#but i wanted to have the tentacles a sort of insect like feel to them

[a-s-levynn]

I have traveled far beyond the path of reason, take me back to Eden

edit: more context in the tags of the root post

[thewolfisawake]

The Abyssborn Part 7.5: Balmoral

The adapted being...is not something standard. As in it's not a typical creation and thus a bit to unpack. For the most part, the being is called 'The Devourer.' And no prizes for guessing what it does. It appearance wise is two major ways being that is seemingly comprised of this condensed swarm of 'insects,' much like how in cartoons swarms can take different forms to cause all this damage or what have you. The other is considered bestial, a large quadrupedal with it almost appearing that it is wreathed in these swarms. It has a maw more reminiscent of fantasy worms with teethy mouths or the ones with that split mouth. And it has claws that can sound deceptively soft. It also has more tentacle-like 'legs' that can sprout, with its ends looking more like sharpened appendages of say any insect you can name.

In terms of appearance, Balmoral suppresses much of any look that has to do with the Devourer. The most ever showing is that he has teef, as Kristen likes to call them, so sharper canines. Instead of like a snake as some might for vampires, it's a bit more like...the pincers of a spider. But there is an appearance if he ever 'devolved' towards it. Where the crystalline appearance of his true form is, it gets darker and has a wreathing sort of aura around it. He gains claws that are somewhat insectoid, somewhat exactly what you think of claws. And rather than or mixed with the hoarfrost, is what almost look like shadows crawling across his skin that on closer inspection look more like centipedes. And perfectly concealed until actually set upon is a more teethy maw. He does gain wings with one set more like a moth's wing and the other more like a dragonfly's (the layering I see being similar to beetles or ladybugs).

...Bal does not find this appearance pretty by any means and thus kinda just does not let it be seen and unless he was gone mentally, would likely be horrified and terrified of being seen in this state. But it is from the Devourer that he gains his 'd/sney princess' thing of communicating with insects. And that's what he'll say it is. But the truth is that is actually 'vermin' so the range is technically larger than what he states. However he usually sticks with moths because...well, they're the ones people find most palatable. It is actually because of this that he also has sensitivity in his hair. It's similar to the antennae (but no, it is not how he hears or communicates, he does still have ears and a voice after all).

As for what the Devourer does...well, it consumes. And it is able to consume anything. From physical deterrents like bone to poisonous sacs; to things normally used for fighting such as melee weapons and magic; to nonstandard things like divinity and energy; and can go all the way to consuming creation and creators alike. And it is not even for some huge endgame. It has all-encompassing need/want that the conclusion for solving is to consume. The one that Balmoral is adapted from could be considered more 'benevolent' than others. It is one that will cause calamity when awaken and is in 'a haze' when conscious. However it has an affection for the world it ended in and knowing that its active existence is detrimental, chooses to sleep instead.

And while Balmoral chooses to ignore it...there are parts of the Devourer that simply is in his being. The hunger is one of them and it is why he's noted as 'insatiable.' Food, drink, sex, knowledge, connection...all of it are means to keep himself sated. So he eats a lot, will look like he drinks to excess, has his reputation of a lover and seemingly always 'going for more.' The impulses for this hunger are like an incessant drone in his head and it annoys him greatly. However he's old enough to not process it as actual words and just a 'buzzing.' On the other hand Balmoral feels he has to do a part to keep the hunger in check because otherwise he'll act instinctually...which is normally very violent and lead to problems.

This is most prominent with sleeping with others. I will say, he is very much a typical fae that is very into sleeping with others normally. However it is also something of a need for him to see others. Mhoirbheinn is his lover but Balmoral cannot solely be with him because it puts Mhoirbheinn in danger. This danger comes from Balmoral's obsessive self that would lead to him fixating to a point of madness. Imagine those heart eyes sort of thing. And this madness stirs that Devourer part. Because in a sense, Balmoral's all-encompassing want is love. He's so in love with his partner that he wants nothing more than to have them wholly. He wants their everything completely. To be possessed and possess them fully. And again, the Devourer's answer to the want IS TO EAT THEM. So by not balancing his interaction and himself around his lover, Balmoral risks EATING him because he desires Mhoirbheinn THAT MUCH. (Is this my attempt to get Mhoirbheinn to understand that he is very much at risk? Maybe. Do I feel it is on deaf ears??? Unfortunately!)

Interestingly despite eating anything, there are preferences to the Devourer. It likes to eat dreams and 'fear' in a sense. Both instances, it's more of the creativity of individual and collective that comprise their dreams and how 'the imagination can create something far worse than described.' It likes these because it is something it inherently lacks. It sleeps but it cannot dream. It can incite fear but it cannot feel fear. So it experiences these through proxy of what is consumes. It also like destruction because of the unique sort of chaos that it causes and the unknown sort of mentality that will crop up during it.

Bal is a strangeness to the Devourer part because it is part to a whole...and the whole self is a being that can dream and feel fear and experience what it cannot. So it is actually pretty content with Balmoral's ignorance towards it because it passively experiences what normally is impossible for its being. Though it does lend itself to Balmoral's aversion to sleeping for long as dreaming is so very beautiful to it and is that part that wants to lull Bal to sleep for a very long time. He has stuff to do so he fights this urge a lot. And Balmoral channels his violence into when he has the chance. It's likely why he seems to do 'too much' for punishment or dealing in his enemies.

What makes the Devourer dangerous is sense of 'nullification' in that a lot of things do not seem to bother it. And in return...what it has consumed, it can do. So if it eats lightning, that motherfucker can belch lightning if it so pleased. So getting to 'bigger game' is a bad time for any place dealing with it. Basically the higher up in consumption it has been...the harder it is to kill it. But on the other hand with Balmoral, he doesn't show any of this aside from mentally adapting against those he's dealt with before.

As for weaknesses of the being...well, it is an existence that's hard to start to begin with. The Devourer's existence are ones that likely die very quickly and it is rare they excel at all. They consume so much and it isn't considered very efficient or effective. So they end up exhausting quickly and end up on some world to either die out or sleep. Sleep is actually a very effective thing against Balmoral. It's immeasurably pleasurable to a Devourer and bonus if you can concoct all sorts of dreams. Sleep-based curses and the like work a little too well on him and unless combated when it first strikes, it's gonna be a little to get him to rouse on his own. If even capable of that.

The other is from Balmoral's refusal to indulge this aspect of himself as often. Because of him not consuming 'bigger' and the like, Balmoral can't necessarily handle things a Devourer should. The bigger concepts...he can't straight up consume that. Maybe if he started indulging, he could but as it stands he can't. So in some sense it can take him out. He could also be overwhelmed by the Devourer's need to consume and take something his body cannot handle. Notably, something like this was the problem with the Corruption with him. It used the Devourer's instincts to further the Corruption with Balmoral, who is not able to just absorb the creation energy.

However, I will say as a caveat that Bal does have a passive sort of 'consumption' that makes radiating things like auras or divinity take longer to get to him. Like auras that cause fear and panic...it'd take longer to get to Bal simply because he has an aura that eats anything and when it gets filled (which it can), then Bal feels it. So it ends up being that Balmoral is either delayed in reaction or that he ends up in higher risk because he has to be hit with a higher dosage, which is gonna start fucking up him up faster and worse. 'Direct line' sort of effects such as gazing into the eyes, touch and the like do still work normally because there is nothing diffusing their effect in this case.

[mainswatch]

3 minutes to midnight game

#3 minutes to midnight game how to#

#3 minutes to midnight game code#

#3 minutes to midnight game series#

#3 minutes to midnight game code#

Boxed items are listed as "code/code" where the first code represents the box, and the second code describes the contents.On the other hand, I am an idiot, and this isn’t how puzzles are supposed to be solved, and there’s nothing more excruciating than the developers of a puzzle game asking if you need help! 3 Minutes to Midnight is out some time in 2019, so luckily I have time to figure out how good my tolerance for feeling stupid is. On the one hand, I like that this feels almost more like real life puzzle solving, and that the game both gives you logical solutions to find, but also treats you like you’re not an idiot. Instead of “Boy, I’ll need a lever to open this valve!” you get something more “I can’t get a grip on this with my hands.” There were a couple of instances like this in the demo, where I was encouraged because I was on the right track, but not given an overt clue as to where to go next - because 3 Minutes to Midnight also eschews the character saying something out loud to help you, like “Hm, the citronella is sort of working… If only I had a way to do with it!”. I kept thinking that I was basically doing the right thing, and couldn’t figure out what was missing. Partially because I am an idiot, but also because I have this learned behaviour that I can’t do a thing in a game unless it’s the right thing to do, I got stuck in a loop. I picked some up and tried to use it on the mosquitoes, and Betty rubbed it over her arms and noted that the mosquitoes didn’t bite her that time - but she still couldn’t walk past. So then I had a big pool of citronella-y sludge. I’d found some lemongrass, and there was a mangle right by said insects, and I know what citronella is. In 3 Minutes to Midnight, y’have to get past a big cloud of mosquitoes. 3 Minutes to Midnight is one of a very few games that lets you try stuff that sort of works, but isn’t quite right. If it’s neither of those, you’ll get an “I don’t want to do that,” or some other verbal clue telling you that tieing a harpoon to a bottle or whatever won’t work. Most puzzle games won’t let you do a meaningful interaction unless it’s a) funny or b) part of a puzzle solution. 3 Minutes to Midnight does this too, but takes it a little further. Recent point and click games, from your Thimbleweed Parks to your Unavoweds, have figured out that puzzles actually following some kind of logical thread make for ultimately more satisfying solves for the player. In one of the Legend of Kyrandia games you have to USE Teddy Bear WITH T-Rex to escape a lava cave.

#3 minutes to midnight game how to#

See, while DotT and the like taught me how to solve puzzles in games, that lesson boiled down to “trial and error”, because often the solution to a puzzle would be so obscure that it wouldn’t even make sense if you squinted. The game has a cool Saturday morning cartoon vibe to it that I was really into.īut the crux of a puzzle game are the puzzles of course, and Scarecrow have taken a slightly different approach. I was also a fan of what developers Scarecrow Studio describe as “high-def cartoon art”. She had a strong Laverne from Day of the Tentacle vibe. The cast of characters was suitably wacky: a raccoon, a man in a diving suit hunting a lake monster, and a girl playing host to three different personalities. I got to play as her in a short segment of B plot, so as not to spoil any of the puzzles in the main story. That’s, like, two retros for the price of one.īetty Anderson, a plucky amnesiac teen, is one of two playable protagonists. In this case the game is set in the ‘40s, and the character I played is wearing a poodle skirt and a letterman jacket. Point and click puzzle adventures have had a bit of a resurgence over the last few years, and it seems like every one of them kind of markets itself like it’s the first one to bring back the genre (3 Minutes to Midnight’s Steam page says “Yeah, puzzles - remember those?”, as if there hasn’t been a single puzzle in a game since 1989).

#3 minutes to midnight game series#

Those old Lucasfilm/LucasArts ones like Day of the Tentacle and the Monkey Island series were some of the first games I ever played, and they taught me how puzzles in games are supposed to be solved. I played it at EGX last weekend, because I really like PnCs, as we purists definitely call them (do not check that). 3 Minutes to Midnight is not, as my brain keeps suggesting, a sequel to a classic Maiden track, but a point and click adventure game.

[krizaland]

Yandere Zim X Male Reader? There isn't many out there, and I sort of had a song in mind if you would like to listen: Rory by Foxing.

You got it, friend!

Be warned: There are themes of unrequited love, wasps and a graphic depiction of wasp stings ahead!

