movies as they cuddled.

He wanted to spend as much time as he could with him and give him everything he’d missed out on growing up or because of the crazy circumstances that forced them together.

Jason sighed and climbed from the shower, throwing on the clothes he’d left on the counter. He barely spared a second to towel dry his hair so it wouldn’t drip on his shirt or soak through the pillowcase he intended to become one with.

He tossed the towel over the top of the shower stall door and pushed out of his bathroom, hurrying back to the hallway. He felt his muscles coming back to themselves now that he was getting used to being back on his feet and feeling the everyday strain that usually went unnoticed when he walked or completed simple tasks.

He hesitated outside of Tim’s door, knocking shyly.

“You can come in, Jason,” Tim said, sounding amused.

Jason turned the doorknob and pushed it open a crack. He poked his head inside and found Tim smiling at him where he was still curled up in bed where he’d left him.

“Sorry,” Jason apologized. He slipped inside and shut the door behind him, leaning against the wood.

“You don’t have to stay over there, you know,” Tim said, rolling his eyes.

Jason shuffled forward and stopped next to Tim’s bed. “Mind if I join you?” he asked.

Tim scooted to the side towards the wall, giving Jason plenty of space to crawl in. He lifted the edge of the blanket and stretched out along the mattress, sighing as he sank into the soft mattress that molded to his body and gave it all the support it was missing.

There was a breadth of space between them and Jason reached out for Tim, waiting for him to close the distance and indicate it was okay for them to curl together.

Tim huffed and linked his fingers with Jason’s and Jason fully relaxed in the bed. He tangled his legs with Tim’s and tugged him closer, wrapping his arms around Tim’s waist.

Tim settled into his hold and sighed, grin softening into a pleased smile. Jason ducked his head and pressed his lips to Tim’s.

Tim hummed and threw an arm around Jason’s shoulders, holding him close.

“Tim?” Jason mumbled against his lips.

“What?” he asked, making no move to pull away.

“I love you,” Jason breathed.

Tim huffed a quiet laugh. “I love you, too.”

Jason grinned and finally pulled back, meeting Tim’s bright gaze.

“So…” Tim said, mischievous tone slipping into his voice.

“What are you thinking, and do I get to break some bones because of it?”

“Probably,” Tim said. “When do you think we can go back out on patrol?”

“I think we should give it a day or two before we hit the rooftops again,” Jason said, swooping in for one last kiss before they settled in for a day of cuddling and movies.

Tim hummed into the kiss. “I give it twelve hours,” he murmured against Jason’s lips.

Jason chuckled, eyes crinkling at the edges as the warmth and love in his chest grew to unimaginable degrees, proving his natural feelings could be so much more powerful and potent than anything induced by a bond created by a mad scientist.

If you enjoy my work, please reblog or consider buying me a ko-fi!

[phan-of-the-pen]

I Dare You To Stay: Chapter 17

it’s that time again you guys! and oof, is that foreshadowing I sense?? all will be revealed eventually! enjoy :D

Tags for chapter: angst, talk of therapy/mental illness, major fluff

Words for chapter: ~2.3

Fic Summary: Dan Howell is a barista working a shitty job, frequenting his shitty apartment, and living a shitty existence, hiding his asexuality and going for a PHD in self-depreciation and depression. Phil Lester is a part-time intern, part-time employee at a local weather station, trying to get experience in his field and make a name for himself, while juggling a second job at the nearby Tesco’s to give him some financial breathing room. Their paths were never supposed to meet, but what happens when they do anyways, one rainy day in Manchester?

(ao3!)

<– Previous chapter Next chapter -->

~~~~~~~~~~

"You really talked for an hour? Wow," Jaime said. Dan watched as she immediately frowned. "Okay hang on, that sounded kind of sarcastic and I didn't mean it like that. I'm just surprised because you don't like to talk about your past, plus your first appointment didn't exactly go well. I'm really proud of you, Danny."

Dan groaned into his pillow at the nickname even though at this point, he'd let Jaime call him whatever she wanted. He just wanted to talk with her—it had been so lonely knowing she was in London.

"Congrats, you just ruined it." he mumbled.

When he pulled his face back up from his pillow Jaime was still smirking at him through the screen of his phone. It was late, but Jaime had just gotten back from a few days in London for the play and they were video calling to catch up with each other.

The live feed of Jaime's bedroom shifted and wobbled as she found a more comfortable position on the bed. When she settled her face was serious again.

"How do you feel about this though? Do you think that therapy is something that is right for you?"

Dan took a moment to think before answering.

"I want to see where it goes more than anything. I like Gina and I feel really comfortable with her which is good, but I think I just need to wait right now? Like, as much as I may want them, I know that there won't be instant results, and I know I'm probably going to keep struggling. After a little bit of work and time, if I haven't gotten anywhere then I might change my mind, but right now I'm ready to see this through."

"Wow Dan," Jaime said softy, a gentle smile on her face, "you've really grown up."

Dan could feel his rosey patch flare up, and he chuckled awkwardly. He didn't really know how to take that.

"I think we both know I have the maturity of a seven-year old, Jaime."

"No, Dan, not anymore." Jaime snorted and rolled her eyes, but her expression went right back to its softness of before. "You've really changed from that kid who turned up at my coffee shop looking like a drowned rat. You're you now."

Dan hummed to show he was listening, but at the same time he wasn't. He had absolutely no idea what the hell Jaime was getting at, especially whatever "you're you now" bloody meant. Who was he before? Was it a good change?

Why couldn't he see it too?

"How's the play coming?" Dan asked instead of the million other questions smashing around his skull. It was late and maybe deep talks weren't the best when they were both exhausted.

Jaime caught him up on all of the happenings of the play, and talked about the cute stagehand for a half an hour alone. She showed Dan a few promo posters that had her in them with joy all over her face.

Dan let the gentle, tired voice of his best friend slowly relax his body and mind as he listened. He felt the exhaustion of the day slowly creep over his limbs until he knew that it wouldn't be much longer until he either fell asleep on Jaime or they hung up.

"It feels like things are finally going good, you know?"

Dan smiled, his eyelids heavy and his head feeling a bit like mush but his heart spilling over with sleepy love and pride for this wonderful mess of a human being that was Jaime. God, did he miss her over these past few days.

"Yeah, I know."

~~~~~

"I'm so glad you could grace us with your presence." Dan called as Jaime tumbled through the door of the coffee shop the next morning looking tired but happy. She flipped him off but her smile didn't falter for a moment, so Dan knew perfectly well she wasn't that much of a grouch this morning.

"I'm glad to see that you're still a little shit."

"When you get famous I'm gonna find the nearest gossip site and tell them all about how you actually suck as a person." Dan retorted.

Jaime hummed as she tied her apron on and wrestled the coffee grounds out of Dan's hands.

"Give them here, I've left this place in your barbaric hands long enough."

"Love you too."

"A fanabla"

Dan wiped down the tables and filled the self-serve bar while Jaime started brewing the coffee. He helped her set the register, and they shared a vanilla latte while they browsed the music selection. By the time they were ready to open the windows were already fogged with condensation and Dan's nose was desensitized to the smell of fresh coffee.

Mary was in as usual, but this time when she saw Jaime she got terribly excited. Dan happily covered the first few people to wander through their small coffee shop while Jaime had most of her attention taken up by Mary who demanded to know everything that had happened in London. It was cute to see Jaime gushing about the past few days with an equally enthusiastic Mary. Plus he knew how much they had missed each other. 

"Daniel, how have you been? Have you told Jaime here to take that girl of her's out yet?" Mary asked, wrapping her much smaller hands around one of Dan's huge ones. Dan smiled.

"I told her last night on the phone to take her on a date the next time she was in London, but knowing Jaime it'll be three years until that happens." Mary cackled at Dan's remark and shot Jaime a look. "And I'm doing just fine. My day off was nice. I went back to therapy and then spent the rest of the day with Phil until he had to go to work."

"Speaking of Phil, how's he doing? I haven't seen him in a while. Well, I've seen him on the weather, haven't I?" Mary laughed.

"He's doing alright. His work at the weather station has picked up a bit, so hopefully he'll get a promotion soon. If he becomes a full-time employee then he can quit his job at Tesco."

"If they keep him as an intern any longer I'll certainly have to have a word with them."

Dan and Jaime both laughed, and after a moment of keeping her stern expression, Mary smiled gently.

"Well, I'm afraid I have to get going you two, I have a doctor's appointment to get to."

"I thought you went to the doctor's a few weeks ago?" Jaime said, frowning. Dan felt the corners of his mouth drop down now that Jaime mentioned the oddity. She was right—Mary had just been, was she okay?

"Oh, that's what happens when you get old, love, your whole body falls apart and all of your bills are medical ones." She patted Jaime's cheek and said goodbye to them one last time before turning on her heel and disappearing out the door.

By the time Mary left the morning rush started to trickle in, and Dan and Jaime took turns taking the orders. It was efficient and even kept the line short.

Dan was making a espresso for a stressed uni student when Jaime sided up next to him. She gently bumped her hip against his leg as a silent watch out I'm next to you as she reached for a new container of cream.

"That was weird."

"Hmm?"

"Mary. Was it just me? Or did you think the doctor's thing was suspicious too?" Jaime asked, following Dan as he brought the espresso back to the counter. Jaime started to mix the coffee for her customer as Dan ran up his customer.

"Do you think she's lying?" Dan asked as he gathered the necessary change. Jaime stopped for a count of five, her mouth in a tight line, eyebrows drawn together in thought. She mumbled something Italian under her breath before shaking her head and resuming what she was doing. 

"No, but it still seemed off to me."

Jaime handed her coffee off to her customer and collected the money as Dan took the order of the next person in line.

"Maybe I'm just overthinking it. Projecting and all," Jaime continued, vaguely waving her hand to animate "and all".

"I don't know, Jaime, it didn't seem like the whole story, but I guess she was right with visiting the doctor more. I know my gran was always over at her doctor's for her bad kidneys. Maybe it really is just an old person thing?"

Jaime's face was set in that puzzled look once again.

"Yeah, maybe."

"Hey, Mary's fine. You know just as well as I do that she would tell us if something major was up. We're pretty much her grandkids."

Jaime nodded, a watery smile pulling itself onto her face. "You're right, there's no reason to worry, and I'm sure she's fine. I'm just being weird because she's, you know, like my mum and my nonna all in one."

Dan squeezed her hand with his spare one as he tried to fill his next order. Jaime was just as disowned as Dan himself was, but she still longed for that special relationship a kid had with their parents. Because of that, she had latched on to Mary in more of a maternal sense than Dan had. Dan on the other hand just wanted to be loved, and between Jaime, Phil, and Mary, he was content.

The rest of the morning rush lasted mostly in silence which was fine for Dan. As time passed Jaime bloomed further and further back into herself, and by the end of the hour he could barely even tell that she had been upset in the first place.

Now that customers were just a trickle, they were able to relax more, which was what Dan had been looking towards all day. Catching up with Jaime in a video call was good, but damnit he had missed her and in person conversations were always better without the distance and pixels creating a barrier between them.

Dan wrapped his arms around Jaime and pulled her in close, resting his head on top of hers. He smiled stupidly when she immediately hugged him back just as hard.

"I really hate how far away London is."

"Aww, did you miss me?" Jaime asked, even though they had already gone through this last night. Dan didn't bother quipping back something witty.

"Yeah, I did."

One of Jaime's hands was slowly rubbing the small of his back, and Dan had forgotten how soothing the motion was.

"I missed you a lot too. It felt weird not being able to walk a few blocks to annoy you whenever I wanted. And I mean, it was only for a week, but that's crazy for us."

Dan laughed.

"It really is. That was the longest we've been apart since we met, wasn't it?"

"Oh yeah, by like, five days for sure."

Their hug slowly and naturally dissolved, and when they were finally apart Dan was smiling just because everything felt right.

~~~~~

Dan let Jaime have the first lunch break, but like normal she didn't even bother to leave the counter. She perched herself on one of the stools and spread her lunch on the extra counter that was only used when there were massive lines.

They continued to chat, but when Jaime's phone ding!ed and she looked at it immediately, Dan's interest piqued. When a grin broke across her face after reading whatever notification she received his curiosity only grew.

"Is that that hot stagehand you told Mary and I all about?" Dan teased, resting his head on his hand. Jaime rolled her eyes, but Dan didn't miss the dusting of pink embarrassment that rose to her cheeks.

"No, it's Amazon telling me that your Christmas present is here."

"What is it? It's not that hideous jumper you sent me the link to is it? I mean Jaime even you said it was horrid."

"As much as that would be an amazing gag gift, it's not what I ended up choosing."

"Thank god."

Jaime tucked her phone back into her pocket.

"Speaking of Christmas, if you leave me to spend the whole thing with Phil I hope you know I'm going to kick you in the dick at best."

Dan involuntary cringed.

"Uh, yeah no I don't want any parts of that. But no, I was thinking that we could do something with the three of us? We can watch bad Christmas movies and make a gingerbread house and stuff if you want. I can even have it at my flat so you don't have to worry about having Phil at yours if you don't want."

"That would be really fun, I've been looking for more ways to embarrass you in front of your boyfriend."

"Jaime!"

"Fine, I'll control myself for the most part. But seriously, I'd like a Christmas with the three of us. I need to get to know my future brother-in-law better, and I already bought him a present so seeing him on Christmas would only be convenient."

Dan rolled his eyes, but judging from the large smile on Jaime's face her apathetic words weren't worth anything (like usual).

A trio wandered through the front doors, momentarily stealing away Dan's attention from Jaime. It was fine though—he was smiling all through making their coffees, thinking about how excited he was to spend Christmas with his two favorite people.

Jaime was right, Dan thought, things really are looking up.

[mimiplaysgames]

A Rush of Blood to the Head (1/6)

Pairing: Terra/Aqua Rating: T Word Count: 4,022

Summary: “It is just a deal of equal opportunity. His life for yours,” the young man said. “Surely, Terra’s life is worth some consideration from your part? Or has your heart blackened that much?” Aqua, staring at her Keyblade, shook her head. “My heart isn’t-” “Is it not a fair trade?”

AO3        FF.net

A/N: So with all the E3 2018 excitement, here is my contribution to the Aquanort frenzy. This was supposed to be just a one-shot, but it seems like I fear short stories like how a cat is afraid of a cucumber. I’m sure that is my exact reaction when it comes to handling drabbles. Title of the series is based on Coldplay’s “A Rush of Blood to the Head.” The lyrics serve as a profound theme for Terraqua in this context. The fair trade scene was done to Michael Giacchino’s “Life and Death” from Lost Season One.

Two Losses

The thunderstorm raged outside. Rain furiously hammered the tall windows of the academy, but every time lightning flashed, it illuminated the silhouettes of the mountains. It was a beautiful yet ferocious sight, seeing the summits covered by blackened clouds.

Aqua walked through the halls in her pajamas, wrapping herself in a blanket as she headed towards the lounge. It was one of the best places in the castle to relax and catch sight of the storm. Never mind that it was close to midnight.

Terra was already there, with a small, dim lamp by his side and a large book open on his lap.

“And here I thought I was going to get some alone time,” she said, knowing full well that he understood it wasn’t what she meant.

“Then go back to your room,” he said without looking up from his book.

“So in a huge storm like this, you’re going to sit down and read?” Aqua walked up to the loveseat he was sitting on, and he instinctively moved over so she can have some space.

“Didn’t you know that a huge storm like this is the best time to read a great book and let go of the imagination? No studying, no training, just fun nonsense.“

“What’s it this time?” There was always nonsense. Sometimes dragons. Sometimes wenches. Once there was a devil.

He turned to her with childish excitement, yet he kept his expression timid and small as usual. “Ghosts.”

Aqua rolled her eyes. “They exist?”

“In some worlds, they believe so.” He lifted a finger to emphasize his point.

She scooted to get closer to him and gazed into the page he was currently reading. It seemed that he was nearly done with a specific section of the book discussing the nature of ghosts, how they became violent, and what it took to quell them. The next section was about spells that can summon the dead, and if he wasn’t stopped, he was going to continue reading through the night. This meant that her sparring partner would be sluggish the next day, and would probably be grumpy since he hated not being in his prime during fights.

She pointed and tapped to the end of the section before it started discussing the seances. “You’ll stop there.”

Terra grinned from ear to ear and her heart jumped a little. “Are you starved for attention or something?”

From him, yes. But she would never say that. “It’s more responsible if you sleep.”

He sighed and shook his head. “Okay mom. I swear, without you, I would forget to eat or brush my teeth. What would I ever do if I get lost?”

She hit him on the shoulder as he laughed.

Keeping her eyes closed gave her no solace. It was darkness all the same. The moonlight would have been pretty, and the sound of the ocean waves would have been relaxing, were it not for the endless numbness. It didn’t help that this was all she experienced anymore, and the hardest part was forcing herself to stay.

Aqua sat on the beach, the faint moonlight in the distance a constant reminder that she was still where she had been for what seemed like forever.

Forever. Surely there would be no end to it.

Tucking her knees up to her chest, Aqua gazed up to the moonlight, since there was nothing else to do. She decided to recount the reasons why she should keep going.

To find Terra. To save Ven. To find Terra. To save Ven.

But counting always came with a wave of memories.

The three of them together in the academy. Aqua practicing fire magic into a bucket, only to set the entire thing ablaze, a terrible pillar of flames rising up.

Ventus freaking out and casting air magic toward it, which made it bigger.

Terra, who seemed unfazed, dropping a bucket of water onto it. Telling Aqua that he didn’t look forward to when she was going to throw that at him during training, with that calm, slack smile that he always carried. That she missed.

These were just remnants now. And they left a dull, hard pain that numbness cannot ease.

The silence was also unbearable. It never stopped. Usually the voices she would hear were the ones that she remembered. Always in her mind. And most of the time, her mind wasn’t kind. How she pushed Terra away, how she didn’t understand him. How she bossed Ventus around instead of listening to him. All the times she could have done something differently to change what had happened.

“I’ve ruined us,” she said out loud, to break the quiet.

Aqua pulled out her Wayfinder, a trinket of a gorgeous blue hue that she had carefully made. A promise of a never-ending connection, with unique copies given to her best friends. No, she needed to go on.

Looking at the same moonlight and listening to the sound of the ocean never changed. She stood up and ventured back inland, knowing that at some point Heartless were going to attack her. But this was better than sitting for a never-ending time, though. It was otherwise the same routine.

Something had to change. Maybe soon Mickey will come back. It only had to be a matter of time. He wouldn’t just leave her here. She just had to be patient. But... can she wait for as long as she did? He said ten years had passed when he was last here. I don’t know how I can handle waiting another decade...

She stopped amidst tall grass. “Please come back,” she said aloud, hoping her words would travel far away from the Realm of Darkness and reach his ears. The tone of her voice was sad, but being here shredded any earnest expression of despair. She would even pray for despair, since it was something to feel other than a deadening semblance of tired hopelessness.

“Is there anyone else?” she asked out loud. Silence.

Aqua cast her gaze downward, feeling the need to cry but she was too numb to do so. She held her Wayfinder in both her hands. “I wonder if I’ll be okay in the end.”

“A remarkable question to ask to nothingness,” a voice said. The voice was incredibly deep, like it came from an older man. He spoke slowly, as if to express a sense of melancholy that he was also too desensitized to fully show it.

Aqua looked around her only to see an endless field of tall grass. “Who... W-where are you? Are you lost in the darkness, too?”

“I would say the end is merely a belief in which we convince ourselves into thinking that possibilities for us will surely cease.”

“I- I don’t see you at all. Who are you?” Someone that might change things for her? Someone that needed help?

“I am nothing, yet I am a friend.”

“Nothing?” She shook her head, despite realizing he might not be bale to see her either. “Should I call you a ghost then?”

“As you are for me.”

Aqua felt that the periods of time in between her friend’s visits were too long. But whenever he came, he was all the more welcomed.

“And here I venture again, unable to quell the need to come,” he said.

“Hi, friend,” she said, with a small smile to her lips, and it was the only kind of smile she was able to show in a place like this. “I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t you want to visit me?”

She walked among the field, away from the beach. She took a habit of finding a place to lie down so that she can look at whatever stars were left behind from a world ravished by darkness. They sparkled less here, but she didn’t mind. It was better to have her friend with her than any other moment spent in this forsaken terrain alone.

“As I knew what would happen, as I have tried to prevent - the absence of my heart is being replaced. You are a threat,” he said.

Aqua at first didn’t know what to say. “I think that’s the strangest tease anyone has ever tried giving me. You’re not very good at this.” She took a moment to pause. “What do you mean that your heart is absent?”

“I am no one. I have no heart.”

“Then how do you exist?”

“In nothingness.”

Aqua sighed. “Of course.”

Circular words. Endless rambling that always led to the same point. She perceived her friend confused and lost. He never spoke of his past because he could not remember it. He was coy about where he was and where he came from, though he spoke about wanting to be whole again. He usually came to ask her about her own memories - what it was like to live and to feel. What her favorite foods were and whether she had an attachment to them.

Mostly random questions like they came from a curious child who didn’t know how the world worked. It helped her remember her happiest memories, however, such as when the Master took them to a an amusement park when she was young. She had forgotten about it before. The voice liked to listen to himself talk, although he was also very introspective, and this reminded her of Terra.

“I think you are very mistaken,” she finally said. “Even ghosts have hearts.”

“A wretched heart, so despaired by death that it attaches itself to its most beloved in life in order to stalk what it considers its possession. A haunting, driven by the desire to stay connected to its past until it rots.”

Aqua wasn’t surprised that he knew so much about ghosts. The voice was usually well-versed in the knowledge of hearts and how they functioned in all walks of life.

“It’s strange. I know I have never met you before,” she said, “but here you are haunting me.”

“I am not a ghost.” For someone who was apparently alive, he acted as though he had never lived before.

“Right. You are a nobody. Because that makes sense,” she said quietly, not really wanting him to hear the disbelief in her voice. “Why do you think you and I are connected then? I have tried thinking about it, but I’m certain that I have never known you.”

“Because you are a remnant of my past.”

She sighed loudly. “I wish you were more direct with me.” Aqua knew that the Realm of Darkness did not operate at a normal pace of time. She wondered if somehow, in the future, she would finally leave, and meet him.

“A storm rages outside as we speak,” he said.

Something about the statement made Aqua’s stomach flip, although it was uncomfortable. It was nauseating, as though she was on the brink of learning something terrible.

“I do not remember my past, but speaking with you reminds me of emotions that I cannot define, like a cloudy storm,” he continued. “Alone with my work, I am as I should be. Yet here, in this room that you haunt, I am faced with certain trepidations. It is unstable. What would I ever do if I were to become lost?”

Her stomach sank. Her thoughts traveled back to when she met with Terra in the darkness. Is this what he meant when he implied that I won’t be able to recognize him? That his heart has ties to darkness? Does this mean that he’s dead? She was so shaken that she could barely speak without her voice quivering. “Terra?”

The voice took a long time to reply, and when he did, he spoke slower than normal. “I do not recognize that name, friend.”

She gasped out loud. She couldn’t comprehend his emotions, not that it mattered. If he was Terra, then she was worried for him. If he wasn’t, then she was disappointed that he still didn’t come back to help her. Either way, it was agonizing, so much so that her emotions were rising up and she could actually feel them in full.  Tears fell down her face. I don’t know what’s going on, but I need to find Terra.

“Help me,” she said, wiping tears from her face. “I need to get out of here. I’m so worried about my friend.”

“Your friend’s name is Xemnas, and I have it in my power to find you.”

She stopped crying, so shocked by the statement that initially she didn’t believe him. But it stirred hope for the first time in such a long while that she had forgotten what it felt like. “Please.”

“I vow I will one day,” he said calmly.

Aqua was eager for Xemnas to come back after their last conversation. Feelings came easier for her, and she admitted to herself that she was experiencing excitement. She thought about all of the things she would be able to do again. To taste food again. To sleep. To find Ven and wake up him. To tease him. To look into Terra’s eyes. To confess to him how she had felt about him for years, the one thing she had never done and regretted the most. She needed the chance to do it.

She needed it so badly and she was certain Xemnas would grant it to her. She told herself that he treasured talking with her as much as she treasured his visits, since they had helped her survive. It was nice to think that she made a new friend that she could finally meet face to face. She promised herself to bake him something special as thanks for saving her.

But he never came. The more time continued passing, the more she realized that she was in denial as she sat on the beach looking at the moon. Something horrible happened to him. He’s gone.

The excitement that she kept nurturing all this time swelled, but it was painful. She tucked her knees close to her chest and sobbed it all out until her throat hurt and her eyes swelled.

She came across a man on the beach. He was dressed in a long black robe, his hood covering his face. This man called himself Ansem, although his memories were clouded as well. A new companion, although the endless numbing of the Real of Darkness proved too much for him. He would sometimes disappear without her knowing where he went. She worried that he was going to snap at any moment. Conversations with him became more erratic as time went on, and eventually he made her feel alone even when was around.

At some point, it seemed as though he finally did. He was slumped on the  beach, responseless to her inquiries. She had promised herself to help and to take care of him, but in this way, it was like interacting with a statue. She wondered if she failed him, and asked him for forgiveness.

Defeated, she left the beach to walk across the field, if only to break the monotony of staring into the moonlight. Although the trek was tedious as well.

Today, however, something changed. Another man, one who was incredibly tall and barrel-chested, stood in the distance in a short wheat field in the night. He wore a similar robe and hood so that she couldn’t see his face.

“Hi there,” she said. “Are you lost, too?” She hoped that he wasn’t terribly affected by the darkness like the last one.

“What would you do if I were, friend?”

Aqua was surprised to hear this voice and it overwhelmed her with relief, that desperate need of feeling hope coming back.

“Xemnas,” she said with a breath as she approached him. “I’m so relieved. I was so sad that something might have happened to you.”

“It seems that the darkness hasn’t overtaken you just yet,” he said in a tone that depicted a scientist observing data.

Aqua shifted nervously at his expression. He seemed a bit colder than usual.