Here's the song that was used btw

From the moment he met you, Zim found himself captivated by you.

From your gentle eyes to your kind soul, Zim found you utterly fascinating.

You were nothing like any of the other humans! You weren’t ugly, and you didn’t even stink!

You may have been friends with Dib but that didn’t stop you from sticking up for him whenever Dib tried to expose him!

At first, Zim decided to use you as a good source of information as well as a way to keep up appearances without drawing too much attention to himself.

However, the more time he spent with you, Zim started to feel…strange to say the least.

His PAK would spark around you and his squeedilyspooch felt like it was tied up in knots!

“Computer! What are these HORRIBLE feelings inside of me?! What has that Y/N-human done to Zim?!” Zim demanded as he pointed to the ceiling.

“WELL….UM…”

“C’mon spit it out already!”

“WELL IT SEEMS THAT YOU HAVE FALLEN IN LOVE…”

Zim’s jaw hit the ground.

“WHAT?! ME?! IN LOVE?! WITH A HUMAN?! IMPOSSIBLE! Preform a full body bioscan!”

Zim’s computer sighed as a few mechanical tentacles wrapped around Zim.

“SCANNING…SCANNING….”

After a few minutes, the tentacles retracted,

“BIOSCAN COMPLETE. NO ILLNESSES DETECTED.”

“N-No! No! This can’t be! No invader can even experience love! Especially not for the enemy! What am I going to do?! ARGH! Computer! Create an antidote for my love illness!” Zim commanded as he tugged on his antennas.

“UM THERE REALLY ISN’T A CURE…”

“LIES!! Surely there has to be some way to get rid of these HORRIBLE FEELINGS!” Zim wailed dramatically.

“WELL…THERE IS ONE WAY TO GET RID OF THEM..”

“What are you waiting for! Tell me! Tell me the solution!!” Zim demanded as his voice quivered a bit.

“THE ONLY WAY YO GET RID OF YOUR FEELINGS IS TO ASK Y/N OUT..” The computer lied

“WHAT?! YOU WANT ZIM TO DATE THE ENEMY?! ARE YOU INSANE?!”

“Nyeh!”

Zim’s tirade was interrupted by Minimoose.

“Stay out of this, Minimoose! This doesn’t concern you!”

“Nyeh!”

“Aww! It’s sweet that you care about your master but don’t worry, Zim will be fine!”

“Nyeh!”

“Eh?! Ask Y/N out on a date to keep up appearances?! Never! didn’t I already make it clear that was a bad idea?! There’s no way I’d possibly show that kind of weakness to the enemy. But what if…”

Zim hummed for a moment as he stroked his chin.

“I’ve got it! I’ll ask Y/N out on a date to keep up appearances! Yes…I’ll simply use these feelings as a way to appear more normal so I can continue my mission!”

Minimoose was a bit annoyed but happily encouraged his master

“Nyeh!”

“I think you’re cool too, Minimoose! Now then, how to woo Y/N…Maybe one of those love note thingys.” Zim muttered to himself as he begin typing away at his keyboard.

After a few minutes of typing, Zim cracked a wicked smile.

“Excellent! With this loove note there’s no way Y/N could possibly resist my proposal!”

Zim burst into maniacal laughter as he printed the note.

“Now all thats left to do is deliver it!”

“OOOH!! OHHH!!! CAN I BRING THE NOTE TO RACECAR?!!” GIR squealed as he reached for the note.

“No GIR! I’m not going to risk this note getting damaged because of you!” Zim snapped as he snatched away the note.

GIR did like that answer.

He let out a loud shriek and threw himself to the ground.

He begun to kick and cry as loud as his voice chip would let him.

“ENOUGH! You may deliver the note to Y/N!” Zim grumbled as he held out the note.

“YAY!!!!!!!”

And with that, GIR grabbed the note with his mouth and flew off with it.

“Ugh, I better make sure GIR doesn’t ruin all of my hard work.” Zim huffed as he threw on his disguise and followed after GIR.

It wasn’t long before GIR managed to find you.

You were sitting on a bench in the park next to Dib, who seemed nervous about something.

“Dib? Are you ok? You’re acting kinda…twitchy”

“Twitchy? I’m not twitchy! Heh! It’s just um…the air! Yeah the air is really cold today!” Dib lied as he rubbed the back of his head.

“Dib it’s almost June. It’s like 88 degrees out here. What’s really going on?” You pressed as you gave Dib a sympathetic look.

Dib looked down at his feet and took in a deep breath.

“Ok, I’ll tell you but you have to promise you won’t be grossed out by me.”

“Dib, you’re my best friend! Not even hunting the most disgusting cryptid can make me grossed out by you!” You reassured with a chuckle.

Dib took in another deep breath as he turned to face you

“Y/N, I know we’ve been friends for like a really long time now and….well….”

“Well what?”

Dib swallowed thickly as he tugged at his shirt collar

“I think I might want to be more than friends!”

Dib’s words flew out a mile a minute before he clamped a hand over his mouth.

“Wait?! Are you serious?!” Your eyes lit up a bit.

“Gah! I knew this was a bad idea! Just forget I said anything!” Dib whimpered as he buried his face in his hands.

“No no! I’m actually really happy you told me that, Dib! Because…I want to be more than friends too!” You reassured as you put a hand on his shoulder.

Dib looked up at you and blinked in shock.

“Wait? Really?”

“Yes really! I’ve actually been wanting to ask you out for a while but I wasn’t sure if you felt the same.” You admitted sheepishly as you rubbed the back of your head.

“What?! You had feelings for me this whole time?! And you didn’t even- You know what? Who cares? All that matters is that we both feel the same about each other! Right?” Dib still seemed a bit skeptical.

“Exactly! That’s the spirit!” You cheered as you threw your arms in the air, smacking poor GIR out of the sky.

THUMP!

SPLOOSH!

GIR fell face first into a puddle, soaking Zim’s love note.

However it wouldn’t have mattered whether or not the love note was in tact. For Zim had witness the entire exchange between you and Dib and was devastated.

He let out a pained chuckle as he grabbed the soggy note from GIR’s mouth.

Zim was about to confront Dib when-

BONK!

THUMP!

Zim had walked right into s tree, causing a wasp nest to fall right on his head.

Zim let out a blood curdling scream as the wasps begun to attack him from all directions!

Soon he began to run amok, with more wasps trailing behind him!

It wasn’t long before Zim managed to make it back to his base.

Two robotic arms came down from the ceiling,

POP!

They pulled the wasp nest off of Zim’s head and chucked it out into the front yard.

Zim let out a pained groan as his grotesquely swollen face throbbed with wasp venom and glowing green pus.

The robotic arms carefully peeled off Zim’s disguise and another arm carried him down to his lab.

After a refreshing chemical shower, Zim’s face had returned to normal!

However, while his face had healed, his feelings were still in shambles.

He picked up the note and went back up to the kitchen.

Zim sunk to his knees as he shakily held the soggy note in his hands.

“I wrote you a letter, asked my robot to send it but it took to the sea before you could’ve read it…”

Zim’s grip tightened on the note as a few tears trickled down his cheeks.

“Retreated to snow capped waters of the unknown. Extracted my soul straight from my body! but glowing and red…And I swear that sweat would envelop your arms if you broke down and held it!”

“I swear I’m a good man-“ -Zim took in a heavy breath- “-I swear I’m a good man…”

Zim sniffled a bit,

“So why don’t you love me back?”

He looked down at the note in his hands.

“So why don’t you love me back?”

Zim let out a deep growl as he chucked the soggy note into the window.

“Instead of twisting up words you just say there in silence! In wind burnt homes sighing rays from a sunset!”

Zim rose to his feet and stormed towards the window.

As he peeled the soggy note off the window, he couldn’t help but notice that the wasp nest was still in the front yard.

“And all I could hear was the sound of the wasp nest, my head made a home for the hum of the insects!”

Zim took another glance down at the soggy note he had peeled off the window.

“But my hands shake and shudder at the mention of half written reasons we’ll only be friends!”

Zim’s fist curled around the note and punched the window.

“I swear I’m a good man…. I swear I’m a good man…”

Zim squeezed his eyes shut and let out a sob

“So why don’t you love me back?”

His hand slid down the window.

“So why don’t you love me back?!”

Zim threw the soggy note to the ground and stomped on it

“So why don’t you love me back?!”

He threw his head to the ceiling and shrieked

“So why don’t you love me back?!”

He clutched the sides of his head and wailed his plea once again,

“So why don’t you love me back?!”

Zim melted back down to his knees.

“So why don’t you love me back….”

A louder sob racked his body as Zim felt his world crash down around him.

How humiliating.

He was Irk’s finest invader! How could he be so wounded by one pitiful human?!

No, pitiful wasn’t the right word to describe you. In truth, Zim felt that handsome was a better fit.

Despite how devastated he was, Zim still couldn’t stop wanting you.

The need for your love sparked a fire deep within him.

The fire burned violently throughout Zim’s body! Pulling him out of his depression and making him more confident than ever!

Zim wanted you for some much more than appearances!

He wanted you to be his and his alone!

By taking you away from him, Dib had just made the biggest mistake of his life.

Zim let out a thunderous maniacal laugh as he raised his hands to the ceiling!

He put his disguise back on, grabbed a blaster, and hopped into his Voot.

“Prepare yourself, foolish Dib-monkey! I am coming to reclaim what’s rightfully mine! You shall rue the day you took Y/N away from Zim!”

[cant-blink]

Prisoner, Ch. 1

Summary: Gigan and Megalon meet a young Ghidorah. Gigan is intent on converting the child into their pirate crew, whether he likes it or not. 

-

What the hell happened here?

Glancing between the red planet ahead of them and the radar meant to detect life, both seemed desolate. But that can’t be right, he’s heard all about this world and the rare fauna it held, valued on the exotic pet black-market. Yet the sensors were picking up no life down below. Not even a plant.

Gigan rechecked the coordinates, just to ensure that they made it to the right world. Yep, it was and he wondered if there was some sort of malfunction.

He glanced back, seeing Megalon play-wrestling with Scoli. He said nothing to the beetle and centipede, as he directed the ship to orbit this world. Maybe they were in a bad spot? But as they moved, there continued to be no signs of life down below. Odd, very odd indeed. It was almost li-

Wait, there we go! The radar was finally picking up life signatures by the world’s single giant ocean. That’s a relief.

He lets out a soft breath, a smile growing on his beak as his hooked claw reached out and delicately pushed some of the buttons on the control panel. He glanced back again at his crewmates.

“Hey,” he started, getting their attention. “We’re going in for a landing.”

And that’s the only warning they were getting to brace themselves before he plunged the ship down into the atmosphere with speed. Flames erupt from the front of the ship and the floor began to tremble slightly before increasing in intensity. The emergency light flashed as warnings came to the control panel’s computer to slow the fuck down! But Gigan held firm, his beak cracking into a wide grin. 

The screaming coming from behind him only encouraged his behavior as they cut through the last layer of cloud.

Cutting it a bit short, he leveled out the ship close enough to the ground to whip up a huge plume of dirt and debris. Their momentum held firm, the landscape zooming beneath them at breakneck speed.

Looming up from the horizon was a mountain, that they were heading straight for!

“GIGAN, STOP IT!!” he heard shouting and he was pretty sure it was Megalon. He lets out a laugh before activating the anti-gravity devices to lift the ship up higher to avoid a mountain range. There was the ocean just beyond, purple in color. Here we go. He finally brought the ship to a halt and began hovering it down towards the ground. Easy now, easy... Putting down the gears, the ship landed delicately onto the rocky shore. 

Perfect, as always!

Turning towards his crew, he saw Scoli clinging to a wall and Megalon stuck on his back and he shook his head slightly. But he did nothing to help up his clumsy friend as he refocused on the control panel. 

“Get ready to go. I’m going to activate the cameras; I want full 360 view of the place.” He glanced out a window. “Don’t want to miss out on an opportunity, after all.”

-

He’s almost done with this world.

Its lifeforms were quite large and plentiful, and so many of them had young. Perfect conditions for harvesting lifeforce and fueling his growth. He’s already gathered enough victims into his bio-sac dome to make the journey to the next world and was now occupying his time until his meal was ready for consumption. Nothing more fun than a round of exploration, and senseless murder!

He had just found the ocean, and he was playing with it. Its water seemed to have solidified into a thick purple substance, like gelatin, and it seemed to be alive in and of itself. It would rise up in thick tendrils and nudged against his legs in an attempt to engulf him; it reminded him of his bio-sac’s tentacles snatching up anything that came too close. 

Luckily, it was very easy for him to pull free and it only encouraged his curiosity. He would bite into the jelly and his teeth would penetrate a transparent layer. There was the taste of salt-water in the fluid that poured into his maw. 

Blegh.

He wasn’t a fan of eating it, and he lets the pieces splatter onto the ground from his mouth. But biting chunks out of it was still very fun indeed. What was more fun, though, was him spotting a creature further out to sea. It wasn’t a species he’s met before, and how could he resist flying out to meet it?

This prey was the largest creature he’s met in his short life so far, about half his size. It stood upright, without front appendages beyond a few small tentacles at the front of its body. Its disproportionately large feet were gouging chunks out of the gelatin ocean as it walked on its surface. It had a crest structure jutting out the back of its head and a large glowing... eye on either side of it, glowing a bright amber. 

It seemed so blissfully unaware of his presence as he flew over it, as if it was confident its sheer size would protect it from harm. No doubt, it had no natural predators on this measly planet, but he was anything but natural.

He opened his jaws and shot flaming energy balls at it. The thick purple liquid rippled out as some of his fireballs struck the surface, explosions coming up around his prey. It lets out an echoing booming cry and the young Ghidorah does not let up. He shoots another trio of fireballs, one of them striking its tail and severing it to fall into the disturbed ocean. The tentacles thrashed around as its cries grow more high-pitched in distress.

Chuckling to himself, the young dragon swooped in from behind, his talons out to sink into the creature’s flesh. It began to struggle, but he was not to be dislodged as his three jaws surged forward to tear into its flesh. Rip it apart bit by bit.

After a moment spent torturing this creature, his wings began to flap. Luckily, this world had a thick atmosphere with light gravity, allowing him to take off with relative ease even with this added burden.

There was a bit of a suction effect trying to pull it off the ocean, as if the creature was gripping it, but with another tug, he ripped it free. Chunks of the purple gelatin fell from its feet and back onto the rest of the ocean.

He flew this creature back to the beach, and dropped it onto land without care. Its collision onto the beach was not a pleasant one from the sound of it and it seemed to struggle getting itself back up. He doesn’t allow it to recover as he landed beside it, his jaws clamping onto different parts of its mangled broken body before lifting it into the air.

Hearing the cries of fear and pain as he slammed his prey into the ground repeatedly was like music to his ears and always had him wanting to hear more. He hoped this was a plentiful species, as he was starting to run out of toys to play with.

It was a sure sign that soon, it’ll be time to move on. 

Dropping his still-living prey onto the ground one last time, he planted a foot onto it to keep it pinned and leaned down to start stripping flesh from its body to devour. He didn’t require flesh to survive, he needed only to sap their life energy. But it was still fun to taste, to rip apart, even better if they were still alive while he did so.

His right head caught sight of something flashing through the sky over the mountains. His left head focused on it as well as he fed, his large eyes taking in every detail.

Not a meteor, but a ship. It was landing somewhere much further up the beach.

Oh, good! More toys to play with! It’s not often that prey just hand themselves on a silver platter like this.

Licking his bloodied lips, he shifted his foot to where its giant amber eyes were, assuming this must be the head. The creature wasn’t even struggling anymore, even as he placed all his weight onto that foot, crushing it beneath his weight. Feeling the bones break apart and the blood spreading over his sole, he pulled his foot away to admire his work for a moment before turning away. He started running towards the ship, his wings fanning open wider to catch the wind until he built up enough speed to kick off the ground and fly into the air.

Let’s have some fun.

-

“Ghidorah?”

Megalon tilted his head, looking back at the screen Gigan was watching, spotting a small kaiju flying in. The cyborg had the image zoomed in and enhanced, and he can see a three headed creature making a bee-line straight for them. The beetle has never met this infamous ‘Ghidorah’ before, so he wasn’t sure what he was expecting. This, however, wasn’t it.

“That’s Ghidorah?” he couldn’t help but ask. This was the creature that killed off Gigan’s Masters? The one the cyborg was lusting over? The one the beetle declared as his rival? THIS was the cosmic terror?!

Well, beating this thing to a pulp was going to be easier than he thought and he was about to hurry outside to do just that when Gigan speaks up.

“He’s not my Ghidorah,” he told him with audible confusion and disbelief. “This is a whole new one. I never heard of another Ghidorah being created.” The cyborg chuckled slightly as he watched the screen. This hydra was a lot smaller than the one he knew, a youngster most likely. Was his Ghidorah breeding somewhere out there and this was one of his offspring? Isn’t that very interesting...

“What do we do with it?” Scoli asked.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Gigan chortled. “We invite him to join us. A Ghidorah, even a young one like this, will be more valuable than anything else we can poach from this planet.”

“If he’s so valuable, shouldn’t we sell him?” Megalon asked with an edge to his voice. He didn’t want to have this... thing with them, so he’s willing to say anything to get rid of this little dragon. Gigan’s Ghidorah or not, Megalon didn’t want the potential competition for the cyborg’s attention.

Gigan was more than aware of what the beetle was trying to do and he couldn’t hold back a smirk at Megalon’s jealousy. “No amount of money would be good enough.” He heard the ‘hmph’ from the insect and turned back to look at the little hydra. “Like it or not, Megalon, we’re keeping him.” He looked towards Scoli. “Clear out one of the containment units, one of the heavy duty ones, just in case. We’ll meet you outside.”

Scoli nodded softly before turning and scurrying away towards the lower decks. Gigan spent another moment to watch the little dragon come in for a landing nearby before opening the doors and moving towards the exit.

Megalon rushed to keep up. “But what if it’s not a Ghidorah and it’s just some random thing that LOOKS like a Ghidorah?” What did he have to say to discourage this cyborg’s interest in this youngster?

“You’re being silly now, babe,” Gigan said with humor before continuing. “I know what a Ghidorah looks like. There’s no mistaking them for anything else.”

“But... but... He’s so tiny! Are we really going to play baby-sitter until he’s all grown-up?”

“I play baby-sitter with you all the time, soooooo...” Gigan drawled before he looked over his shoulder at him, knowing exactly how to shut this beetle up. “You’re not trusting me, Megalon. Acting all jealous over a kid of all things.” He maintained hard eye-contact with the insect. “Keep yourself in check, or I’ll start reconsidering our friendship.”

Megalon froze for a moment. Did Gigan just call him- “I’m not jealous!” the beetle stated defensively, fumbling over his thoughts a bit as he tries to come up with a valid excuse for his behavior. “I just don’t think this is a good-”

Suddenly, the sound of an explosion came and the ship’s foundation shook. Gigan knew immediately what was happening; the damn kid was attacking their ship! Without another word towards Megalon, he rushed outside and turned in the direction the young Ghidorah should be. There he was, shooting... fire at the hull.

He never knew his own Ghidorah to spit fire. In the time they spent together in Nebulan captivity, he’s only ever seen him shoot lightning. Very interesting...

The little one very quickly caught sight of his movement and all three of those heads turned towards him.

Silence...

-

Well, this wasn’t what he was expecting.

He was expecting small lesser creatures to be in this ship; that’s always been the case in his experience. But what came out was no small creature, oh no. This one was damn near twice his size!

He’s never seen anything so huge in his short life; in fact, he’s never met a fellow kaiju before. He was still young enough that different races still held novelty to him, and his eyes took in every detail. The creature had green flesh and gold... scales? And three wings, and one eye. And 2 extra appendages that ended in silver hooks. A weapon, that’s what this thing is.

But he was not one to be easily intimidated; even as young as he is, a Ghidorah was still not a creature to mess with. Besides, can you imagine how much life-force he can syphon out of this thing? Sure, it’s not as potent as the souls of children, but the sheer amount would more than make up for it. It would be enough to fuel TWO trips to the next world!! This thing looks very pointy and sharp though, so best to be carefu-

“Hey, kid,” the creature spoke in an odd mixture of a natural and mechanical voice. Really, the fact it talks at all was most surprising. The young Ghidorah never had anyone actually talk to him in a way he understands. Supposed it was an inevitability, but what now?

Flee, or try to kill it for that bounty of lifeforce? Never before has he ever had to make that kind of decision. He usually just defaulted to the latter.

“Ghidorah, right?”

Wait, how did it know his name...?

...

Heh, seems his reputation has preceded him. But then, what did this thing want? It knew who he was and yet doesn’t run in fear? His suspicions were starting to overcome his pride. For the first time, he engaged in this conversation. “Who are you?”

“Name’s Gigan,” the creature said in a strangely casual tone that did nothing to ease the young dragon.

“How do you know who I am?”

“Heh, I know another Ghidorah,” he told him. “Great friends, him and I. Used to work together in another solar system. A pleasant surprise to see another one here. You’ve been having fun, I see.”

The young dragon narrowed a pair of eyes. Another Ghidorah? He had no idea there were other Ghidorah out there. The idea any of them would be friends with this thing was dubious though. 

“Why did you come here?” He had no intentions on stopping his questioning, especially not while he was still on edge about this whole situation. 

"Glad you asked. Y'see, I travel around, stripping worlds of their resources, and life," At once the young Ghidorah's eyes lit up a bit with interest, and this 'Gigan' seemed to notice as he chuckled. "Yeah, sounds familiar, doesn’t it? Exactly why I worked so well with the other Ghidorah, when our goals align perfectly, huh?" He took a step closer and the dragon's body tensed up, still apprehensive. Thankfully, Gigan comes no closer. "I came to this world looking for a good time. And here we are. Fate works in strange ways, bringing us together, huh?"

The youngster can already tell where this was going before this funny-looking creature said it.

“How can I not give you the opportunity to join me? Whaddya say, kid? Interested?” 

The hydra doesn’t answer or move for a long moment. So many red flags were shooting up in his heads, and he was unsure if it was just his natural instinct to distrust other lifeforms. He just... didn’t like this thing. He didn’t like how it spoke to him or the words it was saying. It just... seemed manipulative.

He should get out of here. Whatever this thing has planned, it wasn’t good and he takes a step back. 

His instincts seemed to prove correct as the creature’s beak twisted into a smirk at seeing him step back. His tone too seemed to change, still friendly but with an edge laced into it. 

“You sure you want to do that? It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

The little Ghidorah said nothing, glaring at this creature before shaking his heads. Yeah, it was time to leave. He should fly back to his bio-sac and devour what he can before vacating this planet. Now. The urgency in his instincts only got worse when he spotted movement by the door to find another giant kaiju, roughly the same size as the one in front of him. It wasn’t as sharp-looking, but it did have pointy front limbs. It had no wings that he can see and it had a strange... horn between giant golden eyes that looked to be made of a bunch of little eyes.