“I have come to fulfill my vow,” he said as he turned to walk away.

“Are you feeling alright?” she asked, traversing behind him, unsure if she even wanted an answer. Something didn’t seem right. He was clearly right in front of her, but something about him didn’t give her the sense that he even existed. Has the darkness harmed him?

“I do not feel anything,” he said as he continued walking. “It has taken far too long to find you, and we need to hurry.” His tone was deadpan, and it almost seemed as though he had forgotten who she was.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” she said as she stopped. He stopped as well, turning to face her. “I had waited so long for you to come-” she began to say, until she noticed his face.

“Xemnas, can I see you?” She held her hands to her chest, nervous.

He removed his hood to show a dark face with orange eyes and long white hair that graced his shoulders. A man she confirmed to herself she had never met before, and yet it was a familiar beautiful face. “Terra?”

Xemnas gazed upon her coldly, his hands behind his back. It was uncanny, the resemblance.

“Why do you-” She took a sharp breath in and walked towards him, reaching for him. “You have to be him. Terra?”

Xemnas solemnly shook his head, and asked, “why do you think Terra has never come to rescue you?”

Because he didn’t want to. But it couldn’t be. She wanted to believe that Terra would never leave her behind, that he really was in the trouble she had seen him in. She knew that if he had the chance, he would have come. She had to tell herself that. But if that was true, then what happened?

She retracted her hand, tears forming in her eyes. “Because you have him.”

Xemnas raised his hands as he looked down on them. “How precious it is, our past. The one thing that makes us for who we are, and the one thing that we can keep to ourselves, so long as we are able to still grasp it.”

She choked back her tears as she realized how foolish she had been. What comfort was there to someone who so desperately needed a friend? Nothingness. Her bond with Xemnas was nothing. Her throat clenched as she thought about the hours she had waited for him to come back. She thought about the comfort he had given her, when it never was supposed to exist. Only because he needed her for something. And now, Terra needed her.

She summoned her Keyblade. “Where is he?”

Xemnas, ignoring that she was threatening him, reached out to her with one hand. “He is here. Would you like to see him?”

Xemnas had pulled his hood back up as he led the way through the wheat field. Aqua followed behind him, her Keyblade still drawn. He had made no move to threaten her, nor did he attempt to attack her. The wheat they were walking through seemed to get taller, and it was disorienting.

They reached a clearing. On a boulder sat a tall man, hooded and robed. He seemed unresponsive to their entrance.

Xemnas stood his ground, as though he had reached his destination. Aqua tried to get an expression out of him, but was unable to read him. She looked upon the man sitting on the boulder. It had been so long now. The possibility that she was finally this close to Terra was unbearable.

“Terra?!” she called out as she ran towards him, but she was attacked by a powerful magnetic force from behind as she was thrown against the ground and her Keyblade flew out of her reach.

A different voice replied, “he will not respond.”

A different man entered the clearing, his face also hooded. His voice sounded much younger than Xemnas’.

“What does that mean?” She struggled to get up, her back sore from the blast.

The younger man waved his arms to play with the wheat. “We had to prepare him.” He summoned a Keyblade of his own, one that Aqua did not recognize. “We are here to discuss a deal with you. He has proven to be a most rambunctious, unreliable member of our Organization.“ His voice was almost sweet, but there was an aspect to the sweetness that seemed warped, as if he was insincere in his politeness. 

“I will not deal with you.”

“A shame, since we need to dispose of him.”

“You will not!” She summoned her Keyblade and attempted to get up and attack, but fighting both the man and Xemnas, who wielded dual swords of his own, proved to be fruitless. Her injuries piled on. Darkness here had always been stronger, and these men did not compare to the feral, unintelligent Heartless she’d been wasting away. She was slashed from behind, and stumbled onto the ground.

“It is just a deal of equal opportunity. His life for yours,” the young man said. “Surely, Terra’s life is worth some consideration from your part? Or has your heart blackened that much?”

Aqua, staring at her Keyblade, shook her head. “My heart isn’t-”

“Is it not a fair trade?”

Aqua breathed slowly. Terra. There were so many things left unsaid. There was so much confusion left unresolved. If she could have one more chance to find him in the lounge, sleeping with a book laid out on his chest, she would never scold him for it again. She would do anything it took to make him happy, since deep down she admitted that she knew he felt the same way for her.

But if she gave herself up for Terra, then Ventus wouldn’t have anyone there to wake him up.

Ventus. How she left him sleeping in that lonely room. He used to be vibrant. Always running around the castle. Always willing to spar. Always looking for a reason or a way to annoy her, with that silly toothy smile on his face. If she could, she’d give him a chance to be annoying again, since she knew it was his favorite thing to do. She would let him talk his ear out, and instead of silencing him, she would laugh. He needed her the most.

It was her punishment to choose.

I’ve ruined us because I pushed the both of you away. I’m so sorry.

She squeezed her Keyblade and considered to fight again, but she was too weak to get up.

“Just think of what the both of you will gain,” the young man continued. “Freedom. You would both be free of the cages that keep you locked.“

Freedom. A chance to actually get back to life. But it wasn’t worth the price without the both of them back in her life. They were her family. I can’t do anything for them here, anyway. I need to get out of here to help them.

I wonder... if I could use this to my advantage. If I can sabotage our enemies instead.

Throughout this time, she felt numb. But now, she had direction.

Aqua refused to choose. She kept her facial expression neutral, careful to make sure that the two men did not notice any inkling that she was scheming.

She gripped her Keyblade and brought it closer. I break the bond between us, she said to it in her mind. She couldn’t have it where she was going, and to fall into the wrong hands would ruin everything. It disappeared.

Her voice was shaky. “You said you would release him? Prove it.”

Xemnas approached Terra, who was still sitting unresponsively on the boulder, and summoned what seemed like a portal.

Aqua swallowed a lump in her throat, an incredibly difficult feat for her. “I agree to the trade,” she said quietly. 

The young man looked over to Xemnas, as though he was a bit surprised to hear that. “And I had expected that this was going to be much more difficult. They said you were strong and stubborn.”

“I am strong.” She whispered as quietly as she could to herself so that neither of them would hear. A promise to only herself. “You will not have me.”

The young man raised his Keyblade to Terra’s chest, and a light shone and expanded before he lowered it. Aqua scuffled towards Terra, resting her hands on his lap.

“Terra,” she pleaded, looking up to the face shadowed within the hood. She paid no mind to the other men around her. All she looked at was his face. A pair of yellow eyes. But it was still his beautiful face. Please smile at me. Please be okay. Please be free.

“Terra, look at me. Please.” She sounded desperate, needing to see some reaction. Anything to let her know he was back before it was too late for her.

She felt a forceful heat come over body, like it was seeping into her skin, and she felt her limbs go numb first. He looked down at her, the first sign of movement that he’d ever shown. The last thing she saw was his yellow blending into green.

A/N: Thank you guys so much for reading!! I hope this was enjoyable... in the almost saddest way possible. But it’s going to be okay! I don’t really do angst for angst’s sake. If you have been following my other fics, my fluffy one “Beloved Memories, in Notes” and my main adventure “Strength to Protect the Things That Matter” will both be updated along the next few days!! I have to say, this series overall draws many small parallels with what I have been planning for my main fic. It’s crazy how that happens when you don’t realize it.

[geminimoonbeamx]

Retrograde: Part Two

A/N: Okay, y'all- here it is. My installation of 'Retrograde', a story I'm writing with one of my closest friends peacefulwriter88. I will be writing mostly for Beth Buckley- I hope you guys like her

Word Count: 2k+

Warnings: As with all of my stories, there's a permanent warning of Cursing. I have a mouth like a sailor, and I express myself through the word Fuck.

Summary: After the initial meeting or the reader at the Gala, Beth reflects on her past.

As per usual, the gala had seemed to drain Beth of all the energy she had. Left her feeling shell-like, had her all but dragging her self up to the ritzy hotel room she was currently inhabiting during her stay in New York. One that she was hoping would be brief, not that she liked spending a prolonged amount of time anywhere these days-she thanked fuck, frequently, that she had a career that kept her up in the air, but New York City?

Yeah, she was always anxious to put these city lights in her rear view. Wanted to put as much distance as possible between herself and these people...

Except Y/N, Beth thinks as she wipes off the layers of makeup off of her face. As she declutters herself of the "costume" she was used to donning at these parties. The ones that she had been forced to attend since before she could remember. Hair pins sticking uncomfortably against her skull and the pinch of designer heels on her feet were like second nature to her.

But finding someone that she could actually communicate to? That held her interest, who wanted to talk about something other then how expensive the wine they were drinking was. Someone who didn't small talk about the charity that they were donating thousands of dollars to, the same one they only knew two facts or so about... now that was a rarity.

As Beth collapses into the large, plush bed with plop. She stares at the ceiling. Zoning, allowing her mind to wander, to chase memories that she usually kept under lock and key. Ones filled with icy blue eyes and promises of a future that never came-

The night Beth met him, Carter Baizen-

The dull thump of pain that came from her chest, while painful, at least didn't make her physically flinch anymore.

-had gone something like tonight. A big, crowded party and a pretty dress.

And a boy who had turned her inside out.

It had been a musky June evening, the Texas heat unforgiving as ever and Beth had been cursing what ever non-native had planned the event as an outdoor excursion. The pale pink dress Beth had dawned for the night didn't breathe at all and she was sweating so much her hair had started to curl at the root. She made her rounds, dutifully, though. Kept a beaming smile on her face, forced awkward conversation through her teeth. The gossip flowing through her ears and sticking somewhere dark in her brain. She hated to admit it, but even she wasn't strong enough to resist the pull of juicy gossip.

She managed to make it through multiple rounds of drunk racists pretending that they gave a shit about kids before peeling herself away from the crowds and find a quiet corner where she could dissociate in peace.

Beth missed Bree, and she couldn't help but sulk as she sipped on the fizzy champagne. She still wasn't used to flying solo at these things- and as she stared at the thousand thread count dinner cloth, she thought of her cousin. What was she doing? Where was she- Bree had sent a few postcards here and there but in reality, the line of communication was all but dead between the two.

Beth didn't blame Bree for being pissed at her- if anything she was grudging through some serious self hate with the whole thing.

If only she wasn't such a pussy, if only she was as brave as Bree; she'd be touring around Europe too.

She was so wrapped up in herself that she almost didn't notice his approach. Him, in that dark suit, the one that's at fit him like a glove. The first couple buttons of his button down popped, leaving him with that casual aesthetic that he'd perfected over the years. Her eyes had trailed up his form, until moss green clashed with gun metal.

In retrospect, she thinks from that very first look- from the moment that they're eyes met, she'd been hooked. It's cliché and it nearly makes her gag now, but the way Carter had looked at her...like he'd actually seen her, in the haze of socialites and politicians.

Elisabeth Buckley had gone nineteen years being invisible- she was a good looking girl, but she was "big", round, plump. Overweight, so people overlooked her. She was smart, but not brilliant like her older brother. She wasn't business savvy like her many cousins and she wasn't charming like Beth. She was the plain Buckley cousin- they one who somehow managed to be boring, even though her very conception had been a scandal.

No one paid any attention to her, not really. And she had grown to be okay with that, flying under the radar was safe. It was comfortable.

But he smiled like sunshine- and flowers didn't bloom in the shade.

"You hiding out back here?" Carter had grinned and Beth had choked on the words, they got stuck in her throat in a way that left her flustered and feeling stupid. For Christ sake, she scolded herself.

"Um, kind of? I like to drink in peace...I also like to be able to hear myself think, so there's that" Beth could have slapped herself- could've shaken herself for being so damn awkward all the time.

Carter didn't seem to be deterred.

He nods, that half smirk not leaving his face as he sipped on his own drink "Quality time with your thoughts is always important...would you mind if I sat with you for a while? I, too, enjoy being able to hear myself think while I drink"

Beth's head tilted to the side slightly, as though she was analyzing him. Her thick brows pulling together and her pout quirking. Carter couldn't help the way his curiosity peaked. He'd never seen a person be so...transparent before. All of her emotions shown through on her face, the honesty in her hazel eyes startled him.

It was endearing.

It took his eyes flashing to the chair, the blue orbs coaxing her.

"Of course. I mean it's not like I own the place" Another mental face palm and a chuckle from Carter, and he was sitting next to her. She thought he'd take the seat across the table, but instead he'd sluffed down next to her, he didn't fail to notice the way she curled into herself, seeming almost shocked that he'd want to be near her.

It confuses him, it's not like she's unfortunate looking, Yeah, she could lose a few pounds, but she has nice hair. And those big, doe like green eyes border on hypnotic. From what he could see peeking out of the bottom of her dress- her legs we're curvy, attractive...

"I'm Carter- Carter Baizen" he introduced himself smoothly, holding out his hand for her to shake. Of course she knew who he was- even if she hadn't grown up in New York- all the influential families knew about eachother. She thinks she remembers him from one of her families many beach houses, a childhood vacation long past...

"I'm Beth. Nice to meet you, Carter"

"The pleasures all mine" He'd charmed and Beth remembers just how...awe inducing he was. How beautiful. The way that she'd blushed so hard, her cheekbones almost matched her hair color.

But even from that first meeting, he could tell that he'd have to be gentle with her. She looked ready to bolt. To get up and run away from him, and if there was one thing he was good at(although he'd probably offer that there were many), it was the way he could read people. Dissect them to their core. He had a gift, a knack for being able to peel away layers. Of saying exactly what people needed to hear.

And Beth made it easy.

She wanted to talk, was dying to give her opinion to anyone who would bother to listen to her for more then five seconds. And surprisingly, for him, he actually agreed with most of them. He didn't expect to ever be sitting and debating about the religious war in Israel or renewable energy sources. Fuck he hadn't even expected her to really even know what UNICEF stood for.

She was a Buckley after all- and they weren't known for being so...knowledgeable.

They end up talking, about anything and everything. Drinking until she's far past tipsy and his face is so warm and his inhibitions loose.

"Come for a walk with me" he suggests, already standing up "it's too stuffy in here- I can't breathe with your uncles ego taking up all the air in the room"

At that, Beth had let out a peel of laughter. One of her uncles had just given a twenty minute speech on the podium at the head of the gazebo and she's grimaced through the entire thing. It had been painful to watch.

"I can't" Beth had giggled airly, shaking her head. Her main of hair around her shoulders bouncing with the movement.

"Why not, what's stopping you?" Carters brow raised in challenge and it had stirred something in the pit of her stomach. Some sleeping fire, a rebellious spark just waiting to be ignited.

It was uncomfortable.

Scary, and new.