“Such a shame,” the pointy one continued, the red jewel on that forehead starting to glow. “I was hoping you’d be smarter than the last Ghidorah.”

The youngster couldn’t ignore the red-flags anymore and he attempted to make a run for it. But no sooner had he turned his heads than he felt a jolt as a red beam erupted from the creature, hitting the scales in his chest.

Thankfully, his underside had heavy plated armor that held up well, but it was still enough force to stumble him back. He screeched in anger before regaining his balance, facing the two giant kaiju.

Seemed he had no choice but to stand and fight, in what would be the most dangerous battle he’s ever faced in his young life.

[clareguilty]

Kinktober Prompt #4

So not only is this prompt late, but its not even the one i said i would have done today because of writers block. Anyways, i hope y’all like weird, magic, tentacle smut.

Witch!Mercy/f!reader Rating: Explicit | Tentacles, magic rituals, dubcon, face sitting… i went HAM y’all Word Count: ~1800

Read it on AO3

You probably should have listened when your friends warned you not to go near the Witch of the Wilds. She was dangerous. Wicked. A powerful sorceress and a master of life and death. She had bewitched many, committed unspeakable evils. And you were intent on seeking her out.

 Her lair was hidden deep in the woods, and it took you quite a while to find it. Still, you strode up to the heavy wooden door with as much confidence as you muster.

 The door opened on its own. Swinging inward slowly with a high creak. Okay. You probably should have expected something like that in all honesty. This was the Witch of the Wilds.

 You tentatively stepped inside, peering around in the dark entry way. The second both of your feet had cross the threshold. You blacked out.

 The first thing you saw when you woke was the most beautiful woman you had ever seen.

 “An angel?” you asked, trying to clear the fog from your head. You couldn’t move, but that would make sense if you were dead.

 She chuckled, a low sound that seemed to fill the air around you. “You’re sweet, but I’m far from holy.”

 She was sitting a little ways away, large book propped open on her crossed knees. A feather quill hovering in the air beside her.

 “You came looking for me? I assume you wanted something.” She closed the book and set it aside. You couldn’t take your eyes off of her. Your initial assumption had been far too innocent. This was no angel. She was a temptress. You dragged your gaze away from her legs and saw the wickedness in her eyes. “I give nothing for free, so I’ve already taken the liberty of arranging my payment. Once I am finished, we can discuss your request.”

 You were bewildered. What was she talking about? You attempted to sit up, but you had hardly moved an inch before you realized that you were tied down. Stripped naked and bound to a large wooden table. The sigils carved in the wood left a pit in your stomach.

 “The Witch of the Wilds,” you breathed.

 “I guess that’s what most call me these days,” she tutted. She was at a long table covered in instruments and vials and parchment. “It has been quite a while since someone sought me out deliberately. I can’t wait to learn what it is you want. Unfortunately, it’s the night of the new moon and I’ve been wanting to perform this ritual for a long time. I hope you don’t mind if I take my end of the deal first.”

 Your confusion was quickly giving way to fear. You may have bitten off more than you could chew.

 “It was very lucky that you showed up when you did. Not many people travel on a waning moon. I just happen to have everything else I need all ready here.” She was mixing some sort of paste in a stone bowl. “It’s amazing how many materials one has to gather just to get yet      another    material.”

 You tensed as she turned to you, carrying the bowl to the table you were fastened to. There was no way in hell you were eating that.

 You didn’t have to. Instead, she began painting sigils across your body. Teasing you when she first slathered the cold substance right across your chest. She was deliberate. Careful. Occasionally taking a thin metal instrument to scrape away at the paste until it was the desired shape. It was a strange sensation, especially as the paste began to harden and darken against your skin.

 “What kind of ritual is this?” you asked, already dreading the answer.

 “A summoning,” she answered simply. “I require materials from a dark world being. The being will not come to this realm without an offering. That’s where you come in.”

 She took in your expression and quickly added, “Of course, you’ll survive the ritual. There’s no need to be worried. Everything should be finished by dawn.”

 You decided you didn’t want to ask any more questions.

 The painstaking process was soon complete, and you had been covered in sigils from your neck to your toes. She even adjusted the bindings on your ankles, spreading your legs wide before tying them back even tighter than before. You were ashamed, embarrassed to be so exposed, but the Witch was unfazed. She procured a large shallow basin and placed it between your thighs.

 You watched her carefully arrange a series of items in the basin. Powders, herbs, stones, and strange things from jars. The last addition was a few drops of glowing blue liquid.

 “Thank you for being so patient with me,” the Witch smiled at you, opening her large book once more. “If you could keep quiet for just a moment longer, I’ve got the incantation and we’ll be all set.”

 She began the incantation. It was a language you had never heard, and it sounded strange and uncomfortable to your ears. Every passing second made you more and more afraid of what was to come.

 It had been nearly a minute of recitation when you felt it. The sigils on your skin began to feel warm and strange. Buzzing like an insects wings. It wasn’t uncomfortable but you opened your mouth to scream anyways. You had barely parted your lips when a palm firmly clamped over your lips. The witch hadn’t finished her incantation.

 Next, the materials in the basin between your legs erupted in bright blue flames. You screamed against the witch’s palm, thrashing in your bonds as the flames began to take shape, opening into some kind of portal.

 The portal was pitch black. The witch watched it with bright, eager eyes, waiting for what would come through. She finished her incantation with a smile, setting the book aside as she watched the flames. They licked at the insides of your thighs, but didn’t burn. Just as the sigils glowed and buzzed against your skin.

 At last, something reach through the portal. A thin, dark tendril snaked its way out, tapping along the wood of the table until it found your thigh. You immediately tried to scream again, but the witch covered your mouth before you could make a sound.

 “Please keep quiet,” she asked, sounding more exasperated than anything. “We wouldn’t want to scare it with your noise.”

 The tendril snaked up your leg, tapping along the sigils before coming to the apex of your thighs. Apparently, that was just what it was looking for, because it began rubbing against the sensitive flesh there. You tried to move away, but you were bound too firmly.

 Your panic only increased tenfold when another tendril brushed against your knee. They stroked you between your legs. You felt a wave of shame as you realized that it felt good.  

 And then one of them pressed inside you. Moving back and forth in a familiar motion. Your screams against the witch’s palm turned to moans of pleasure.

 “Ah,” she grinned. “Perfect.” Her cheeks were flushed, and she was watching the creature with rapt fascination. “If only I could have served as the offering myself.”

 She watched you. Watched your mouth fall open as the tendrils worked their way inside of you. Stretching you and filling you. Several more had emerged from the portal, wrapping around your legs and up to your chest. Occasionally, one of the tendrils would fill you with a warm, tingling liquid and retreat back into the portal, only to be replaced by another shortly after.

 “We had best keep you quiet,” she mused. “And I’m feeling a little bit left out of the fun. What if I…?” She chewed her lip. Nodding as she came to a decision.

 She climbed onto the table, pushing her already revealing skirt to the side as she swung her thigh over your head. “Be a good girl for me,” she murmured as she lowered herself to your lips.

 Your tongue met her pussy and you moaned against her. She made an appreciative sound, grinding down to meet you.

 You did the best you could to serve the Witch of the Wilds. The tendrils between your legs made it difficult to stay focused. They brought you to orgasm again and again, never relenting. You wanted to do the same for the witch.

 She rode your face until your jaw was tired; then she freed one of your hands so you could use your fingers. You never backed down until she nearly collapsed, sliding off of the table and disappearing into a heap on the floor. You were a fucked out mess, still subject to the tendrils that never seemed to tire. You were a mess, covered in whatever it was they created and nearly mindless with pleasure.

 The witch recovered after several minutes, gathering up a number of empty jars and collecting the substance that was pooling between your legs.

 And then the portal closed.

 It was abrupt. You were so lost in bliss that you hardly even noticed until the witch was removing you from your bonds.

 “It must be dawn,” she noted as she began wiping off the jars to put them away. “Here.” She lifted you from the table, carrying you with ease to a large basin across the room. “Rest as long as you need to. I’ll bring food and wine in just a bit.”

 The water in the basin – probably enchanted – was soothing. And it eased your aches as you ate a plate of fruit and nuts that the witch brought. Unfortunately, the paste that had created the sigils on your body had stained your skin, and you were still covered in strange markings after it was washed away. It was only after you were wrapped in a soft robe and settled in a large chair by the fireplace that she spoke.

 “Thank you for assisting me with that. It is a great help to me. I will now grant you anything you ask in return.” She smiled warmly. You were still entranced by her beauty, even after all you had been through.

 “Let me stay with you.”

 “Excuse me?” The witch asked.

 “I came all this way because I wished to learn magic. Powerful magic. And after everything that happened last night, I would like to become your student. That ritual was… amazing. And I would gladly be your offering again on the next new moon.” You rushed in your explanation, hoping she wouldn’t turn you away.

 Instead she laughed. “Well, I won’t be needing to perform that particular ritual any time soon. But I can think of many other ways in which you can assist me.” Her lips curled, and your heart began to race at the shine in her eyes. “Very well, you can remain here with me. It would be nice to have a willing subject for my spells and experiments.”

Ko-Fi | Paypal | Masterlist

[oldbluethings]

The Cold Ones (Doctor Strange fanfic)

This is a story I've been working on for a while, but haven't really come close to finishing yet. This fic is my side piece, basically.

It's the sequel to Spark and Fade (and also Children of the Old Moon, but not as much) so it might help to read SnF first. I thought I would start posting bits to Tumblr as I finished, mostly because I hate having WIPs on AO3, but I have a lot of unfinished things and I get restless, so... I'll post this to AO3 when I finish it, which will be in approximately three years.

Anyway, most people following me are Dr. Strange fans, so why the F not? Here's the first bit. I'm not doing a summary.

Also, I apparently can't do 'read more' line breaks anymore on this hellsite, so y'all just gonna have to scroll past this shit if you don't want to read it.

The Cold Ones, ch 1

Fandom: Doctor Strange, MCU

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Stephen Strange/Karl Mordo

Genre: magical mystery, angst, smut, action/adventure

Characters: Stephen Strange, Wong, Karl Mordo, Everett Ross, Original Characters

Warnings: nah

***

He swore he’d rather spend an eternity in a tentacle-infested swamp dimension than ever come back here, but here he is.

Stephen looks around at the blank white walls, the sealed door. He scratches at an electrode that's pulling irritatingly on the hair on his chest. There's only one window. He can see Everett Ross and his assorted techs and minions sitting behind the glass, staring at him. He stares back. "Don't you know any other magic people you can torment?" he calls.

Ross's cheerful voice comes through the intercom. "None half as charming as you, Strange."

He snorts, he can't help it. Ross is a bastard, but at least he's an amusing bastard. Occasionally.

There’s not much to do in here except walk in circles. Stephen steps carefully around the only other thing in the room with him—a plexiglass box, about one foot square, sitting in the center of the room. The hinged lid is locked and there are small holes in the sides, almost as if it might contain something alive. It doesn't, though, he can tell. Still, he keeps a wary eye on the box, says, “You guys don't have the budget to give me a chair?”

“Any unnecessary objects in the room might interfere with the test.” Dr. Thompson’s voice this time. She strikes Stephen as one of those people who excelled in medical school only to discover she was just slightly too much of a sociopath to ever be a good doctor. Experimenting on people is probably a better career choice for her.

He finishes another circuit of the room, lets the silence stretch on until he can't take the growing restlessness anymore. And, still, nothing happens. “What exactly am I supposed to be doing in here?”

“Relax, Strange.” Ross again, and then Dr. Thompson, “We’re just finishing up some final calibrations.”

He sighs and nods. The fact that he’s trapped in here is entirely his fault; he asked for this.

Just two weeks ago, he was sitting at a booth in his favorite coffee shop, waiting for Ross, and trying hard not to fidget.

He'd always liked this place—the coffee was good and the servers were quick and efficient. The place was never crowded. He could sit and think without worrying about being bothered. And the alley out back was always empty and didn't stink too badly, so opening a portal there was never much of a risk.

He lifted his mug of coffee with both hands—too sore on that damp, cold day to fold his stiff fingers around the handle—and took a sip, watched the people hurrying past the window in the rainy street outside.

He didn't have to wait long. The bells over the door jingled and then Everett Ross was sliding into the booth across from him, dressed in his usual gray suit—always expensive, but understated—shaking out and then fastening his umbrella closed with quick efficient movements. His hair was slicked back, not a strand out of place. Stephen wondered if the suit was meant to match the hair, or if it was just a coincidence that they were the exact same color.

Once settled, Ross folded his hands on the table and smiled his smug smile, all self-assured confidence. “Strange,” he said, and nodded. Stephen scowled back, but tipped his head fractionally.

The waitress materialized beside them and Ross ordered a coffee with cream. He watched her walk away, then turned back to Stephen. "So," he said. "You called me. And here I am."

“Yes.” Stephen cleared his throat and tried to resist the urge to tap his foot on the floor. "I called you,” he said slowly, still not quite sure if this was a good idea and stalling for just a little more time. “I... want to make a deal with you."

"Oh?" Ross feigned innocence, but that smug smile crept back onto his face. He knew exactly why Stephen had called him. Ross fiddled with the cream for a moment, before looking back up. "And what sort of deal do you think I'd be interested in?"

"Mary Jacobsen," Stephen said. "She wants to go to college. I need the police and your people to back off and leave her alone. You know she had nothing to do with the murder of her parents. She's just a kid. She has no interest in ever working for you or your agency.”

Ross made a scoffing sound. “I'm a great boss, actually. Everyone loves working for me.”

Stephen chose to ignore Ross’s joke. “And... she'll need a new identity, too, so she can't be found. There are still people out there who might be looking for her. Dangerous people."

Ross gave him a shrewd look. “People like your friend, Karl Mordo?”

Stephen didn't like the way Ross emphasized the word friend like that. He wished he could enjoy the distraction of a sip of coffee right now. But picking up the mug in front of Ross would just reveal more weakness. “Maybe.” He settled for a shrug, instead. “That's not your concern.”

Ross stared back at him for a long moment. "You're asking for a lot,” he mused, sliding his coffee mug against the napkin. They both knew he wasn't, not for someone with Ross’s connections, but in the end it didn't matter—Stephen needed what Ross had and there was no good way around it.

Ross abandoned his mug and started tapping his finger against the table. He still hadn’t taken a sip. “And what will you offer me in return?"

Stephen tightened his jaw before answering. "Name your price."

Ross's finger tapped a little faster against the table, the only sign of his interest. He narrowed his eyes at Stephen. "Okay. You already know we're interested in magic. How it works. How to… counter it, if it ever came to that. My team has some tests lined up that require subjects with abilities. They've been hard to find and recruit, for obvious reasons.”

Ross reached out and picked up the mug, finally took a sip. “So, I’d like you to come work for me. On a temporary basis. Help me out with our tests. I think that would be a fair trade to start with. And if, down the line, you need more of my help… then we can renegotiate.”

Stephen knew this was what Ross would ask for, of course. He'd already discussed the possibility with Wong and the other Masters. They'd agreed that it could be useful to see exactly what Ross’s group was interested in, what understanding of the Mystic Arts they already had, if any. Ross was a tricky bastard, but Stephen had dealt with him before. And the man did have integrity. Stephen knew he could be trusted to keep his word. The other Sorcerers had set some conditions, though, on what he could offer Ross. Stephen agreed with them.

"I'll agree to your tests as long as you can assure me they're safe. And I'm not doing more than one a week. If you want more than that you'll have to pay me for my time.”

Ross nodded, eyes eager. Money, apparently, was not an issue.

“But I'm not teaching anyone magic. And I'm not revealing the names of any other Sorcerers or the location of Kamar-Taj. If any of your people want to learn, they can seek us out and ask to be accepted just like everyone else."

Ross took another sip of coffee and pretended to think it over. "Deal,” he said.

They shook on it that day, over the table, Stephen extending his hand reluctantly to seal his fate. And now here he was, standing in a white room, staring at a plexiglass box on the ground, waiting for something to happen.

Ross had kept his word, at least, as Stephen knew he would. Mary’s got a new last name, some very convincing documents, and a spot at Molloy College for the upcoming fall semester. And the tests so far haven't been terrible, just tedious. Like performing magic in an MRI machine, which was awkward, but not difficult.

Stephen’s never been in this particular room before, though. He glances over his shoulder, but Ross and his lackeys are now engrossed in the monitors in front of them.

There's a sound, then—a faint, high-pitched hum, growing steadily louder. Stephen tilts his head curiously. It sounds almost organic, rising and falling like the call of some insect. And it seems to be coming from the box on the floor. He still can’t sense anything alive inside.

“Can you actually hear that?” Dr. Thompson asks through the intercom. She sounds surprised.

“Yeah, it’s—” He’s about to say incredibly irritating, when a blast of icy air hits him. “What the hell is that?” he mutters. There aren’t any vents it could be coming from. “Don’t tell me you’re going to give me hypothermia,” he calls.

“Are you feeling cold?” Dr. Thompson asks.

That’s odd. “Yes, I—” But the sound suddenly reaches a screech that’s almost unbearable, accompanied by a stabbing pain right above his eyes. His skull is literally vibrating. The fucking room is vibrating. Stephen grabs at his head. “Can you shut that noise off? I—”

And then the world suddenly drops away from under his feet.

[in-tua-deep]

yooo pls give me headcanons on five being an even younger child. unless you're saving them for fics ofc!!

Actual little kid Five or from the one fic idea I have where Five ends up being even younger than 13?? Regardless, I have a lot of thoughts so I’ll do both!

under the cut bc I can already tell this is gon get long

Actual baby Five - 

I already mentioned my headcanon that as a little kid when his powers were just manifesting, his powers sort of? Acted up just a little? Like he’d get little blue sparks playing across his hands constantly but without actually jumping. And, since touching the fabric of the universe is a bit tingly, Five would just chew on his hands to make the itchy feeling go away. 

Someone suggested mittens like the ones you give kids with chicken pox and I just about died so that’s 100% being added to my headcanons as well. And Five HATES those mittens with a passion and would have yelly screaming fits about them and just bash his mittened hands against the floor in outrage. Absolutely terrible.

Five could absolutely not control his powers at first. So he would just. Jump somewhere accidentally. Sometimes it was a kind of wishful thinking type thing like “hmm if i get up on the counter i can reach the cookie jar” and BAM suddenly Five is up on the counter. Other times it was more just “guess i’m gonna fall through the fabric of the universe and end up wherever lmao” and basically what I’m getting at is he gave everyone multiple heart attacks literally all the time

Sneezes. When Five sneezes he jumps by accident. Just ACHOO and a flash of blue light and he’s gone. Bye bye bitch. It’s involuntary and a nightmare when he gets sick.

Five was that little kid who LOVED to draw. Like he would just sit for hours with a crayon clenched in his chubby little baby fist drawing scribble monsters. Of course after a Certain Incident that included drawing on the walls Reginald Hargreeves banned drawing because it’s ‘childish’ or whatever. There’s a part of me that wants to say that after everything he picks up drawing again as something to occupy his hands that isn’t obsessively working and reworking equations

I’m going to go ahead and assign my own childhood bullshit to Five because why not so I headcanon that Five as a small child would DEMAND to be read to. At all hours. I’m talking literally attempting to pry the nannies eyes open and demanding that they ‘wead to [him]’ in the middle of the night. Most of the time he didn’t even actually care about being read to he just liked hearing someone talk so he was just as content just sitting with them while they chatted to someone else tbh (how did my parents not assassinate me as a kid smh)

and now i’m even sadder about him being alone in the apocalypse thanks

Would hide when he was upset. Also very good at hide and seek. Look this is a big ass house and Five can literally teleport out of a room and out from under watchful eyes I’m saying that he must have been the most stressful child in existence to watch over holy shit but yeah when upset crawls into some small space and hunkers down until he’s less upset. Start checking the cabinets you fools. Can and WILL fit into spots you think are too small for him to fit in. If there’s a larger space behind even he shouldn’t be able to squeeze in, he can jump in so don’t discount those as hiding places as well.

Cheated at tag. Cheated at tag so much. They literally have a special version of tag called ‘five tag’ designed specifically to handicap him because even when they ban using powers he still ends up being way too fucking good at tag like holy shit

okay this isn’t even much of a Five one but as little kids before Reggie decided to go on his “Vanya sucks” crusade they would team up against one another and Klaus was caught in the middle bc he was number four. Luther, Allison, and Diego would squad up (back before Luther and Diego were at each others throats I actually headcanon they were close before powers became a thing) and declare war on Five, Ben, and Vanya and then it became a game of trying to tempt Klaus onto a certain team. Klaus usually went with Five-Ben-Vanya but there were occasions that he was 100% a turncoat. Trust me I had an odd number of siblings this would have been a thing.

honestly though these nannies were dealing with seven kids under the age of four like god damn i have so much respect for them. That nursery must have been a fucking battle zone. There are no sides there is only survival. and these kids have SUPERPOWERS. Hell is empty and all the devils are looking at them with innocent eyes like the entire room isn’t completely trashed behind them. Where’s Five, kids? Where the fuck is your teleporting brother? Six put those tentacles away so help me god you will go straight into time out, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred. NUMBER ONE if you don’t put down that cabinet RIGHT NOW - 

Now i’m thinking about the first time Reginald dealt with one of the kids having a screaming meltdown in front of him. I feel like it would have gone very badly for the kid in question :(

and now for not quite a baby!Five

Extremely salty. Furious that he’s so small. Will stab you in the knees to make you get down to his level if you dare condescend to him. Probably stands on counters or tables when talking to his siblings, but has on at least one occasion hit his limit on jumps and been unable to get down without asking for help. Decides that he lives on the kitchen counter now because fuck that noise

Would rather die than be carried anywhere but if he’s the one to climb on someone then it’s okay. Prefers sitting on shoulders because a) taller, and b) they don’t have to hold him up and he can pretend that it’s entirely his decision

A sleepy bitch. Overuses his powers frequently getting to places he can’t easily reach anymore. Sleepy and grumpy. Doesn’t give two shits where he falls asleep and will sleep sprawled out across the floor, had been stepped on or had someone trip over him before and yet still refuses to stop. Honestly it’s a bit of a roulette whether he’ll wake up if they try to put him somewhere else, with just as much danger implied. Klaus produces traffic cones from god knows where and gleefully surrounds Five when he finds in which… is as good a solution as any tbh

His powers are still like,, almost on the fritz? Like when he was a little kid he couldn’t control them. He can now, but also they glitch out occasionally and his hands are all itchy again because they keep pushing at the boundary of the universe without him even thinking about it and it’s the most irritating thing in the world

His pain tolerance is back to being shit which he doesn’t appreciate. However everyone else freaks out way more than him when he accidentally slices his hand open trying to steal one of Diego’s knives, which was pretty funny

Claire comes over and immediately teams up with Five. No one saw it coming and everyone regrets it except for the tiny duo.