Beth chewed her overly plump bottom lip for a second, her face clearly set in uncertainty. Her internal struggle pellucid.

Carter extended his hand out, opening his palm and offering it to her, the way you'd offer a cornered dog a treat. Everything in his body language unthreatening and open.

"C'mon, pretty girl. Let's get out of here"

Beth's face skews up, her eyes shutting as though it will block the memory of his voice, of that name. As though she can shove it back.

Down.

Down.

Down.

Put it back away, because she's never admit it to anyone, but even after almost a decade, memories of him still had the abality to level her. To sucker punch her with such force, it was almost hard to breathe.

She wonders, she hopes, that one day all the therapy and growth she's been through since the whole ordeal will desensitize her, that she'll be able to think of those pretty pink lips and the silken lies that had come out of them and feel nothing.

It takes a rummage through the mini fridge, two shooters of J. Wray and turning on the TV, drowning out the sound of her own intrusive mind with bad reality TV. If she was sober-er, and gave herself more credit, she'd be proud that that was all it took these days to recover from thoughts of he who shall not be named. At one point, she was sure she'd never recover...

But that was a long time ago, and honestly, thoughts of Carter Baizen these days were few and far between. It was being in this fucking city that made them attack- knowing that she was in his stomping ground put her on red alert.

Sure, Beth knew that he was on business leave. She always made sure to stay clear of him, made sure their paths would never cross. Chuck Bass, although the villain in many a story, was actually a decent human being to her and would give her the heads up more times then not. He'd been working with the Buckley's for years, a partnership that was lucrative and didn't seem to be going anywhere anytime soon.

She liked him, he was a required taste- but she actually enjoyed his presence. His wife and her gaggle of friends, well now, that was another story.

Beth isn't a fan of Blair Waldorf, and she knows the feelings mutual. She thinks the woman's the wicked witch of the Upper East Side and needs a heavy dose of "get the fuck over yourself" and Blair thinks she's a hick- no matter how traveled and cultured she may be. They both stay civil, Blair for her husbands buisness endeavors and Beth because...well, to be quite frank, she doesn't give a damn.

She'd grown up around Blair's, spent her entire life around people like that and she knew that the world was full of good people who countered the evil, self entitled people that lived in cities like this.

And well, there were worse people then Blair. People like Serena Van Der Woodsen and her husband, it was laughable that the two though they were anywhere close to decent humans. People like Donald Trump, and Taylor Swift and Harvey Weinstien. Like the entirety Ku Klux Clan(she wonders if she has any family members who hide under white masks, and then wonders if they'd happily burn her at the stake for her mixed heritage) and the guy who wrote Gangnam Style because it had been stuck in her head for the past five years and she was sick of it.

There were people like Carter...

But the world always balanced itself out, Beth had come to learn. And for all that bad, there was good.

She'd met you. You, who walked with your head held high in a world that still confused her even though she'd grown up in it, but that you managed to navigate with ease. You, who'd allowed her to shade pour hiding space, who had played silly games with her and never once called her childish.

Beth couldn't help it, she was still struck by you. She hadn't expected you to be so...down to earth. So real and tangible and relatable. Legada, and the material that your mother had created were reshaping the the face of the fashion industry. You literally had an empire behind you- the fucking possibilities were endless. There was a good chance in the next twenty years you'd surpass most of the centuries old money families in New York, be up there with Chanel and Versace...

Beth sniggers, drunkenly. You'd be richer then her grandfather. Oh, how she wished she could see his face on that day.

She'd given you her phone number before she'd made her exit from the party- a bold move on Beth's part. She was still very much that introverted teenage girl at times and although being forward, putting herself out there was a part of her job, being a journalist and all, she still sometimes couldn't help the nervousness that bubbled in her gut.

She'd prepared herself for your rejection.

And yet, you'd smiled radiantly and asked her for her phone, programming your number under Y/N, and telling her to call you sometime.

"We have to hang out sometime soon- I can't even remember the last time I had a conversation that wasn't about work or shoes or fucking luncheons- not that I don't love my work, I very much do...but you know. Sometimes it's fun to imagine being in a forced situation and having to decide who you'd rather fuck to live" You'd told her sincerely and she did know.

What it was like to love your job, to love your charity work and your family...

But to feel lonely in this world, one that you seemingly genetically weren't designed for.

Beth had promised she'd text, that you'd get lunch while she was still in the city for the next few days. And Beth wasn't one for breaking promises.

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[yaidenpart-blog]

Writing Dark Themes

Some stigma circulates around writers who tackle dark subjects regularly. Those writers tend to be treated a bit, well, like they're gonna pull out the fangs anytime and suck your blood. Today I'll talk about this stigma, approaching dark subjects in fiction in general, and my thoughts on Writing Dark Themes (And Why You Shouldn't Be Ashamed to Do so).

In preparation for this post, I read a dozen analyses, studies, and an absurd amount of psychology articles so I wouldn't show up empty handed and stupid. Though to be honest, the only thing that deep dive resulted in for me is dry eyes and a giant headache. Therefore, while I may build some arguments on top of the things I've researched, I'll use my own experiences to wing a big part of it.

So let's get started.

1. What Draws Us to Dark Subjects

What draws us towards dark themes? To reach a satisfying conclusion I first have to determine what exactly is included in 'dark themes' in this case. I'll mainly talk about the content matter of fiction, not equated to but also not divorced from the literary term 'theme’ describing the underlying meaning of a work. Basically, I'll fudge both together because to me they have always been inseparable in writing.

Since violence and disturbing motifs (such as abuse, gore, disturbing sexual content etc.) traditionally play a prominent role in the horror and thriller genres I'll center my attention on those. Though I'll also take care to explore dark themes in a broad sense applicable to other genres as well.

Various factors play a part in making the dark appealing to us, one being the human desire to peek behind the curtain and rob our fears of their power. By facing them in a safe, controlled environment we can stare right into their yellow eyes and desensitize ourselves. And through that, perhaps, gain the confidence to face these fears in reality as well.

Another one is catharsis. Some folks enjoy disturbing media as a healthy, secure outlet for their forestations. It lets their lizard brains bare their teeth without actually biting anyone, like a puppy play fighting.The public hanging of old, we as a western society used to love so, is now replaced with violent TV and fiction. Just. You know. With the difference of fiction not actually hurting anyone. And hanging making people dead. Yep.

Some people watch horror movies for the adrenaline rush, and write fiction which lets their readers experience the same, as a meta-analysis of the studies about mediated fight (1) confirmed,“Evidence also emerged that sensation seeking is associated with a greater enjoyment of fright and violence, which was consistent with other research [...]”

And of course, there's nothing wrong with any of that. But for me, personally, it has always been for the sake of exploration, of seeking to connect with humanity, to bridge the good things we are and the outright gruesome into a cohesive whole. While still keeping a layer of distance between reality to keep it safe.

So a fear of becoming homeless turns into monster stalking you and blocking the entry of your workplace every morning. Kind of a cheesy example, but you get the gist.

Writing provides us with a channel to explore those fears, to cut them down into pieces and hold against the light.

To understand them.

But that's just me.

Now we've cleared up why we're drawn to it, the question remains: Why should you integrate dark themes into your writing?

2. Benefits to Your Writing

Not to tap into a cliche, but, light doesn't exist without dark. You can't define the one without the glaring contrast of the other as a counterpart.

When you try to write a story that is completely pure, you'll end up with a flat mimicry of reality. Not to say you can't write a positive feel-good story, but it's like with GCI buildings in movies. Without a bit of scratch, they're not convincing. They don't feel real.

Imagine you add a hint of darkness to your story. May that be in the characterization, a breath held too long as your MC has to calm themselves down, a glance too harsh to be gentle from an old person across the street, moments of awkwardness when someone accidentally breaks a topic all present silently agreed to never talk about. Or in basic world building, monotone news voices droning on about crimes, tagged houses, and playgrounds where no child sets a foot on anymore.

Details like these may seem inconsequential, but they can roughen a story up just enough to make it into something raw.

To bring it to life.

Human experience doesn't only consist of roses and love triangles. A writer who keeps that in mind and works it in their stories in a respectful, emphatic way, possess a certain edge. In my opinion.

The key to writing dark themes, especially when you want them to be the focus of your story, is to approach them like peeling onions. Shhh, hear me out, I'll explain.  

Let's tell a story about hmm … a vampire. This is just an example, okay?

So we got a superficial plot of a teenager waking up with bloodlust gnawing at his gumps. Fairly simple. This is the surface layer.

To go deeper we have to peel off another one, we need to look at how he deals with the conflict we created (the vampirism).This is the reaction layer. At first, he freaks out and then resigns himself to starving because he'd rather scratch up his own arms than hurt someone else. His quick acceptance tells us he's both a nice kid and used to being screwed over by life.

When we go to the next layer, we realize why he's used to it. This one I like to call the core, it's what ties the dark theme together with characterization.

The relationship with his parents is strained, they demand nothing but outstanding performances outside inside and out of school while simultaneously neglecting him emotionally and physically. He has to deal with them sucking the life out of him on top of his newly acquired vampirism doing the same. Of course, depending on how you're inclined, you could spin this thread into a dramatic end scene of him cracking under the pressure and sucking their blood out in return, or he spares them after he learned he has a right to companionship and food and munches on squirrels or something. Whichever scenario you prefer.

So you see, the emotional core we've unveiled is is him feeling undeserving of basic human needs. And it affects how he deals with both the vampirism and abuse, one being a simple metaphor for the other.

Every theme has several layers, and once at the core, it's time to rebuild your story and make every element match accordingly. If you want. What matters is you can dig to a real, raw humanity through your dark subject and that's to me, the truly impactful aspect of dark fiction.

But unfortunately, not everyone gets it. You probably made the experience of relatives and friends judging your writing at some point, maybe even when you were just writing 'normal’ stuff. Golly, you think, when they're like this now, how badly would they react once you put all that saucy vampirism in? The thought doesn't bear contemplating.

Why exactly though, are dark themes such a taboo for some people that they get 'concerned' about your mental wellbeing when you preoccupy yourself with them?

3. Why Others Judge but You (still) Shouldn't be Ashamed

People, in general, love simple concepts. Like father, like son. You are what you wear.

The media you consume defines you.

Pushing people into tiny neat boxes is tempting because it's so damned easy. It doesn't require much thought, and as we all know, thinking hurts. So it's no surprise most writers of dark content, especially horror writers, face a certain... judgment. When you consume dark content you're branded as a bit weird, when you create it you might as well be the devil.

That's a bit of an exaggeration, but you get my drift.

Though what to do when someone cocks an eyebrow at your work, besides walking away or telling them to screw off? Well- that's what you got me for. I dived deep into research so you can refute anything people will throw at you with solid facts (should for whatever reason basic common sense not be enough) and maybe quieten some of your own worries.

Most studies and articles I found were more about violent video games (since that seems to be a Hotly Debated Topic™), but I figure it serves a similar service as violent books and movies.

Already 2011 studies which supported the outcome of aggression being a causation of violent media have been rejected by the US Supreme Court in the Brown v EMA (2), stating, “These studies have been rejected by every court to consider them, and with good reason: They do not prove that violent video games cause minors to act aggressively (which would at least be a beginning). Instead, “[n]early all of the research is based on correlation, not evidence of causation, and most of the studies suffer from significant, admitted flaws in methodology.”  

And studies 2016 and more recently have only further affirmed that decision, finding no relation between violent video games and increasing aggression (3) and not supporting any prior studies.

These prior studies had been, well, manipulated is such an ugly word. Let’s go with: primed to fit the desired outcome.

Some actually legit studies analyzed media history from 2005 to 2012 and showed an obvious decline of general social violence in connection to the introduction of more violent media︀ (4), implying violent media serves as a sort of catharsis for the modern western world, stating,”We find no evidence of an increase in crime associated with video games and perhaps a decrease.”

Puh, now we got these dry as desert facts out of the way -

Honesty, writing about dark or disturbing things is not a thing to be ashamed of, watching violent media doesn't turn you violent (assuming you're a person capable of differentiating between fiction and reality) and writing about it certainly doesn't mean you're sick.

We as humans aren’t perfect and pure, so common sense dictates the things we create are neither. Writing about the whole scope of human experiences can only benefit you.

So go on and fly my little bird, further your horizons and write some dark fiction.

That's all I have for you today, I'd love to hear your thoughts and maybe get a discussion going!

See ya in two weeks,

Yaiden Part.

**

Sources:

1.Hoffner C, Levine K. Enjoyment of Mediated Fright and Violence: A Meta-Analysis, MEDIA PSYCHOLOGY, 7, 207–237 Copyright © 2005, Lawrence Erlbaum Associates, Inc.

2.McCarthy R, Coley S, Wagner M, et al. Does playing video games with violent content temporarily increase aggressive inclinations? A pre-registered experimental study. J Exp Soc Psychol.

3.Brown v EMA, 564 US 08-1448 (2011).

4.Cunningham S, Engelstatter B, Ward M. Violent video games and violent crime. Southern Economic Journal

[thewritelycampix]

No Pokeballs Allowed

Chapter 11: Sinking Ships and Burning Bridges

The difference between mass and weight isn’t usually something one considers on a day-to-day basis. This is presumably because in general, most people don’t need to worry about mass. But as people have pointed out in the past, there is a significant difference between the two.

Mass represents the amount of something that exists. This is a constant thing - it never changes, no matter where the object in question is. Even something that seems to have no presence at all is still in fact present as long as it has any mass. As a matter of fact, some things that cannot be perceived at all still have mass. In the summer, we do not see the breath coming out of our mouths. And yet, even though we have not seen it in a long time, we know it is there. We can feel it.

Weight, however, is different. Weight matters entirely on the gravity of the situation and is situational depending on how much mass one object has when it pulls others towards it. Denser matters tend to make everything on them feel heavy. If you were to wear a shirt while standing on a neutron star, your entire body would collapse under its own weight.