She asks him why he’s a kid if he’s her Uncle Five and he gives her the whole story about him growing old in the apocalypse and coming back etc. etc. and that he’s actually a grown up and he doesn’t think she’s going to understand but Claire just says “Oh, like Narnia?” and Five is like “EXACTLY LIKE NARNIA” and she is automatically his favorite

Claire literally tells Five point blank that he’s wasting his potential. How does Five not know all the tricks to being a brat and getting what you want? Puppy dog eyes first and progress into tantrums my friend. Look, Claire is Allison’s daughter and Allison was manipulative as fuck as a child and Claire has inherited at least some of that

Five’s eyes are fucking OPENED and everyone wishes they would be closed again. Five’s puppy eyes are surprisingly and devastatingly effective, especially when he tears up and lets his little lip wobble. Claire is so fucking proud of her protege

Claire rules the house with her tiny iron fist and Five readily follows her lead. Look, he never wanted to be the leader okay he was content to leave that to Luther and he’s equally happy now to leave it to Claire

The first time Patrick came to pick Claire up Five kicked him in the shins and ran off and Patrick was just very very confused about why Allison’s nephew (cover story, Klaus probably gets to pretend to be his dad again or something) has decided to hate him

Five still hides when he’s upset and now he’s tiny literally no one can find him. The first time it happens everyone freaks out and searches the entire house and after a few hours Grace just pops off and retrieves a now sleeping Five from like, the top shelf in the linen closet or something idk

On at least one occasion has had to be stopped from eating some kind of insect or spider off the floor. It’s like owning a cat or something. For the most part they hate it but one of them (Klaus) has 100% pointed out one to Five like “GET IT” but honestly this could be a headcanon for any age Five

[velkynkarma]

ooh, anything on specters in space (any work in the series or the series as a whole)! i really really love your spoopy fics they're my favourite :D

I love spoopy fics too!! Since it’s anything from the series, then I’m picking my favorite, Whisper in the Dark. 

First of all, if you weren’t already aware, this fic has an abso-fucking-loutely amazing piece of artwork illustrating Keith’s fight against the monster at the end. Even if you did know, just go look at it again, it’s amazing and terrifying and perfect and worth a few minutes of your time.

Second, it was written specifically with this piece of music in mind.

Third, Whisper in the Dark is what happens when I’m legitimately writing a horror story intended to go hard into the ‘horror’ genre. See the thing is, while I have a tendency to sprinkle dark or creepy themes into fics, or make scenes here or there unsettling, it’s for setting mood more than anything else. Pillar in the Dark is unsettling, but more about inducing anxiety; no monster ever jumps out to attack anybody and nothing truly horrific happens. A Thousand Burning Eyes has an eldritch horror scene that freaks out even Zarkon, but the story itself is more about the looming threat of that thing than it ever actually doing anything dangerous. Road Trip to End Times uses horror zombie apocalypse elements but is more of an adventure story than a horror one. Sometimes horror even slips in by accident, like when I describe druids in the middle of a carefree silly romp with mice mission. It just sort of slips out, like a side effect, but my goal isn’t really to scare you.

Whisper in the Dark is me going, ‘my goal is to make you hide under your blankets, jump at small noises, and be high on adrenaline from intensity.’ Subtlety was not the goal here. Taking a horror-studded baseball bat to your metaphorical reader kneecaps was the goal. Based on the comments I got on this fic, I succeeded. And I went the whole nine yards on this while trying not to go overboard. There’s the psychological horror of Keith’s perceptions being messed with and the way the narrative will change without warning when the creature is messing with his mind. There’s the fear of Keith’s friends being used against him, and the fact that they’re completely helpless puppets, with no free will and no ability to protect themselves. There’s traumatic implications with Keith trying to save the others (notably Lance) and hurting them in the process, and that really messes with his head, because who’s the monster in that situation then, right??? And of course there’s the physical horror, fighting a grotesque, horrifying alien and the use of some pretty graphic, awful injuries on Keith’s part. This fic was intended to be no-holds-barred. It was raw and I loved every second of writing it. 

Whisper in the Dark was also a way for me to explore the whole ‘Keith is half-Galra and part of the Blade of Marmora’ thing. I never really liked the BOM and I wanted to make them interesting for me. I wanted to justify their bizarre s2 trial they had for Keith and give them a more interesting backstory than they had at the time (or really...ever got). Wouldn’t it have been interesting if the Marmora ascension trial was designed entirely around being both physically and mentally skilled enough to fight these strange manipulative creatures that warped perceptions and messed with your head? I actually have an entire BOM history sketched out in the back of my head that I kept in mind while writing the entirety of WITD, and I know exactly what the BOM’s full purpose was. The plan was to write another extension of the in the Dark series exploring that further, but I never did get around to it. 

Finally...favorite scene in Whisper?

Keith ignores its threats, twisting his body to land on one of the flailing tails, and using its momentum to ricochet off of it to safety. He lands in the mud and brings both blades into a guard  stance, watching the monster writhe in pain. It can be hurt, he knows. It can be vulnerable, especially to his knife. But he doesn’t know how to kill it, and it’s still dangerous to his friends.The head. That’s probably the best bet. Assuming he can get through the mess of writhing, thrashing limbs to reach the creature unscathed.It’s just like the asteroid field, Keith thinks, watching the way the creature is always in movement, like a massive knot of constantly shifting tentacles. Except this time you’re the Red Lion.Easy. Keith actually smirks as he charges forward towards the beast.He leaps with his jetpack, and hits the first of the lashing tails, using its momentum to kick off into a second. The creature turns, feeling his presence, but Keith is already diving, letting himself drop lower into the tangled mess. Pushes himself off of a third snapping limb. Fires his jetpack to dive through the space created by a fourth and fifth, just in time, before they can snap together and thrash him apart. Slices deep into a sixth tail with the Blade, severing it cleanly, causing the creature to shriek again—then kicks back the way he came while the creature twists for where he had been.Duck. Dodge. Leap. Spin. Roll. Fly. Cut, and cut again. Never be where it feels him, always move before it finds him. Be an obnoxious little insect, bite and disappear before it discovers him. It wants illusions? It wants mind games? Let it try to find Keith. Let it try to catch him. He moves so fast he barely knows where he is himself. He reacts before he even knows he’s taking action, purely on instinct. He sees movement and every possibility to react before his conscious thoughts even realize he’s only split seconds from death. Threat leads to dodge. Obstacles are to be cut away. Slice it down piece by piece from every direction until it doesn’t know where he is anymore.And when even that massive beast can’t counter him, for all its size and power, strike to kill.

Honestly I had this clear-cut image in my head of this thing being just...a mass of enormous, constantly writhing tentacles, and Keith having to navigate his way through the writhing mess with split-second timing or risk being crushed. I liked it so much I had this exact scene commissioned later. I re-wrote this a couple times but I really like in the end how I captured the sense of fast-paced, instinctive movement. 

I’m Doing Fanfic Director’s Cuts!

[princessamericachavez]

Fjorester Week | Day 6 | Underwater

This is a dream. Fjord knows it from the second his eyes settle in the darkness and all he can see is the myriad of yellow eyes trained on him. His lungs burn and he knows instinctively that he won’t be able to breathe underwater in this particular nightmare. There’s painful pressure on his limbs, crushed into some sort of tentacle trying to choke the life out of him. 

Punish. 

Fjord doesn’t fight back. There’s an odd kind of acceptance washing over his mind. He tried to free himself from the murderous rage of his patron’s messages before, but the result is always the same. Pain. Darkness. Saltwater sinking into the dry land as he struggles to catch his breath. 

This time won’t be different. He knows it. He idly considers just taking a deep breath of water to quicken the process of drowning, but his body fights back with survival instinct, condemning him to remain here, in this dark cold sea, for as long as Uk’otoa wants to drag his suffering.

A flash of light breaks through the darkness, like lightning across a dark sky, and crashes into Uk’otoa’s body. The creature shrieks and tightens its grip on Fjord. The sound, though, isn’t in his head. It’s actually in the water, reaching his ears, making the water vibrate around him.

Fjord’s brow creases. That’s never happened before.

His movements feel slow and heavy but he manages to turn his head just in time to see another bolt of magic illuminating Jester’s face before it crashes against the serpent’s body. Another shriek. Jester grins. 

Jester. That isn’t right. She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t be in his dream. 

He tries to say something but before he can, he witnesses another tentacle swinging across the water and crashing against the tiefling’s small frame. Like a hand swapping away an insect. Bubbles leave Jester’s mouth as her body is slammed and sent tumbling out of control. 

“No!” Fjord shouts, bubbles leaving his mouth. The water muffles the sound. 

Jester isn’t moving. Her body floats far away and he can’t move. He can’t reach her. He can’t- 

This isn’t a dream.

The realization hits him like a bolt of Beau’s electric knuckles, ignites fear in his heart, anger in his veins, and a sudden determination not to just lay down and die. He can’t. He can’t bail on Jester like that. 

The Blink encantation steals some of the air in his lungs, but it’s worth it for a chance to slip out of his patron’s grasp. He poofs in and out, using the time he has in this reality to swim closer to Jester. It takes him a few precious seconds to reach her still body. He drops the blink, grabs onto her and casts waterbreathe. 

Please, let it not be too late.

Both of them can breathe underwater now, but he still holds his breath waiting for her to open her eyes.

Please, Jester, please.

With a loud gasp, she jerks awake, flailing around the water. She covers her mouth and nose with her hands.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. Jester. You can breathe. It’s okay,” he assures her, holding her.

She wraps her arms around him to steady herself and breathes. Relief fills her face, only for a second, before her mind seems to catch up.

“Fjord!”

“What- Jester, what are you doing here?!”

“I had to come to get you!” Her voice trembles as her eyes trail across his face anxiously. “Avantika said that incantation and then you were all like a zombie and you wouldn’t react and that horrible thing took you and you wouldn’t even fight back! I didn’t know what to do! You were going to die, Fjord, and you didn’t wake up and I had to try!”

“Jester. Jester, wha- oh.”

He remembers. Avantika’s surprise attack. The third temple activated. Uk’otoa’s presence shaking and darkening the world. Then, nothing. He looks up to where the bellies of two ships sit close to one another. Flashes of light, fire, and thunder fly from vessel to vessel.

“The others. We need to- we gotta go back.”

“I think they have it handled,” Jester says. “We should probably deal with him before he gets away.” She points down to where Uk’otoa’s massive body curls and slithers. 

Fjord wonders where the demigod could run off to. From here, it feels like he could take up entire oceans with his size.

“Jester, I don’t think we can fight that.”

“We have to!”

“How?!”

“Beau did her true knuckles thing on Avantika! She said there’s a way! If we take the key out, he will be locked again!”

“And how are we gonna get there Jester?” Fjord looks down at the temple over which Uk’otoa is looming. It looks tiny in comparison with the beast. “I’m almost out of spells.”

“I’m not.”

Fjord’s head whips around to look at her. Jester’s face is set with determination, he’s only seen that fire in her eyes a few times on the battlefield. With her blue hair floating around her like a halo and her dip blue skin nearly merging with the deep waters around her. She’s a force to be reckoned with, for sure, but this is too much.

“I’ve still got magic,” she insists, “and you can swim like super fast. I’ll keep him distracted while you go inside.”

“No. Jester, no. I’m not going to leave you alone out here!”

Her face softens for a moment, but her eyes are still firm.

“It’ll be okay, Fjord.”

“But-”

Uk’otoa shrieks again. The sound sends a shiver down his spine. There’s no time, he knows it, but he can’t just leave her to fend herself against the monster of his dreams. He knows first hand how that ends... but if they don’t stop it, it will be much worse. 

Fjord opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. His silver tongue has abandoned him, replacing his mind only with a sheer sense of desperation and horror.

Jester smiles.

“Fjord,” she grabs his hand. “You don’t have to say it. I appreciate the sentiment. I’ll be fine. Go.”

Okay. Fine. Fjord nods, then pulls her in and kisses her mouth, hoping to pour in that gesture every single thing he wishes he had time to say. He can feel her stiffen for a second before her lips are kissing him back, hungry and nervous all at once. The feeling is almost familiar.

One day, when this is over, he’ll have the guts to kiss her on dry land.

“Be safe, Jester,” he breathes out as he pulls away.

Jester smiles and nods, quiet for once.

Dammit. Fjord turns around and swims away before his heart demands for him to stay by her side.

Another ray of light illuminates the sea and pokes Uk’otoa right on one of its eyes. The creature recoils, giving Fjord just the chance he needs to sneak beneath it.

“Hey, fuck face, have you heard of the Traveler?!” Jester shouts from afar, her voice envigorated, filled with light and sweetness and a power greater than any magic he’s ever come across.

Fjord laughs as he swims into the temple’s darkness. He’s not afraid of nightmares anymore.

[antagonistchanremade]

every race in Mass Effect, from most under-explored to least under-explored, not counting Reaper-related races (Reapers, Leviathans, Keepers, Husks, Collectors), races from Andromeda (Angara, Kett), non-spacefaring races (Yahg), offscreen races (Raloi, Virtual Aliens), non-sapient races (Thresher Maws, Varren), single entities (the Thorian), or Historical Races (Inusannon, Protheans; an exception is made for the Rachni because they’re the Rachni):

Rachni (god, it’s so fascinating that they’re actually intelligent? Like, these are Mass Effect’s answer to the Bug Aliens a la Starship Troopers and the Zerg but while Bug Aliens are usually just mindless insects the Rachni are an intelligent, spacefaring race, despite still being eusocial; in fact, they became spacefaring because they were able to reverse-engineer a Salarian ship before the Salarians had time to react; god damn the Rachni are so fucking cool and I understand why they couldn’t have been explored more (because they’re believed to be extinct and you have TWO opportunities to finish the job) but I still feel like they’re wasted potential and if we got fucking playable Collectors in ME3 multiplayer then we should have gotten playable Rachni dammit)

Hanar (excessively polite jellyfish that speak with bioluminescence! And they’re not generally even seen in combat scenarios as enemies, and the Blasto movies about a “Hanar Spectre” are mostly portrayed as a joke, but multiple veteran fighters have warned us that Hanar shouldn’t be underestimated since their tentacles have a really strong grip and they have natural toxins and also they have the fucking Drell on their side so if you’ve pissed off a Hanar then you’ve probably also pissed off a Drell or two; god I wish we could see more Hanar in combat, as enemies or as a squadmate or as a playable ME3 multiplayer race)

Elcor (also excessively polite but elephants this time and with their own translation quirks, I literally didn’t realize until I started writing this sentence just how similar they are conceptually to the Hanar; they’re kinda like the Hanar but less interesting in a lot of ways. But it’s actually even more aggravating that we never see them fight especially in ME3 because we actually get descriptions of the role Elcor typically play on the battlefield in ME3 and why couldn’t we just see that?????)

Volus (basically just as interesting as the Elcor except we do actually get to play as them in ME3 multiplayer so they’re inherently less under-utilized; fun fact I didn’t notice until just a week or two ago, but every Volus we see is male-coded, and that’s not a coincidence; Volus supposedly enjoy the fact that non-Volus can never tell what gender they are, and it’s noted that they have “at least two” genders, so that’s great)

Vorcha (their general maximum lifespan is 20 years, but at the same time, they’re basically immune to sickness of ANY sort and they regenerate from injuries at an insane rate; their short lifespans yet hard to kill natures, combined with their limited mental capacity, mean that the rest of the galaxy treats them like vermin; honestly, I wouldn’t exactly call them under-utilized, but improperly utilized. They live up to the stereotype about them a bit too well for my comfort, it feels off)

Drell (they’re nearly extinct, and their relationship with the Hanar is... interesting. At first glance, they seem problematic for the same reasons that the House Elves from Harry Potter are (happy slaves being presented as a good thing is generally pretty Yikes), except the Drell aren’t slaves and the story does go out of its way to make that clear)

Batarians (the Batarians aren’t inherently that interesting, but you know what is incredibly interesting? The relationship between Batarians and Humanity. And while that is under-utilized, it’s not that under-utilized)

Geth (the Geth are my favorite race (robots with a fascinating social structure and culture that arose from their programming and hardware restrictions that are persecuted just for being robots, who WERE actually just happy being slaves until their masters got scared of them and tried to kill them at which point they decided to strike out on their own and do what THEY want), but they do actually get a lot of focus, and remember, this list is ordered by how under-utilized they are)

Quarians (the Quarians aren’t nearly as high on my preference list as the Geth, but they get significantly more focus as well, so they’re only just behind them)

Krogan (another one of my favorite races (immortal lizard people warrior race!), but again, they’re pretty well-explored)

Turians, Salarians, and Asari (interesting, but not as interesting as most of the other aliens, and as Council races they get a lot of focus)

Humans (inherently the least interesting (because they’re just us) and the most utilized (because we play as a human on a predominantly human ship))

[damijon-supersons]

“We’re friends, aren’t we?” - a Damijon fic

 Author’s Notes:  Hi guys! I hope you enjoy this somewhat angsty fic that suddenly popped into my mind one day. This also coincides with the DamiJon week 2018 makeup week, so I’m putting this under Day 4: Confessions...or rather...the lack thereof...

This is also my what if reaction to the various rumors that with Bendis coming over to write Superman, unsavory things might happen to our best boy...even the threat of him being scrapped...

Summary: Jon always asked Damian that one question whenever he wanted to ask for something. As the boys got closer, Damian’s answer kept changing...except he never managed to say the only answer that actually mattered.

Okay,  hope you have fun :D

“Hey, Damian, we’re friends, aren’t we?” Jon asked timidly. He turned to look at his best friend with his bright blue eyes, his lips trembled, and his face was almost that of a child that knew he was due for a scolding.

The question rang like a haunting echo in Damian’s mind. There was a mixture of hope, sadness, hesitation, and fear, all enveloped in a high-pitched boyish voice. There was a smile there, one that you could only hear. It was a shy smile that was piercingly honest and sincere.

“Why do you sound like you’re about to beg?” Damian groaned in reply.

It was simple questions like these that he could never answer simply. He could’ve said ‘yes’, because that was what his heart said. ‘Yes’ a thousand times over. But his heart was but an infant given a picture of its mother—it can only gurgle out affection because it hadn’t yet learned how to speak. His voice tried its best to sound tired, but there was that slight pause, the barest hint of preparation, that made it obvious the disinterest was a lie—just another wall that Damian had put up on instinct, and one of the many he’d yet to cast away in front of his closest friend.

“I’ve got a favor to ask…” Jon began. The favor was as simple as it was impractical. Jon had accidentally broken his parents’ curfew while super-heroing on his own. While this wasn’t that much of a big deal, this time it was because he’d broken it by about twelve hours.

“Long story,” Jon offered. “There was this tentacle guy, and I had to act like I was the engine and rudder of the refugees’ boat and my phone got wet, and that’s when the eagle man came…”

He wanted Damian to be with him as he faced his parents and explained, as a sort of moral support and witness to Jon’s sincerity. Jon had hoped that Damian’s presence would temper his extremely worried parents, and that they’d punish him a lot less. After all….Clark Kent and Lois Lane were too polite to utterly devastate their son in front of his friend, right?

Damian rolled his eyes. It was a stupid plan, and it was also pointless. He knew that his presence wouldn’t stop Superman from super-grounding his son, and an angry Lois was too dangerous for even Damian to handle. But he’d do it anyway. He’d never admit it, not even to himself, but he wanted to help Jon. Mostly because it made his head feel light, his mouth dry, and his spine all tingly to know that Jon needed his help—needed him.

That night, Damian went with Jon, and instead of being backup, argued with Clark that Jon went alone because of his advice, because he’d taught Jon to follow so and so lead and such. Clark thanked Damian for the explanation, judged both of them culpable, and both the boys’ dads had grounded them that night.

 ***

“Hey, Damian, we’re friends, aren’t we?” Jon asked excitedly. His hands were at his chest and balled into expectant fists as though grabbing onto an invisible lifeline, and his feet were hovering several inches above the floor, his legs folded as if he was getting ready to leap for joy.

The question hung like one half of a solemn vow. The silence after the words was a pregnant moment where every second was an answer unto itself. There was hope in the boy’s voice, pulsing, shining, and you could almost hear the vibrant colors in his face—shocking blue in his eyes and perfect white in his teeth.

“I mean, you’re practically the only person I talk to on a daily basis,” Damian replied as casually as he could. It still wasn’t the ‘yes’ that he’d meant to say, though his level of aloofness wasn’t as bad as before, and was really a force of habit more than anything else. Jon could tell—if it were anyone else, Damian would never be so comfortable with the way he talked, the way he walked, and the way he breathed as if he could worry about nothing at all. Damian flashed Jon a smirk as they walked out of the school grounds, and that was all the answer Jon needed.

“Hold on!” Jon said enthusiastically as he dragged Damian by the hand.

“H-hey!” Damian protested, but only half-heartedly, as both of them ran, their bags making dull thuds on their legs with every step. Jon’s fingers were firmly entwined with his own with no signs of letting go. Jon’s hand was warm, but it was a familiar, almost comforting sensation. Damian almost admitted to himself that he liked it.

Once they were suitably alone, Jon wrapped Damian in a hug.

“Wha—Jon!” Damian gasped, breathless and surprised. His instinct was to push off, act cold, react the way people knew he’d act. But he was frozen even as the younger boy’s warmth seeped into him, and his heart beat wildly and irregularly.

Of course, with his super-senses, Jon knew the effect he had on Damian. He allowed himself a satisfied grin. “Okay, now, really hold on.” He tightened his grip on Damian, one hand on his hip and the other supporting his back.

Before Damian could do anything other than gasp again, Jon kicked off the ground and zoomed skyward. The only evidence of their departure was a faint ring of displaced dirt that marked where they’d stood.

In a matter of minutes, the pair arrived in Hamilton County in the Kents’ old farm. Damian was quite familiar with this place, because he’d visited and slept over here with Jon more times than he could count. That, and Jon loved taking Damian here whenever they’d needed some relaxing place to talk and think.  

Jon set Damian down on the roots of his favorite oak tree, its old and gnarled roots bulging up from the soil like natural benches. Damian’s hair, which was usually pristinely spiked in his usual style, had transformed into a windswept mess that covered Damian’s forehead. He sullenly blew a mouthful of air at his bangs, but it just flopped uselessly back down and tickled his skin.

“Okay, take your coat off,” Jon said excitedly, still hovering a few inches off the ground.

“Why? What’s this all about?” Damian asked, thoroughly confused.

Jon threw his own school coat to the grass as he adamantly insisted, “C’mon, Dami!”

“Tt, fine…” Damian sighed as he did as he was ordered. Of course, the reluctance was just another reflex. He could never refuse Jon, especially when the boy’s face was so bright and earnest like it was right then.

“Okay, now take your shoes and socks off!” Jon directed as he did the same.

Damian didn’t bother to complain—he’d just do it either way. He tugged his leathers off and kicked them to the side, joined by Jon’s own shoes and socks.