The past week had been taxing on everyone. Squirtle had not left her office. The door had stayed closed, and no one had seen it open. Mew had tried calling somewhat comforting words through the door, but she received no response. They had all stood in front of the door for a good while, looking at each other helplessly as their eyes asked the same question of what to do. Finally, Monty had broken away and gone to the bulletin board out front to take a job. Coran and Mew reluctantly took this as a cue, and work resumed.

Coran knocked at the door, calling out a weak ‘good morning’ like he had for the past four days. He fetched two or three berries from the break room, then came back to the office door and leaned his back against it. He held his stance for a moment before slumping to a sitting position on the ground.

“…Squirtle, I don’t know how long we’re going to be able to keep this up,” he said, his head sinking to his knees as he chewed on a berry. The berry chunk went down his throat slow and laboriously. “We need someone like you around to keep morale up. I… I know that what happened isn’t easy to deal with. I’m dealing with it, too. But… I just think… I don’t know if sitting in your room is going to solve anything, I guess? I’ve had time to think this all over, and… i-it sounds bad, but missions are a good way to sort of distance myself from the problem and just look at it from a different perspective, y'know? Maybe… if you tried one-”

“I don’t think you should rush her, Coran,” a voice called softly from the front. Coran turned to see Mew approaching him. “This isn’t something that can be really taken lightly, and some deal with it harder than others. I know all three of you aren’t as used to this sort of thing as I am, and…” She looked sunken, averting eye contact with Coran.

“What do you mean?” Coran asked, looking up at her from the floor. “You’re used to… to death?”

Mew gave a slow nod. “When you’ve been alive as long as I have, you see a lot. And I have seen a lot.” She descended from the air, landing on her hind paws beside Coran and sinking down to a sitting position beside him. “There’s a burden on us. And it’s hard. But after a few millennia, you just… you start to go numb.”

“That’s kind of scary,” Coran mumbled as his shoulders sunk. Mew could only nod in agreement.

They sat in silence for a while. Coran took a few deep breaths, leaning his head back until it connected with the door with a soft thunk. “I’m gonna go check the mail,” he said finally, getting up.

“Hey, Coran,” Mew called as he walked past her to the front.

He turned his head, slowing his pace. “Yeah?”

“How are you taking all of this? I’ve done some talking with Monty, but…” She smiled softly. “I don’t really talk to you enough. I know that our first hellos were a little…” She frowned. “Strenuous.”

Coran grimaced a little. She was right. “I’m not going to hold that against you. I don’t know why you did it, but I’m trying to put it behind us. If I’m really special, and I’m really going to help save the world, then I think we’re going to be working together a lot. And… it’s good not to hate your co-workers, right?”

“That’s… that’s really comforting to hear,” Mew said, putting a paw to her forehead as she slumped down further. “I swear, this transforming thing gets to your head when you do it for too long.”

Sensing that she was trying to change the subject, Coran obliged. “What is it like? Transforming, I mean. I feel like it’d be pretty cool to be something completely different.”

“The novelty tends to wear off after the first four centuries,” Mew said, giving Coran a somewhat playful smile. “You’re still you, but… your mind gets rewired. Since you’re in a new body, you’re not desensitized to all the instincts that come with it. So if you’re not used to it and ready for it, you end up acting really stupid and feral.”

“Like you did with the Chandelure?”

“Yes,” Mew admitted. “Though that was because I stayed in that form too long. The same thing happens.”

“Really?” Coran’s ears pricked. “But don’t you get more used to a body the longer you stay in it?”

Mew nodded. “There’s a middle ground, to be sure, but being in a body too long tends to make you lose your sense of self. There were a few times in my early life where I legitimately forgot I was Mew.”

“…Whoa,” Coran breathed. “Scary.”

“Though Latios was there to snap me out of it, it was pretty scary,” Mew nodded. She was silent for a moment. “Though I should probably get back to work.”

Coran sighed and got to his feet. “Me too, I guess. Not really looking forward to it.”

“Who does?” Mew said with a small chuckle. “Oh, just remembered, there’s mail for you by the front.”

“Really? From who?”

“Go and see,” Mew said, flicking her tail as she floated out of the headquarters towards the bulletin board outside.

Coran followed after her, stopping at the mail basket right inside the door. Inside was a small neatly folded yellow envelope. He reached inside, picked it up, and ripped open the top.

Dear Coran,

It feels like it’s been absolute ages since you’ve been over last! I know that you are most definitely busy with your job – I hope Squirtle isn’t overworking you! I’ve heard some pretty nasty rumours of things going on in Nuzlocke. You’re all safe, yes? The world certainly seems to be swirling around the gutter nowadays, doesn’t it? Though I will say that I’ve seen it in states like this before, and we got out of it relatively unharmed! Though I must admit, my motives for writing this letter aren’t entirely selfless. There has been something bothering me as of late, and I need someone who is skilled at both talking and listening (you!) to aid me. If you’re having trouble, simply present it to Squirtle as a job. I will reward you for your troubles, it’s only fair! Along with the usual accompaniment of tea, of course!

Please come soon, Phari

The sand felt good under Coran’s feet. He’d been up on Mt. Maelstrom for the past few days, clearing off all of the missions that had to do with it at once, so having a warm, soft surface to walk on was a pleasant change to the stark, cold stone the summit provided.

Coran looked out over the beach as he walked across it, watching the beachgoers relax along the shoreline.

They know about the state the world’s in, right? Coran thought to himself. They have to understand that everything’s going down the drain, right? How can they be so happy?

Things still felt somewhat different from his usual visits. Despite there being Pokémon after Pokémon lying on the warm sand of the coast, the atmosphere felt moderately thick compared to earlier times.

He shook his head to clear himself of that. He was going to Phari’s to rid his mind of these thoughts, not keep them going. Continuing past the palm trees, he eventually got up to Dusky Cape, on which Phari’s villa was perched, looking over the bay.

The walk up to the cape felt a lot longer today than it usually did. The cut stone steps were smooth under his paws as always, the setting sun stung his eyes a little as always, and the windows of the villa filtered the sunlight into beams streaming eastward, as always. But the walk was a lot slower. Coran wasn’t entirely sure whether he liked that or not. A gentle wind blew past him as he stood at the doorstep. Coran had been here a few times in the past, and all of them had been pleasant. Phari was an excellent host. He’d grown to like tea in the past few months, what with Phari and Monty figuratively shoving tea leaves down his throat. He raised his fist and knocked on the door, before stepping back. “Coming!” a voice came from inside, followed swiftly by the door opening. A familiar Ampharos stood in the doorway, beaming down at Coran. “Ah, you came! Come in, come in. I was just dusting off some pictures.”

Coran gave a nod and slipped past Phari into the house as she shut the door. Looking around, a small frown crossed his face as he saw the state of the house. The box of checkers and chess was still out from his last visit, leaning up against the coffee table. The checkerboard itself was still there on the table, the game abandoned midway. Giving it a quick look, Coran chuckled to himself as memories of how horrible he was at chess came flooding back to him. A guitar leaned up against the chair that Phari had sat in - she had played a few tunes that had been taught to her by Cappy. It was only simple picking since her flippers didn’t let her play chords, but Coran still found it impressive.

“You’ll have to excuse the mess,” Phari said, her voice still coming from near the door. “I’ve been somewhat preoccupied lately. As have you, isn’t that right? I’ve heard some awful things about Nuzlocke!”

Coran turned back to her and nodded, watching her swipe her paw across the top of a picture frame near the door. “Yeah. A Pokémon went rogue in town, and…as we dealt with it, he…” The words died in Coran’s mouth. Even after that talk with Mew, he still had trouble saying it. Especially to someone like Phari. How could he communicate to her that they had basically murdered someone? What would she think of him after that? Would she be scared?

“He’s no longer with us, is he?” Phari said softly, causing Coran to jump as if he’d been statically shocked. “Like I mentioned before, Coran, I’ve lived through the apocalypse once before.”

Coran just stared at her for a good few moments, unable to shake off the impact she’d had on him. “Sorry, I just thought-”

Phari held up a paw and shook her head. “It’s alright, Coran. I understand you’re scared. We all are. But it’s admirable that you’re trying to stop it. That’s more than I did.”

Thinking about this for a moment, Coran took a seat next to the coffee table. “…I know it’s not what I came here to help you with, but would you mind telling me about that? Maybe after I help with what you wanted to talk about?”

Phari stood still, pondering something before she nodded. “Of course. The tea’s ready, but I was just making biscuits. Would you mind helping me wash the dishes, Coran?”

He got up from the chair and stretched. “Sure, I don’t see why not. Good to do something else while talking.”

“I could not agree more, Coran,” Phari said, walking past him to the kitchen.

As Coran followed, he was presented with the alluring smell of peanut butter cookies baking in the oven. He couldn’t help but relish a bit in the aroma, letting out a quiet mumble of satisfaction. “Mmm…is that peanut butter?”

“Good nose you’ve got there,” Phari said with a giggle. “I will admit I made these specifically for this occasion. I didn’t expect you to drop by so soon though! The post is so unreliable nowadays, I tell you…” Coran picked up a chair from the kitchen table and put it up near the sink, hopping on so that he could reach. Picking up a rag, he soaked it in warm water and began to rinse out a bowl. “So…what’s bothering you, Phari?”

Phari paused from putting ingredients back into the cupboards. She took a deep breath. “When you came in, I was dusting off those picture frames by the door.”

“There’s a lot of them,” Coran noted. “Those are of you and Cappy, right?”

Phari nodded. Coran felt a small pit in his stomach as he began to catch on to a possible route that this conversation might be taking.

“I love him so much, Coran,” Phari continued, resuming her storage of the biscuit ingredients. “I miss him every day. Each night I close my eyes, and I see him staring at me with…with that dopey grin on our wedding day. He looked at me like I was the most valuable treasure he’d ever laid eyes on.”

“What happened?” Coran asked, looking up at her from the bowl he had begun to scrub.

She shook her head. “Nothing bad, for the longest time.” Phari paused. “Well, that isn’t… entirely true. We did find out that I was unable to have kids, but you knew about that. He didn’t let it get to me. And so we kept on living. And then…then he…”

Phari stopped, her paw shaking as she carefully eased a cabinet door closed.

“He started to go sailing,” she finally let out. “And he loved it. He’d be gone for a week at a time, but he’d always come back with that same dopey grin I’d come to love. And he’d come with so many tales and stories of things he’d done in the wonderful lands he’d sailed to. He always offered to take me with him, but…” She let out a quiet laugh. “The open sea is a scary thing, isn’t it?”

Coran stopped and thought about it. “I wouldn’t know,” he said after some deliberation. “I’ve never really been out at sea before. Have you?”

Phari shook her head. “No, but the thought of it shakes me up quite a bit. Just imagining miles after miles of water in every single direction, with who-knows-what lurking in the freezing depths below you… If your boat sinks, you’re more or less… You’re more or less done for, aren’t you?”

Her voice faltered, and she leaned against the kitchen counter as her eyes lowered. “…You’re done for.”

Coran stared at her for a moment, the pit in his stomach from earlier flying up into his throat. Was she saying what he thought she was saying? “Phari…”

“He’s been gone for ten years, Coran.” Her voice trembled slightly. “I’ve been wrestling with the truth for such a long time. Ten years, I’ve been running possibilities through my head, and…none of them are pleasant. None of them.”

Coran’s first instinct was to tell her not to lose hope. That Cappy was still out there, that he was still alive. That he could feel it. But the more he thought about it, the crueller that option became. She was already hoping. She had done it for ten years. Coran could only imagine how long ten years could feel when you’re waiting for someone to come back. Telling her that Cappy would come back would be beyond despicable. But what else could he say?

“It’s alright, Coran.” Phari said, placing a flipper on his shoulder. “ I know already. I… I’ve known for nine years. I didn’t want to face it, but…I don’t know if I really have much of a choice anymore. It’s just hurting me more than helping me at this point, I just…I need to come to terms with it. I need to face it.”

“Phari…”

“I…I apologize, Coran,” she continued, wiping her eyes as she looked up at him. “I shouldn’t be in this sort of state when I’m hosting a friend.”

“No, I-” Coran cut himself off. “This… I can’t say I understand what you’re going through. Not entirely. But I think that what you and Cappy did have was something extraordinary. And if you’re going to be remembering anything, you should remember that.”

Phari held his gaze but didn’t say a word. He continued.

“I think I told you, but I’m not really from here. I haven’t seen my family in months, and I don’t even know if they know I’m gone. And…” And what? Coran thought to himself. You’ve barely thought about them. “I think the fact that you’re feeling so awful about this says so much about what you did have. The fact that you’ve fallen so far means that you had to have been on the top of the world. The fact that you’ve been thinking about him for ten years says that you love him, that you value him, that you were important to each other’s lives. I think…it would have been worse, if…if you didn’t miss him. If you just kept going, kept living your life for months on end, without…without giving them a single thought. With just distracting yourself with other things, letting them fade away because you simply don’t care enough. You don’t…”

You’re not talking about Phari anymore.

Coran fell silent.

“Coran?” Phari had worked herself to a stand. “Are you alright?” He slowly shook his head. “I’m here for you, Phari. I want to help you.“ The atmosphere hung in the room, swaying softly from the ceiling. Back and forth, back and forth. Phari looked past Coran to the large window facing towards the fiery sea. The sound of the waves, though quiet, lapped gently against the shore beneath the cape. And beyond, the reflection of the setting sun shimmered dimly, skipping across the waves as a gentle breeze worked its way to the shore.

“I’ve known this for a while, Coran.” Phari began to walk past him, still staring out the window. “What Cappy and I had was truly wonderful. But the sooner that I come to terms with it being over…the sooner I can move on.” Her steps were slow, almost as if she were being guided. Bending down, she picked up the guitar that had been leaning up against the coffee table and walked towards the patio door to the left.

“I think I’m going to go sit outside for a moment,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. “You’re free to join if you want, Coran.”

Coran slid off the chair and shuffled beside Phari as she stopped, looking outside. He hesitated for just an instant, then he hugged her. “I have to get going anyway, Phari,” Coran said. “But you’re a friend to me, Phari. If you ever need me again, please write. Or even if you just want me to visit.” He paused. “Alright?”

Phari froze up for a moment but squeezed Coran back. “I will.”

Eventually, she separated and floated out onto the patio. The door hung open, a warm wind wafting into the house, along with the unsteady yet gentle notes of a picking guitar.

A deep sigh escaped Squirtle’s lips as she looked out over the ocean. She’d spent a lot of time sleeping. Probably more than was healthy. She’d spent more time looking inwards at herself than she had since she had first left home. And this time she didn’t really have much more to show for it than worried employees and wasted time.

She closed her eyes for a moment before focusing them back on the rocky cliffs and the orange coast beyond. If she imagined hard enough she could visualize bubbles being blown across the horizon, the translucent film sparkling in the setting sun like she’d heard about so many times before. Krabby always used to come out and blow bubbles, her mom had told her. It was one of her fondest memories of the western continent, she’d said.

“…Squirtle?”

Startled, Squirtle stood up from her perch on the rock to see Coran approaching her like she were a feral. He didn’t really look the best of sorts, either.

“Hey, Coran,” she said, giving him a small smile. “How’ve you been holding up the past week?”

“Uh…things have been kind of tough, but we’re managing,” Coran said. He was looking at her from the side, as if examining her. She couldn’t really blame him, though. She was pretty sure nobody saw her come out here to Sunset Beach, and she’d basically been a cryptid lately.

“How was your ‘mission’?” she continued.

“…Kind of taxing, actually,” Coran mumbled. “Phari’s been having personal problems, and… They kind of got me thinking about myself.”

Squirtle motioned for him to come closer. “What do you mean?”

Coran, inching closer, sat down on the sand below the rock Squirtle lied on. “It’s not important. Just had me thinking about my past. Or lack of it, I guess.”

“The human stuff?”

He sighed. “I know you don’t really like talking about that.”

This put Squirtle off. She supposed it did kind of weird her out a bit - it wasn’t exactly a common occurrence, having a human turn into a Pokémon, and sometimes the ‘Coran is crazy’ thought bubbled up into her consciousness. But she pushed it out. He’d been working for her for months, and he’d shown that he was a hard worker, and was dedicated to proving himself to Squirtle. And honestly, she considered him a friend. That wasn’t wrong, right? And she wanted friends to feel safe talking to her.

“What’s wrong?”

“Isn’t there more important things we should be talking about?” Coran asked. “Like, the cause of you being in your room all week?”

Squirtle flinched. “I was…I was thinking.”

“About the whole ‘save the world’ thing?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I’m just seventeen. I’m not even that strong. My only reason for hiring you in the first place was because I can’t fight at all. I’m not that smart, I’m not fast, or cunning. Literally the only thing I am good at is managing a business and given my track record of previous partners I’m not even sure I do that right.”

Coran looked up at her, his mouth hanging open as if he were to say something, but nothing came out. “I mean I was basically comatose the entire week,” she said with a sigh. “I just ate and slept and thought. It…” She let out a little chuckle. “It probably wasn’t good for my health. But…but the more I thought about it, the more I just thought about my family. And…” She laughed again. “I just kind of find it all fitting, I guess?”

“…Your family?” Coran echoed.

“I guess I haven’t really told you about them, have I?” Squirtle said, looking down at Coran. “I grew up in Coastline, on the far west of the Eastern Continent - that’s the one we’re on. Adopted by my mom, Judy, and my dad, Barry. Blastoise and Feraligatr, respectively. I was the youngest.” She looked back over the ocean. “Youngest of three, for the first five years of my life. In a family of Water-Types. As an Eevee. I felt kind of…too normal, for lack of a better word. I saw my siblings making blades out of water, freezing stuff, taking huge bites. Leonard was training to be a battler, and you should have seen the bites he took out of the punching bags Dad kept getting him. And here I was, scratching and tackling my little heart out.”

Squirtle frowned as she recalled. “I never thought I’d be anything, watching Leonard and Trish grow up. They could do things with water, and I was just…I was just normal. So one day, when I heard how unstable Eevees apparently were, I got super excited. They can turn into nine separate evolutions! Nine!” She smiled wistfully. “So I went out one day, looking for a Water Stone. I packed up all my things, and I set out. I was gone for three days, just looking for my ticket to be good, be tough. Eventually I ran out of food, and had to come home with my tail between my legs. And man, was I in trouble.”

Realizing about halfway through the story that she was more talking about herself than her family, she laughed again. “Mom grounded me for three weeks. And then she told me that… I guess, that I shouldn’t take the easy way out of improving myself, just by evolving? I don’t think she really knows how ‘easy’ it was, honestly. It wasn’t a cakewalk looking for the Water Stone! I wanted to be strong. And I went out, all on my own, because I wanted that so bad. I didn’t care how dangerous it was, or what’d happen, but I wanted something really bad, and I wasn’t going to let something like common sense stop me then.”

“I think I’ve been thinking too hard, if I’m gonna be honest with myself,” she finished. “I might not think I’m the one for the job, but I want this world to exist tomorrow more than I wanted to evolve back then. So I’m going to stay determined, and I’m going to try.”

Squirtle turned to face him. “I still don’t think I’m very strong. I’m still not sure if I’m going to be able to help at all. But I’m going to try. I’m going to try for you, for Monty, for Mew, and my family.”

Coran didn’t respond at first, looking down at his lap. Finally, he gave a quiet nod. “Yeah.”

Her face fell, her emotion quickly turning to concern. “Things will be okay,” she said. “We’ll all be okay.”

“Yeah.”

Start at the beginning

[ask-soul-bendy]

The Ink Eater pt.3

And here’s the final part of the Ink Eater. The tar demon gains a voice and things go about as well as any confrontation between demons can. :b Enjoy~

BATIM

Chapter five: The Ink Eater

Part 3

Luck seemed to be on Bendy's side so far, he hadn't encountered the ink eater yet since the last attack, and he hoped it would stay that way. What he didn't assume was that the ink making up his body was a little different than standard ink to the ink eater, it was more sufficient than just food... Low gurgling and garbled growling came from a room out of earshot from Henry and Bendy, though it sounded somewhat strained. A couple of inky searchers kept their distance as they watched the ink eater. It was standing stationary with what looked like fatigued movements, shuffling its feet now and then, and bowing its mouth close to the ink layered floor while the stalk bent forward a bit. The jagged mouth was ajar as the body moved with panting motions; something was happening to it, but it didn't quite seem to be in pain per sé. Though soon enough it seemed to recover, the stalk standing straight again, and it turned towards the searchers with a garbled growl, but this time it seemed to vaguely make out a word. It approached the three blot creatures with another growl, the word being more perceivable while the searchers recoiled back into the ink. "̸̢͞.̷̴́.͠.̷́͝ ͜B̶͠ ̕͠ ͡E ͜ ̛͞N̢ ҉ ͟҉D͡ ̕͝Y̷.̨̨͠.̶̕͢.̨̀҉"҉͏

Elsewhere, a particular ink demon was with his friend maintaining the ink machine, refilling the silo on the back and making sure none of the pipes were leaking too much, since that would limit flow to where it needed to be. Bendy suddenly froze as his eyes dimly flashed red, subconsciously hearing the disturbing voice of the ink eater through the ink, though he didn't want to think it was the monster. "... Boris? I think I'm hearing things... Something called my name."

"Huh?" Boris looked back at the smaller demon in wonder, blinking at his distant expression. "Something called your name? How?"

"I dunno. Did you hear it?"

"I didn't hear anything... What did it sound like?"

"Garbled, deep, demonic..."

"Maybe that thing that's trying to eat you?"

"... I'm hoping not. I don't want to have to talk to the damn thing." Bendy scowled to himself, before shaking his head and resuming his inspecting of the gears of the machine. "Especially not telepathically."

"Right. Anyway, what was Henry doing thus far?"

"Ah, he's just doing a puzzle right now, should give us enough time to clean things up around here before we need to confront him again. I had some fun with his fear~" He sang with a smirk, before turning to check on other things, Boris following when he was done with his maintenance.

"Heh what'd you do to him?"

"I just stalked behind him and wouldn't let him turn around lest he die. He was smart to heed my warnings, and I could feel how nervous and frustrated he was~" Bendy grinned at the memory with a dark chuckle. "It's a shame we'll have to kill him soon, but as I said before, if this game goes on for too long, he'll become desensitized and then it won't be any fun anymore."

"You sure do have a way of playing with fear, Bendy." The wolf smirked at him, following him down to the lower levels through the ink.

"I know~ It's like directing a song, ya gotta do it right or it isn't satisfying." He continued to smirk, before being cut short from a sudden noise somewhere nearby, which made the two pause and look around. "Agh, dammit. Is it that monster again?? Why won't it leave me alone already?"

"Maybe it was Henry. You seem really stressed about that thing, Bendy." He wore a concerned look as he watched the ink demon's body dribbling.

"Would you not be if it had attacked you twice thus far? I mean this thing really is a threat to my plans, I don't want all my work to have been in vain because of it."

"Well... Maybe just let it find us, and let's carry on with our business. Maybe it won't appear for a while." He tilted his head, watching Bendy slack a bit from the reassurance.

"Maybe..." He growled lowly. "Dammit, I hate this feeling of being the hunted one..."

"We can show it what for next time we run into it then. I'm sure the two of us can manage to force it off our backs."

"... You think so, Boris?" Bendy looked up at the wolf thoughtfully, having his shoulder grasped by the taller being.

"No harm in hoping, right? I mean, you're the main powerhouse between us, I could at least distract it for you if anything."

Bendy didn't lift his frown as he stared at his friend. "... I'm not willing to lose you though... If we do fight it, you have to watch yourself more than I do."

"Aw, you doubtin' me, snarky little devil?" He smirked shadily with his canine fangs bared. "I never said I was sub-par to you, you're just better at controlling mass amounts of ink than me. I can hold my own, dontcha know?"

The smaller demon blinked, before scoffing with a smirk. "I guess you're right. But still, that being said, it's not a monster I think is so easy to take down; not as simple as double-teaming it."

"Ah, I'll be careful, don't worry, Bendy." He patted his friend's back and resumed pacing along. Bendy smirked more and went alongside him, wondering if Henry was at any points they needed to be yet.

"Ah jeeze!" Henry groaned as he looked himself over, standing under a pipe that had just busted a leak and splotched ink all over him. It dribbled from his arms and trickled down his shirt, staining his clothes and skin. "Thank you, decrepitness, I really needed an ink shower." He grumbled, shaking his arms to rid some of the ink before carrying on. "Now I know what Sammy must have felt like, I guess..." He mused, wiping any ink from his face, and hacked a few planks from a doorway. "I suppose that's one way to keep me from getting too board of this place though." A smirk appeared on his face from the pun; in spite of his grave situation, he had to keep himself amused somehow. And he figured that if Bendy still had the mindset he was created with, he probably would have laughed at the mishap had he witnessed it. Henry looked around at the room he ventured into, seeing ink everywhere, typically, as well as a few pentagrams here and there, also typically. Though when he looked back from a low growl, he noticed something he could have sworn wasn't there a few seconds ago; what looked like a stalk coming out of the ink. It had a ball on the top, and Henry stared at it for a moment in wonder. Was it another creation of the ink? He decided to pace closer to it to get a better look, but it sank into the ink after only a few steps. Henry blinked at the spot with growing unease; it was bad enough with Bendy and the searchers hiding in the ink, now there was possibly a new threat using the ink for cover too?

This place really had gone to hell, while Bendy and Boris were the only familiar ones thus far. The urge to escape grew stronger the longer Henry stayed in this place, but going further down into the bowels of the workshop wasn't heralding any promises, unless he planned to dig his way out at some point. Nevertheless, at least he wasn't dead yet, and he proceeded to initiate the next puzzle, which was to find some things and switches. Along his scavenger hunt, he was unknowingly watched by the ink eater, and partially seen as prey from the ink on him. The monster kept its distance though in sensing that Henry wasn't made of ink, which in turn made it more curious than anything. But soon enough, Henry found everything and ended up having to go back upstairs to find the last lever. He wondered if Bendy might still be up there, and if he may try the same 'don't look at me' game again, though it was unlikely. He paced up the stairs and down the corridor where the ink demon had stalked him, and stole a few glances into the opened rooms. Nothing really changed from before, except for some more ink leakage of course; it was only really impressive that the workshop was still holding up with all this ink flooding every floor, being made mostly of wood and whatnot.

When he found the room with the lever, he looked around in thought, suddenly feeling suspicious and wary. "Hmm..." He paced up to the lever which had a sign above reading 'Flow Router', and pulled it down. The sound of pressure moved through the pipes to push the ink down to the below floor, presumably to the last machine (wherever that was), and Henry looked around again at the sounds, before moving to exit the room. But when he neared the doorway, the ink suddenly burst up with a demonic snarl as Bendy appeared in his monstrous visage, causing Henry to yelp and fall back, dropping the axe. "B-Bendy!?" Said ink demon growled before lurching at him, to which Henry quickly scrambled up and ran to the back of the room with Bendy on his heels. He hurried to the opposite wall and broke for the doorway, followed out by another growl from the demon. Bendy kept hot on his tail as Henry gained a bit of distance, but it was lost when he backed himself against a wall. "Bendy, no!" He lurched to the side as Bendy bodied the wall he'd been on and resumed running, heading back to the stairs, hoping to lose him at some point soon. The ink demon was unrelenting in chasing Henry down, until they came to the corridor again, which Bendy halted and looked back, only to be tackled by a mass of snarling tar. He let out a startled shriek as the ink eater forced him down, but quickly retaliated by trying to push the monster off. He only managed to budge it away, but it was enough for him to regain his footing and hammer a bulky arm on the surface of the monster. It didn't have much more affect than forcing the ink eater against the floor, before a stout tail wrapped around the arm and removed its weight. Bendy growled at the ink eater's ability to fight back, before his other arm was suddenly crunched by the monster's mouth, causing a pained snarl to echo throughout the infrastructure. Henry had made it to the end of the corridor, before hearing the racket and looked back, his heart sinking at the two fighting demons. He watched the ink eater drag Bendy to the floor onto his back with a distressed roar from the ink demon, before the ceiling suddenly collapsed from the rattling of their movements and the weight of the ink flood. "Bendy!" He cried in a sudden spark of concern for the ink demon, not that he was heeded. Bendy continued snarling in pain from the ink eater's teeth as it severed his arm and devoured it, but that gave Bendy enough time to bail and merge into the ink.

The ink eater growled a disturbing garbled noise as it stood lashing its tails for a moment, black ink dripping from its mouth like blood, before diving into the ink itself, leaving the area ruined with ink and tar all over the walls. Henry couldn't help but stare at the event that now stained his mind like the ink itself. "... What the bloody hell just happened...?" He breathed shakily, standing in place for a moment until the trepidation wore off, but seeing something like that didn't allow for quick recovery... Soon enough he was able to regain his composure, and resumed his trek to what he hoped was the end of this nightmare, now almost feeling bad for Bendy getting attacked like that. It was mortifying to see something so threatening as Bendy meet his match; he hoped the ink demon was okay, and wondered what that other monster even was. He prayed he didn't have to find out.

Bendy reemerged in the room of which he was expecting Henry, kneeling and huffing in pain while holding his stumped shoulder. His body was dribbling viscously with fatigue, the pain distracting his mind to use the surrounding ink to regenerate himself. But what it wasn't distracting as much was his pondering of Henry calling his name while fighting the ink eater. He thought he heard concern in his voice at that moment; did that mean that Henry... Felt remorse and sympathy for him? He then let out a hardened growl while he healed his arm, seemingly glaring at nothing in particular; even if Henry did hold those feelings for him, he still had to complete his plans, they'd come too far to go back now. And not to mention, he was running out of time... The pain in his arm quelled as the limb was repaired, and he stood to look around the room, feeling a bit tired by now. There were two large pentagrams on the floor side-by-side, and the room was relatively spacious, everything already set up as Bendy needed, but after some more pondering, he decided to edit the runes in the pentagrams. Only a few marks on each were altered, but small details ultimately determined what the symbols did, and really only hell spawn and those who studied demonology would have any grasp on the meaning of the runes. But soon everything was reconfigured and set in place again, now he just needed Henry to arrive. And hey, at least he did get to have some fun with the human, even if the ink eater ruined the mood afterwards, but that was digressed.

Bendy became on edge again when he heard a sudden snarl a distance away, one he knew now as well as Henry recognized his noises, followed by a heavy thud and a yelp. The demon froze up in concern that the ink eater might have just attacked Henry, before moving to find the source of the noise. "̷̴̧...̡͠ ͝҉͜B҉ ̷̀E̶ ̴͘Ņ͠ D҉͢ ҉Y̨.҉̀.̸͢͠.̕"̶҉̶ The voice of the ink eater suddenly sounded through the ink, making Bendy halt and look around with a growl. Nothing happened for a moment, and Bendy looked back through the corridor that led to the room, hoping Henry was alright and he would come through the doorway rather than the ink eater. Unfortunately for him, it was a mass of tar that shambled towards the room, but not in a hurried manner. He growled more as he stepped back, watching it pace closer with a garbled growl, the tails propped forward at its own body with a single large spike on the ends of both. The spikes were angled at an unconscious human laying atop its surface... "͘.̷.. ́I know̷ ͘y͜o̶ú ͘nee̸d̢ ͜t͏his ̶h͘u̢ma̛ń ̀al̵i͟v͠e,͞ d͞o̴ you͟ n̕ot.̛..?"͢ The ink eater spoke in a disturbing voice as it paced into the room, stopping before the two pentagrams while Bendy stood tensely at the other end of them. "͡...̨ Be̛n̨dy͝... The ́in̸k ͏m͠àking͘ ͠up yơu̷r͘ ͘b̡ody̸ i͜s̴ to̸ d̴i̴e ͞f̡o͠r͡.͏.̵. ̧Bu̴t you ̧a̴r̡e a͜ ̨fo͡r҉mi̶da̷b̕le ͟pr͡ed̴ato̧r ͟y̨ou͡r̡se̶lf́..͟.̡ ̕You̢r̴ ͞f̶ri̸end͡ w͡a͟s͘ ͘ac̨c͠u͘r҉àte įn aşs͝u͜m̕i̴ng ̛th͏at̷ ͞I̢ w͢o̶uld͟ t͠akè inte͜r͘e̸st i̡n͝ ̵residìn̶g ͢h̡e͝r͢e̴, wi͘t͏h̷ ́so mu͡ćh͢ i̛n̴k͢...̢"

"... Boris...?" Bendy said uneasily. "What have you done with him? And that human better be well."

"͠.̀.̨.͡ ̕Do͞ n҉o͢t̀ fret, íǹk dem̸on.͡.͝.͝ Th̢ey ͠are bo͞t͠h̴ ̶u̴n̨harm̢ed̴.͜..̕ I͡ ͏k̢now͝ ̢your҉ intentions ̀wi͢t̴h th͠e ̡h̨u̸man͡, ͝t̴h͘ús p̨e͢rha͝p҉s we ͢c͠án ͝rea͝c̷h̛ ͠a co̢mprom̀i͟s҉e͢.̨.͜.́ ̵N̴o͘ ͝ṕreda͡t̀ǫr ̸w̡a͏nts ҉prey͟ ͢t͘h̡at̕ can͟ f̸ight̷ ̀ba͝c̕k,̨ a͝f͠t͝er ̢alļ.̶.҉."

"... What compromise?"

"..͜. ͡A͢llow̷ ͜me͟ ̧t̕o ̀r̶esi͠de͠ ͟he̕re͘ w͏i͟t͏h f͢re̵e a͘cce̡ss̸ to ̕t̸h̨e͞ ͏i̵n͢k,̢ a̕nd̷ I ̨wi̷l͘l le͠a͝ve you, yo̢ur ͢co̴n҉n̨ȩct̴i̸o̡ns, ͠a͝n͟d̴ y̕o͡ưr̷ de͜vic̛e͠s ͘to̕ ̨yơu͡r̵ o̵w̶n ̡au̶thor̵itỳ...̧"͝

"... A truce of sorts then..."

"͏.̨..̡ ̶O͡f҉ śort͝s͝... ͘Y̸oùr̢ ͡tim̷e her͠e i͠s̕ of͏ ̴t͝he̛ ̵e̡s͟s͝eņce͏,҉ B̨end̵y...͢ ̷What̸ wi͘l̛l͡ ́you d̡e̸cidé...?"̧

The ink demon gave a low growl at the proposition, but he figured that if he chose wrong, the ink eater would kill Henry. And it was right about his borrowed time; he was given an allotted while to set things up and toy with Henry as he pleased, but now, he needed to get to the point. "... First, how do you know of my intentions?"

"̸.̡..̧ T̵he͠ ink o͢f y͢ou a̛ll͏o͡wed́ m͡e to ̀foresee y̸ouŗ bei̢ng, ̕a͜nd y̨o̡u͏r go͠a͟ls̢.҉.͢.̵"̨

"... That's a bit invasive, don't you think?"

"..̛.͞ W͏h́ąt̴ cónce͢r͟n͠ i̕s it ͜t͡o me̸ ̨wh͡at ͝yơu ̴st̡riv͢e͠ ͡f̧o̡r̸...̡?̀"͠ The tails pressed closer to Henry as a warning for Bendy to give an answer, the spikes only inches from his flesh.

Bendy scowled at the danger to Henry, before giving in. "... Fine... You may reside here. But you are not allowed near the ink machine."

".̵.. ͠U͘ǹde͜r̨s̡t̴o҉od... I̷ woul̷dn҉'̶t wa̵n̕t͞ ̕tò g̕o a͝fte̕r͢ ̨t̀h̀e͜ ̨s̨ourc͘ȩ o͠f m̵y food́ t͠o͜ ̨dep̷l͏ȩt͏e ̴it ̨fa̸s̡t҉èr,҉ ̨woul̀d I̛..́.̶?̡" The spikes retracted, and the ink eater turned a bit, a tail wrapping around Henry, only to place him within a pentagram. "̛...͡ Al͘so͘, try͏ing͞ a̸ny̵th̷i͢ng ̷a̢g͏ai͡n̴s̷t m͏e̕ ̨w̵ill ́br̢èa̶k͏ ̢our̵ t̢ru̷c͘e͜...͟ ̴D͟o ̀k͠eép͝ th͏a̛t̴ ͢in͟ ͟m̡ind..́."͏ The ink eater then gave a low growl before delving into the ink, Bendy glaring after it. However, he began to feel the effects of his time running out as he placed a hand on his chest with a low groan, and proceeded to initiate the ritual.

Henry also groaned as he stirred awake, shifting groggily and rubbing his head. "What happened now?" He pulled his hand away when he felt the sticky tar on him, looking at it slowly dribble across his hand, before hearing Bendy speaking in some demonic dialect. He looked up at the ink demon with unease, watching him pace into the other pentagram before both symbols suddenly glowed a fiery illumination. "Bendy?" He looked around at the markings surrounding him, though when he tried to stand, he just couldn't, like he suddenly weighed five times his weight. Needless to say this unnerved him more, while Bendy continued uttering incantations, which made Henry start to burn inside, like he was being ripped in half in some manner. He groaned in pain while the ink demon knelt as well, a glow appearing above them surrounded by smaller holographic pentagrams, which moved to cross each other and hover over the other respectively. Henry couldn't keep awake before the portion of energy above him absorbed into him and he passed out again, while Bendy was also having trouble keeping attentive, but he fought through the fatigue and absorbed the energy from Henry. He let out a groan from the new soul, which instantly began modifying his body; the ink around him traveled up his form and expanded in size, while his fingers elongated into claws, and his feet grew stout talons. Ink kept building his body into a more efficient and demonic form, growing a long slender tail that lashed and swayed, the end speared dangerously, along with a sorts of thorns, and large wings sprouting from his back. They didn't seem to manifest any membrane, but then again, wings made from non-avian material would be a moot design. Bendy growled at the reshaping of his body, feeling his horns growing as well, and his teeth becoming sharp like scissors. He held a hand to his face as though he'd been enduring a headache, and lowered the limb when his transforming was complete, revealing his eyes now as sharp red eyes without pupils, which blinked distantly as he turned his head to look himself over, stretching the wings and tail out. He smirked eerily at the new appendages, having achieved his goal, now able to roam the surface world free. The pentagrams then dimmed their glow, the room only lit by candlelight again; Bendy allowed himself a moment to relax and regain his bearings while Henry laid unconscious with a troubled expression. Bendy was exhausted as well, before moving to stand and pace over in much larger strides to pick up Henry, who was surprisingly still alive, and brought him over to a wall to lean against, setting him down easily. Henry lay slumped as he slept, while Bendy reformed back into his smaller visage, the demonic features retracting, and he stared at the human distantly. Now that they shared halves of each other's souls, he could feel that Henry indeed felt remorse for him, which confused him, but at the same time gave him an odd sense of relief.

After a while of processing things, Bendy wore a tired expression and moved to lay against Henry to relax. "... Not sure if I forgive you yet, Henry. But seems we're stuck together now..." He admitted lowly, before shutting his eyes to sleep, crossing his arms over his belly.

[demonsheyd500025]

The Ink Eater

BATIM Chapter five: The Ink Eater

Part 3

Luck seemed to be on Bendy's side so far, he hadn't encountered the ink eater yet since the last attack, and he hoped it would stay that way. What he didn't assume was that the ink making up his body was a little different than standard ink to the ink eater, it was more sufficient than just food... Low gurgling and garbled growling came from a room out of earshot from Henry and Bendy, though it sounded somewhat strained. A couple of inky searchers kept their distance as they watched the ink eater. It was standing stationary with what looked like fatigued movements, shuffling its feet now and then, and bowing its mouth close to the ink layered floor while the stalk bent forward a bit. The jagged mouth was ajar as the body moved with panting motions; something was happening to it, but it didn't quite seem to be in pain per sé. Though soon enough it seemed to recover, the stalk standing straight again, and it turned towards the searchers with a garbled growl, but this time it seemed to vaguely make out a word. It approached the three blot creatures with another growl, the word being more perceivable while the searchers recoiled back into the ink. "̸̢͞.̷̴́.͠.̷́͝ ͜B̶͠ ̕͠ ͡E ͜ ̛͞N̢ ҉ ͟҉D͡ ̕͝Y̷.̨̨͠.̶̕͢.̨̀҉"҉͏

Elsewhere, a particular ink demon was with his friend maintaining the ink machine, refilling the silo on the back and making sure none of the pipes were leaking too much, since that would limit flow to where it needed to be. Bendy suddenly froze as his eyes dimly flashed red, subconsciously hearing the disturbing voice of the ink eater through the ink, though he didn't want to think it was the monster. "... Boris? I think I'm hearing things... Something called my name."

"Huh?" Boris looked back at the smaller demon in wonder, blinking at his distant expression. "Something called your name? How?"

"I dunno. Did you hear it?"

"I didn't hear anything... What did it sound like?"

"Garbled, deep, demonic..."

"Maybe that thing that's trying to eat you?"

"... I'm hoping not. I don't want to have to talk to the damn thing." Bendy scowled to himself, before shaking his head and resuming his inspecting of the gears of the machine. "Especially not telepathically."

"Right. Anyway, what was Henry doing thus far?"

"Ah, he's just doing a puzzle right now, should give us enough time to clean things up around here before we need to confront him again. I had some fun with his fear~" He sang with a smirk, before turning to check on other things, Boris following when he was done with his maintenance.

"Heh what'd you do to him?"

"I just stalked behind him and wouldn't let him turn around lest he die. He was smart to heed my warnings, and I could feel how nervous and frustrated he was~" Bendy grinned at the memory with a dark chuckle. "It's a shame we'll have to kill him soon, but as I said before, if this game goes on for too long, he'll become desensitized and then it won't be any fun anymore."

"You sure do have a way of playing with fear, Bendy." The wolf smirked at him, following him down to the lower levels through the ink.

"I know~ It's like directing a song, ya gotta do it right or it isn't satisfying." He continued to smirk, before being cut short from a sudden noise somewhere nearby, which made the two pause and look around. "Agh, dammit. Is it that monster again?? Why won't it leave me alone already?"

"Maybe it was Henry. You seem really stressed about that thing, Bendy." He wore a concerned look as he watched the ink demon's body dribbling.

"Would you not be if it had attacked you twice thus far? I mean this thing really is a threat to my plans, I don't want all my work to have been in vain because of it."

"Well... Maybe just let it find us, and let's carry on with our business. Maybe it won't appear for a while." He tilted his head, watching Bendy slack a bit from the reassurance.

"Maybe..." He growled lowly. "Dammit, I hate this feeling of being the hunted one..."

"We can show it what for next time we run into it then. I'm sure the two of us can manage to force it off our backs."

"... You think so, Boris?" Bendy looked up at the wolf thoughtfully, having his shoulder grasped by the taller being.

"No harm in hoping, right? I mean, you're the main powerhouse between us, I could at least distract it for you if anything."

Bendy didn't lift his frown as he stared at his friend. "... I'm not willing to lose you though... If we do fight it, you have to watch yourself more than I do."

"Aw, you doubtin' me, snarky little devil?" He smirked shadily with his canine fangs bared. "I never said I was sub-par to you, you're just better at controlling mass amounts of ink than me. I can hold my own, dontcha know?"

The smaller demon blinked, before scoffing with a smirk. "I guess you're right. But still, that being said, it's not a monster I think is so easy to take down; not as simple as double-teaming it."

"Ah, I'll be careful, don't worry, Bendy." He patted his friend's back and resumed pacing along. Bendy smirked more and went alongside him, wondering if Henry was at any points they needed to be yet.

"Ah jeeze!" Henry groaned as he looked himself over, standing under a pipe that had just busted a leak and splotched ink all over him. It dribbled from his arms and trickled down his shirt, staining his clothes and skin. "Thank you, decrepidness, I really needed an ink shower." He grumbled, shaking his arms to rid some of the ink before carrying on. "Now I know what Sammy must have felt like, I guess..." He mused, wiping any ink from his face, and hacked a few planks from a doorway. "I suppose that's one way to keep me from getting too board of this place though." A smirk appeared on his face from the pun; in spite of his grave situation, he had to keep himself amused somehow. And he figured that if Bendy still had the mindset he was created with, he probably would have laughed at the mishap had he witnessed it. Henry looked around at the room he ventured into, seeing ink everywhere, typically, as well as a few pentagrams here and there, also typically. Though when he looked back from a low growl, he noticed something he could have sworn wasn't there a few seconds ago; what looked like a stalk coming out of the ink. It had a ball on the top, and Henry stared at it for a moment in wonder. Was it another creation of the ink? He decided to pace closer to it to get a better look, but it sank into the ink after only a few steps. Henry blinked at the spot with growing unease; it was bad enough with Bendy and the searchers hiding in the ink, now there was possibly a new threat using the ink for cover too?

This place really had gone to hell, while Bendy and Boris were the only familiar ones thus far. The urge to escape grew stronger the longer Henry stayed in this place, but going further down into the bowels of the workshop wasn't heralding any promises, unless he planned to dig his way out at some point. Nevertheless, at least he wasn't dead yet, and he proceeded to initiate the next puzzle, which was to find some things and switches. Along his scavenger hunt, he was unknowingly watched by the ink eater, and partially seen as prey from the ink on him. The monster kept its distance though in sensing that Henry wasn't made of ink, which in turn made it more curious than anything. But soon enough, Henry found everything and ended up having to go back upstairs to find the last lever. He wondered if Bendy might still be up there, and if he may try the same 'don't look at me' game again, though it was unlikely. He paced up the stairs and down the corridor where the ink demon had stalked him, and stole a few glances into the opened rooms. Nothing really changed from before, except for some more ink leakage of course; it was only really impressive that the workshop was still holding up with all this ink flooding every floor, being made mostly of wood and whatnot.

When he found the room with the lever, he looked around in thought, suddenly feeling suspicious and wary. "Hmm..." He paced up to the lever which had a sign above reading 'Flow Router', and pulled it down. The sound of pressure moved through the pipes to push the ink down to the below floor, presumably to the last machine (wherever that was), and Henry looked around again at the sounds, before moving to exit the room. But when he neared the doorway, the ink suddenly burst up with a demonic snarl as Bendy appeared in his monstrous visage, causing Henry to yelp and fall back, dropping the axe. "B-Bendy!?" Said ink demon growled before lurching at him, to which Henry quickly scrambled up and ran to the back of the room with Bendy on his heels. He hurried to the opposite wall and broke for the doorway, followed out by another growl from the demon. Bendy kept hot on his tail as Henry gained a bit of distance, but it was lost when he backed himself against a wall. "Bendy, no!" He lurched to the side as Bendy bodied the wall he'd been on and resumed running, heading back to the stairs, hoping to lose him at some point soon. The ink demon was unrelenting in chasing Henry down, until they came to the corridor again, which Bendy halted and looked back, only to be tackled by a mass of snarling tar. He let out a startled shriek as the ink eater forced him down, but quickly retaliated by trying to push the monster off. He only managed to budge it away, but it was enough for him to regain his footing and hammer a bulky arm on the surface of the monster. It didn't have much more affect than forcing the ink eater against the floor, before a stout tail wrapped around the arm and removed its weight. Bendy growled at the ink eater's ability to fight back, before his other arm was suddenly crunched by the monster's mouth, causing a pained snarl to echo throughout the infrastructure. Henry had made it to the end of the corridor, before hearing the racket and looked back, his heart sinking at the two fighting demons. He watched the ink eater drag Bendy to the floor onto his back with a distressed roar from the ink demon, before the ceiling suddenly collapsed from the rattling of their movements and the weight of the ink flood. "Bendy!" He cried in a sudden spark of concern for the ink demon, not that he was heeded. Bendy continued snarling in pain from the ink eater's teeth as it severed his arm and devoured it, but that gave Bendy enough time to bail and merge into the ink.

The ink eater growled a disturbing garbled noise as it stood lashing its tails for a moment, black ink dripping from its mouth, before diving into the ink itself, leaving the area ruined with ink and tar all over the walls. Henry couldn't help but stare at the event that now stained his mind like the ink itself. "... What the bloody hell just happened...?" He breathed shakily, standing in place for a moment until the trepidation wore off, but seeing something like that didn't allow for quick recovery... Soon enough he was able to regain his composure, and resumed his trek to what he hoped was the end of this nightmare, now almost feeling bad for Bendy getting attacked like that. It was mortifying to see something so threatening as Bendy meet his match; he hoped the ink demon was okay, and wondered what that other monster even was. He prayed he didn't have to find out.

Bendy reemerged in the room of which he was expecting Henry, kneeling and huffing in pain while holding his stumped shoulder. His body was dribbling viscously with fatigue, the pain distracting his mind to use the surrounding ink to regenerate himself. But what it wasn't distracting as much was his pondering of Henry calling his name while fighting the ink eater. He thought he heard concern in his voice at that moment; did that mean that Henry... Felt remorse and sympathy for him? He then let out a hardened growl while he healed his arm, seemingly glaring at nothing in particular; even if Henry did hold those feelings for him, he still had to complete his plans, they'd come too far to go back now. And not to mention, he was running out of time... The pain in his arm quelled as the limb was repaired, and he stood to look around the room, feeling a bit tired by now. There were two large pentagrams on the floor side-by-side, and the room was relatively spacious, everything already set up as Bendy needed, but after some more pondering, he decided to edit the runes in the pentagrams. Only a few marks on each were altered, but small details ultimately determined what the symbols did, and really only hell spawn and those who studied demonology would have any grasp on the meaning of the runes. But soon everything was reconfigured and set in place again, now he just needed Henry to arrive. And hey, at least he did get to have some fun with the human, even if the ink eater ruined the mood afterwards, but that was digressed.

Bendy became on edge again when he heard a sudden snarl a distance away, one he knew now as well as Henry recognized his noises, followed by a heavy thud and a yelp. The demon froze up in concern that the ink eater might have just attacked Henry, before moving to find the source of the noise. "̷̴̧...̡͠ ͝҉͜B҉ ̷̀E̶ ̴͘Ņ͠ D҉͢ ҉Y̨.҉̀.̸͢͠.̕"̶҉̶ The voice of the ink eater suddenly sounded through the ink, making Bendy halt and look around with a growl. Nothing happened for a moment, and Bendy looked back through the corridor that led to the room, hoping Henry was alright and he would come through the doorway rather than the ink eater. Unfortunately for him, it was a mass of tar that shambled towards the room, but not in a hurried manner. He growled more as he stepped back, watching it pace closer with a garbled growl, the tails propped forward at its own body with a single large spike on the ends of both. The spikes were angled at an unconscious human laying atop its surface... "͘.̷.. ́I know̷ ͘y͜o̶ú ͘nee̸d̢ ͜t͏his ̶h͘u̢ma̛ń ̀al̵i͟v͠e,͞ d͞o̴ you͟ n̕ot.̛..?"͢ The ink eater spoke in a disturbing voice as it paced into the room, stopping before the two pentagrams while Bendy stood tensely at the other end of them. "͡...̨ Be̛n̨dy͝... The ́in̸k ͏m͠àking͘ ͠up yơu̷r͘ ͘b̡ody̸ i͜s̴ to̸ d̴i̴e ͞f̡o͠r͡.͏.̵. ̧Bu̴t you ̧a̴r̡e a͜ ̨fo͡r҉mi̶da̷b̕le ͟pr͡ed̴ato̧r ͟y̨ou͡r̡se̶lf́..͟.̡ ̕You̢r̴ ͞f̶ri̸end͡ w͡a͟s͘ ͘ac̨c͠u͘r҉àte įn aşs͝u͜m̕i̴ng ̛th͏at̷ ͞I̢ w͢o̶uld͟ t͠akè inte͜r͘e̸st i̡n͝ ̵residìn̶g ͢h̡e͝r͢e̴, wi͘t͏h̷ ́so mu͡ćh͢ i̛n̴k͢...̢"

"... Boris...?" Bendy said uneasily. "What have you done with him? And that human better be well."

"͠.̀.̨.͡ ̕Do͞ n҉o͢t̀ fret, íǹk dem̸on.͡.͝.͝ Th̢ey ͠are bo͞t͠h̴ ̶u̴n̨harm̢ed̴.͜..̕ I͡ ͏k̢now͝ ̢your҉ intentions ̀wi͢t̴h th͠e ̡h̨u̸man͡, ͝t̴h͘ús p̨e͢rha͝p҉s we ͢c͠án ͝rea͝c̷h̛ ͠a co̢mprom̀i͟s҉e͢.̨.͜.́ ̵N̴o͘ ͝ṕreda͡t̀ǫr ̸w̡a͏nts ҉prey͟ ͢t͘h̡at̕ can͟ f̸ight̷ ̀ba͝c̕k,̨ a͝f͠t͝er ̢alļ.̶.҉."

"... What compromise?"

"..͜. ͡A͢llow̷ ͜me͟ ̧t̕o ̀r̶esi͠de͠ ͟he̕re͘ w͏i͟t͏h f͢re̵e a͘cce̡ss̸ to ̕t̸h̨e͞ ͏i̵n͢k,̢ a̕nd̷ I ̨wi̷l͘l le͠a͝ve you, yo̢ur ͢co̴n҉n̨ȩct̴i̸o̡ns, ͠a͝n͟d̴ y̕o͡ưr̷ de͜vic̛e͠s ͘to̕ ̨yơu͡r̵ o̵w̶n ̡au̶thor̵itỳ...̧"͝

"... A truce of sorts then..."

"͏.̨..̡ ̶O͡f҉ śort͝s͝... ͘Y̸oùr̢ ͡tim̷e her͠e i͠s̕ of͏ ̴t͝he̛ ̵e̡s͟s͝eņce͏,҉ B̨end̵y...͢ ̷What̸ wi͘l̛l͡ ́you d̡e̸cidé...?"̧

The ink demon gave a low growl at the proposition, but he figured that if he chose wrong, the ink eater would kill Henry. And it was right about his borrowed time; he was given an allotted while to set things up and toy with Henry as he pleased, but now, he needed to get to the point. "... First, how do you know of my intentions?"

"̸.̡..̧ T̵he͠ ink o͢f y͢ou a̛ll͏o͡wed́ m͡e to ̀foresee y̸ouŗ bei̢ng, ̕a͜nd y̨o̡u͏r go͠a͟ls̢.҉.͢.̵"̨

"... That's a bit invasive, don't you think?"

"..̛.͞ W͏h́ąt̴ cónce͢r͟n͠ i̕s it ͜t͡o me̸ ̨wh͡at ͝yơu ̴st̡riv͢e͠ ͡f̧o̡r̸...̡?̀"͠ The tails pressed closer to Henry as a warning for Bendy to give an answer, the spikes only inches from his flesh.

Bendy scowled at the danger to Henry, before giving in. "... Fine... You may reside here. But you are not allowed near the ink machine."

".̵.. ͠U͘ǹde͜r̨s̡t̴o҉od... I̷ woul̷dn҉'̶t wa̵n̕t͞ ̕tò g̕o a͝fte̕r͢ ̨t̀h̀e͜ ̨s̨ourc͘ȩ o͠f m̵y food́ t͠o͜ ̨dep̷l͏ȩt͏e ̴it ̨fa̸s̡t҉èr,҉ ̨woul̀d I̛..́.̶?̡" The spikes retracted, and the ink eater turned a bit, a tail wrapping around Henry, only to place him within a pentagram. "̛...͡ Al͘so͘, try͏ing͞ a̸ny̵th̷i͢ng ̷a̢g͏ai͡n̴s̷t m͏e̕ ̨w̵ill ́br̢èa̶k͏ ̢our̵ t̢ru̷c͘e͜...͟ ̴D͟o ̀k͠eép͝ th͏a̛t̴ ͢in͟ ͟m̡ind..́."͏ The ink eater then gave a low growl before delving into the ink, Bendy glaring after it. However, he began to feel the effects of his time running out as he placed a hand on his chest with a low groan, and proceeded to initiate the ritual.

Henry also groaned as he stirred awake, shifting groggily and rubbing his head. "What happened now?" He pulled his hand away when he felt the sticky tar on him, looking at it slowly dribble across his hand, before hearing Bendy speaking in some demonic dialect. He looked up at the ink demon with unease, watching him pace into the other pentagram before both symbols suddenly glowed a fiery illumination. "Bendy?" He looked around at the markings surrounding him, though when he tried to stand, he just couldn't, like he suddenly weighed five times his weight. Needless to say this unnerved him more, while Bendy continued uttering incantations, which made Henry start to burn inside, like he was being ripped in half in some manner. He groaned in pain while the ink demon knelt as well, a glow appearing above them surrounded by smaller holographic pentagrams, which moved to cross each other and hover over the other respectively. Henry couldn't keep awake before the portion of energy above him absorbed into him and he passed out again, while Bendy was also having trouble keeping attentive, but he fought through the fatigue and absorbed the energy from Henry. He let out a groan from the new soul, which instantly began modifying his body; the ink around him traveled up his form and expanded in size, while his fingers elongated into claws, and his feet grew stout talons. Ink kept building his body into a more efficient and demonic form, growing a long slender tail that lashed and swayed, the end speared dangerously, along with a sorts of thorns, and large wings sprouting from his back. They didn't seem to manifest any membrane, but then again, wings made from non-avian material would be a moot design. Bendy growled at the reshaping of his body, feeling his horns growing as well, and his teeth becoming sharp like scissors. He held a hand to his face as though he'd been enduring a headache, and lowered the limb when his transforming was complete, revealing his eyes now as sharp red eyes without pupils, which blinked distantly as he turned his head to look himself over, stretching the wings and tail out. He smirked eerily at the new appendages, having achieved his goal, now able to roam the surface world free. The pentagrams then dimmed their glow, the room only lit by candlelight again; Bendy allowed himself a moment to relax and regain his bearings while Henry laid unconscious with a troubled expression. Bendy was exhausted as well, before moving to stand and pace over in much larger strides to pick up Henry, who was surprisingly still alive, and brought him over to a wall to lean against, setting him down easily. Henry lay slumped as he slept, while Bendy reformed back into his smaller visage, the demonic features retracting, and he stared at the human distantly. Now that they shared halves of each other's souls, he could feel that Henry indeed felt remorse for him, which confused him, but at the same time gave him an odd sense of relief.

After a while of processing things, Bendy wore a tired expression and moved to lay against Henry to relax. "... Not sure if I forgive you yet, Henry. But seems we're stuck together now..." He admitted lowly, before shutting his eyes to sleep, crossing his arms over his belly.

[angstphilosophy]

Unbeta’d and spontaneous

Some wall of text or one-shot relating to Mark and his brother Tom. @jiminy-krispies wanted some fluff this morning so I gave them some. LOLOL WRITTEN IN AN HOUR. I don’t know what to rate this but it’s probably K. T if I’m paranoid.

Mark when he was younger always had nightmares about the dark forests and void swallowing him up.

He frequently wakes up screaming and terrified, so much that he's always scared to go back to sleep in fear of seeing those desolated and hallow landscape eating him up again.

Luckily for him, Tom was always there to comfort him in his times of need "Shhh now, it's alright, aga, Tom's here," he would say.

Mark would quiet down and perhaps try to go back to sleep. His older brother always knew how to quiet the fears in his heart and chase away the demons.

He loved his brother so, and they knew it. They were closer than anyone would think; in a world of discrimination, they only had each other for comfort.

But no matter what, as much as Tom would try to be by his side, it did not completely wash away his greatest fear: losing Tom.

Mark had grew to become desensitized to those nightmares as the years came by, but the dreams that would always hit home in the heart would be those phantasms of losing Tom forever to the ruins. 

He never admitted as much to him.

Years later, after the rowdy teenage years trickled away for good, the two brothers successfully pursued what they wanted in life. For Tom, that meant the publication of TwoKinds as a statement to his early years of prejudice and attending a university to pursue a respectable career. For Mark, it meant becoming successful in YouTube where he met so many people that shared his dreams and even more fans that love and support his causes.

Far away in distance but their blood bond not necessarily severed, the two maintained close contact with one another. Life seemed to finally gave them their generous blessings. However, it wasn't until Mark felt a shot from the past that he was reminded of how much has changed.

Those scarring phantasmas came crawling back. While not as intense as it was in his earlier years, Mark felt his heart shaken to the very core. Emotionally disturbed, Mark rung up his brother on skype, not giving an ounce of care whether or not his brother had classes. 

The face of someone so familiar and alike to his own appeared on his computer, and Mark felt a rush of relief at seeing his brother so alive and well again

"Mark, is something the matter?" Tom was at first happy to see his brother of course, but years of fraternal intimacy had established an almost psychic sense between them. Rarely could the other get away with hiding their emotions from one another, and Mark seemed disturbed at the moment.

"Tom. I'm sorry, I just wanted to see you again after so long. I just..." Mark's voice was quiet and solemn, not unlike the cheerful and optimistic baritone that his fans were used to in his videos.

Serious, chocolate brown eyes met tired ones. "Did something happen? Mark, you know you can always tell me about anything."

Mark's inner self kicked him for being so dependent on his brother after so many years. For goodness sake, they're adults now! (Legally) Tom had his own dreams to pursue, and his own life to play out. Mark can't bog him down just because he had a few dark visions. Mark felt guilty and he wanted to end the call right there, but his mouth had a mind of its own.

"Nothing serious, just a nightmare..." it was barely a whisper, and Mark avoided his brother's eyes while the words limped from his lips.

Tom frowned. He could clearly see Mark's inner turmoil, and his heart ached to reach out and embrace him. Of course, he couldn't, but it was heartbreaking to see Mark fought with his inner self. It's painful to witness Mark self-flagellate himself for his Tom's sake, and he wanted to yell out to Mark to tell him to stop. If there anything that Tom wouldn't want Mark to do for his sake, it was to deny himself for Tom. Tom grew up alongside Mark to witness him grow out of his nightmares, and admittedly, while he was proud and happy that his brother (seemingly) could learn to hold himself up now, a tiny part of him hated that he felt remorseful at that. It was selfish of him, but Tom always wanted to be there for Mark and act as an anchor while Mark has his breakdowns. It was a small thing to give back to Mark for how he always livened up his day. His baby brother, always the optimist and light in his life, kept him going always in the face of prejudice and racism.

Old habits die hard, he suppose, if Mark's the one initiating contact again after so long. Well, throw both of them in prison. (This statement is ironic)

"Do you want to talk about it?" It was the same tone he always used for Mark when they were younger. He hoped it would still have the same effect as it always had in the past.

Luck was on his side. "No... ...well, yes."

Mark glanced up at his brother to see concern swimming in those dark brown eyes identical to his own. He sighed. "It's kind of stupid, you know? We're adults now, and these kinds of things shouldn't faze us as much as it should. Or at least, we should know how to handle it by now."

Mark managed a weak, playing smile, but it crumbled away at Tom's steel gaze. He continued. "You were there."

Tom broke his serious mantra to blink in surprise at Mark. This was new.

"I got over my nightmares, yeah, but I never told you about the ones that always got to me." Tiredness was evident on Mark's face, and Tom wished he could be there to hug Mark more than anything right now.

Mark kept going in a shaky voice. "I'm so afraid of losing you, Tom. I don't know what  I would do if one day you were to go and kick the bucket. It's childish of me to always hope that you would always be there for me, but if you haven't noticed already, I'm not exactly the most mature." This time, Mark gave a  self-degrading, bitter smile that not even Tom could knock off. "You taught me that I should always go for what I want in life, and to not let anything hold me back. Your words kept me going, and I don't think I can pick up my pieces after you're gone. I just..."

Mark broke eye contact again, and Tom figured it's time for him to reciprocate his thoughts.

"I feel the same, actually." It was quiet and solemn, but firm. Mark whipped his head back to face Tom in surprise.

"It's traditional to always leave one another here in America after growing up, but I don't think I can let go of the past." Tom looked Mark straight in the eye, and Mark, in a trance, held the gaze. "You mean so much to me, Mark, and I would be lying if I said you didn't have a positive impact on my life. Because you did. I don't know how (I probably do) you always do it, but even when you were younger, you always knew what to do and say in the bleakest of times. In times where I'm on the brink of giving up, you appear to me and encourage me to stand up and continue walking. You never give up, and your confidence leaks to everyone around you, to me, especially. "

Tom took a deep breath and continued. "You're special, Mark. Even when your life seemed crap as you grew older, you always pushed against all odds (another ironic statement) and trudged on the muddy path. I felt inspired." There was a moment of silence where the two avoided each other's gaze, but Mark was thinking. Finally, he spoke again. "Well, I didn't do it alone." Another moment of silence fell upon them again before Tom found his voice. 

He smirked. "Well, that's the lesson in this, isn't t?"

Mark nodded. "Screw traditions. I'm holding onto you for as long as I can, and I hope you're ready to bear me for a long time." A genuine, playful smile danced on his lips while he said this, and the tense atmosphere seemed to dissipate. He added, in a softer tone, "Just don't go and drop dead on me alright?"

Tom returned the smile. "Oh dear, I'm doomed aren't I?" But he nodded. "But don't worry, I won't be going anywhere soon. Just remember to take care of yourself, alright?"

Mark nodded and despite absurdness of it, attempted to give his brother an internet hug like he would always give his fans, to which his brother returned.

whOOPS THAT HAPPENED K BYE