“So, what exactly do you have planned that could possibly need us to be barefoot in the countryside, where all manner of dirt, insects, and pathogens can get lodged under our toenails?” Damian asked finally.

Jon stuck his tongue out as if to say ‘gotta deal with it, Damian!’ It was so utterly childish, and yet so perfectly aligned with who Jon was—a boisterous, giddy, happy boy—that Damian couldn’t help but shake his head and smile.

“You’ll love it, I promise!” Jon declared gleefully. “Now, be back in a sec!” He sped off to the distant horizon in a blur.

It actually took him six seconds.  When Jon returned, Damian’s eyes were locked onto the thing Jon held carefully in his arms. His pupils dilated and his mouth hung open in wonder and affection. Jon had brought the cutest calico kitten he’d ever seen, its coat a mixture of white, brown, black and olive. Its snout was a rosy pink hue, framed by long white whiskers. Damian instinctively reached out, but Jon playfully hovered out of his reach.

“Nya!” the kitten squeaked as it flailed its tiny little limbs under Jon’s grip.

“Kathy found it alone one day and decided to take it in,” Jon explained as he lightly scratched the kitten’s head, making it yawn adorably. “We can play with him whenever we’re here. I’m sure you’ll love him!”

Damian wordlessly got up and reached for the kitten again, but Jon hovered out of his reach again, obviously teasing from the looks of his mischievous grin. He landed gently on the ground, his bare feet trampling the grass with a faint rustling sound—it gave Damian the mental image of lush, green growth, a cool breeze, and cloudless skies. Incidentally, that described almost all of Hamilton County.

“Nu uh, Damian,” Jon mock scolded. “If you wanna pet Mister Cat, you gotta catch me first!”

And even before Damian could reply that ‘Mister Cat’ was an incredibly stupid name, Jon took off running, giggling all the way with Mister Cat raised above his head as if the kitten was training to fly.

Damian sprinted after Jon, and he was grateful the latter didn’t use his super speed. Despite his reservations, he couldn’t help but smile. He ran after Jon without a care in the world. He ran after the kitten. No, he ran after Jon. No, he was running for the heck of it. There was no one to catch, no one to fight. There wasn’t a villain to chase or a city to save. There was just the sun shining on the greenery and making it sparkle, the silky sensation of the green grass sliding in between his toes and tickling his soles, the cool refreshing breeze that ruffled his ruined hair, and Jon’s euphoric, almost melodic laughter. It was all so infectious that Damian started laughing too.

For once in his life, Damian felt a degree of freedom he’d never thought he’d ever wanted. Right then, he wasn’t Robin, and Jon wasn’t Superboy. They weren’t crimefighters—they weren’t heroes. They were just two boys running and playing across the green grassy plains of Hamilton County.

Was this what every day was like for Jon back then? Damian asked himself. Jon had once asked him if he ever wanted to just go outside and play. It seemed like such an absurd question back then, and Jon had asked it over the phone while Damian was in the middle of brawling with criminals. Playing was for children…and truth be told, Damian had never been a child, had never learned how to be one. And all at once he realized that this was the point of it all. Jon was teaching Damian how it is to be a child. It was pointless, it was irrational, but Damian didn’t care. He liked it.

Damian Wayne, by nature, does not indulge in frivolous endeavors such as aimlessly running across grassy plains. But then, Damian thought, he didn’t need to be that Damian Wayne all the time. At least whenever he was with Jon, he could smile like no one was watching, laugh like the world was deaf, and be someone else entirely—with Jon, he could be a child.

At some point, he’d caught up to Jon, and the two sweaty boys fell on top of each other on the ground. Their bodies were cushioned by the tall grass, and it was almost like they were lying in a bed of green leaves and soft earth. Mister Cat elected to skip after a flittering blue butterfly, and he was largely free to do as he pleased as the two boys stared into each other’s eyes.  Damian and Jon pulled each other close and shared emotions, moments, and experiences of such intimacy that it was quite fortunate the field was out of the way of any unwanted witnesses.

Mister Cat gave up on chasing the butterfly, and instead curled up underneath the pile of clothing that the boys had discarded as they continued their own silent playtime hidden among the tall green grass.

***

 “Hey, Damian, we’re friends, aren’t we?” Jon asked solemnly. There was a sad smile on his face, the kind that foreshadowed an inevitable future that promised nothing bright. His hands were still and lifeless on his lap, but his eyes were focused on Damian, studying his friend intently and anticipating the older boy’s reaction.

They were sitting at the edge of a random apartment building in Metropolis, their legs dangling over the precipice of a thirty-storey drop. The lights of the city’s nightlife glowed beneath them and cast a wan palette of whites and yellows to the sky’s deep indigo. The weekend traffic skittered as tiny balls of red, orange and beige. A cacophony of sound and noise thrummed in the atmosphere—a few blocks away, a mother was yelling at her son for not taking out the garbage, somewhere below were two cats arguing about whatever cats like to argue about, off in central street a digital billboard of Vicky Vale droned about the new perfume she’d been endorsing, and off in the distance, a passenger jet cut across the clouds with a booming roar.

Damian tensed up. His fists instinctively balled into fists, as if he expected a fight. He’d always react that way when he was anxious, when he sensed danger. His senses were rarely mistaken, and through Jon’s resigned look, a sense of foreboding came over him. They’d just finished their patrol for that night, and he couldn’t shake off the feeling that Jon was more subdued than usual. Jon liked to have fun during their patrols. Tonight, he was thoughtful. Oh, he still smiled, he still laughed, but there was a tinge of longing, of regret, a bittersweet joy. Jon very much acted like he was savoring every second as if he’d never get to do this again.

“You sound like you want that in writing,” Damian teased as a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Again, it wasn’t the overwhelming ‘yes’ that he’d have wanted to give, but simplicity never came easy for him. Making matters worse was that the ‘yes’ had mutated into something bigger, something more. No, they weren’t friends…not anymore. Not to Damian. They were definitely something greater, something better…something that Damian was at a loss to describe.

“Maybe I’d like that, for once,” Jon replied with a smirk.

Damian lightly punched his shoulder. Jon punched him back. They both grinned at each other—a grin that tried to say so much but lacked the words to make it tangible.

“So, I assume this is another favor that’s bound to get us both in trouble,” Damian began, but he knew in his heart that from Jon’s expression, it was a graver matter than that.

Jon shook his head. “No, but I guess you could call it a favor. I just…want you to promise that you’ll take care of yourself. And well…I hope you remember me.”

“What…?” Damian blinked in bewilderment at Jon.

“I said, remember me,” Jon repeated with a wistful look on his face. He added a tune that was all too familiar to Damian. “Though I have to travel far…”

“Don’t you dare sing it!” Damian barked. It was from a recent Disney movie that Jon had begged him to go watch, and it was the last movie they’d seen together. The song was a message of a heartfelt farewell, longing, and separation. Jon was saying goodbye.

“Jon, what are you on about?” Damian asked again, this time not bothering to hide his worry. His brows were furrowed and knit together and his frown turned his lips into a severe, thin line.

“You heard about the last battle my dad had?” Jon said as he stared at his jeans. His bony knees poked out of the intentionally ripped holes. He absent-mindedly began pulling and twisting at a loose strand of blue denim.  

“Yeah, but I thought your dad won and just needed rest?” Damian had heard about Superman’s battle with an alien invader that had disturbed central Washington D.C. No one knew much about it other than that it posed a threat to the safety of the population. Superman had engaged the mysterious alien, which apparently had the power to bend the man of steel’s mind and perception of reality. Superman had been dazed as if hit by a powerful invisible cannon of pure force. But just as mysteriously and unexpectedly as it had come, the mind-bending intruder had disappeared. Damian, like the rest of the world, assumed that Superman had won.  

“Dad didn’t win,” Jon said, the pain evident behind his calm. “Whatever that thing was, it just came to mess with him, and then left. Dad is…Dad’s changed. He’s acting like he’s from another time—an older time. He doesn’t even recognize my mom…or me.”

“I’m…I’m sorry, Jon.” Damian had no trouble being sincere this time. He knew all too well what it felt like to have his father exist but live a different life not knowing his children ever existed. He put a comforting arm around Jon’s shoulders, and Jon gladly leaned into it.  Damian wished he could hold Jon in his arms until the hurt in his voice went away.

“There’s a way,” Jon said after a while, but his hesitation mounted. “The fortress of solitude said that there might be a way to get my dad back to normal…but it’ll be risky.”

“What way? Damian asked warily. “And at what cost?”

“Mom and I have to go away for a while to search for the cure,” Jon explained morosely. “Part of the thing’s power is that we have to be the ones to get it, so that dad will remember us again.”

“And the catch?” Damian asked, steeling his gut for the inevitable dreadful answer.

“I don’t know where it is exactly. I think it could be in space, or maybe even another dimension. And also…I don’t know how long I’ll be away. Could be a few weeks…or a few years.”

“Oh,” Damian said simply. The air seemed to leave his lungs all at once, and his stomach felt like it dropped to the street hundreds of feet below. The city’s sounds suddenly became muted as if Damian was hearing them from a thousand miles away. All the color in the lights faded to a garish gray.

Jon sensed the drastic shift in Damian’s emotions. It was all he could to weave his fingers in between Damian’s and hold his hand. “Damian, this is what I wanted to ask you today. I’m going away, maybe for a long while. I need to know that even without me around, you’ll be okay, that you’ll take care of yourself and just keep on being the friend I know and…” Jon gulped as if his breath hitched on the next word he was about to say. “The…the friend I care about.”

“Do you know what you’re supposed to do?” Damian asked, as though he was pleading Jon wouldn’t and that he’d need more time to plan things. He’d stay so that he could plan. He would need months for planning. Maybe years. Jon would stay. He had to.

“Aside from leaving and seeing where the fortress portal leads us, I don’t know. I’ll do what I have to.” Jon replied, but there was a stoic resolution in his voice. Then to Damian, he asked more gently, “How about you, what are you gonna do in the meantime?”

“What I have to,” Damian repeated in what seemed like an admission of defeat.

Jon wrapped Damian in a quick hug, and he was glad that Damian didn’t resist—he didn’t even click his tongue in disapproval. “You’ll be okay,” he said confidently. “I know you will!”

“I sometimes wish I knew as much as you did,” Damian replied dryly.

“C’mon, don’t be so glum, Damian. It’s not like I’m not breaking up with you!” Jon teased playfully. But then suddenly his eyes went wide with embarrassment when he saw Damian’s appalled look. “Oh man, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to imply anything—we’re not like together or—I’m really sorry—“

“—Don’t be,” Damian cut him off gently. He tightened his grip on Jon’s hand. The pair of them stayed like that, sitting on top of an apartment ceiling and quietly holding hands for what seemed like hours, even though it was really just a few minutes. Neither of them broke the silence. Jon had said goodbye after that, and flew off into the night. Thunder had just begun to rumble and line the murky purple clouds overhead.

It was so stupid, Damian thought, that even after everything that he and Jon had done together, everything they’d done for each other and everything they’d done to each other, they had only been just friends. Or rather…there was a tacit agreement that they were only just that, because Damian had never said otherwise. He’d always wanted to, but he never did. He’d never be able to. It was the last he saw of Jonathan Samuel Kent.

As the days passed, and as his cape grew longer and darker, and his head started bearing the weight of the cowl, a single thought had haunted Damian in his every idle moment. It was always the face of the sunny, cheerful boy that he could’ve had if only he’d just said something. Anything. He’d have given up all the fortune his father had passed down to him if it meant that he could hear Jon ask that question one more time, that one question, that always rang in his ears.

“Hey, Damian, we’re friends, aren’t we?”

Because now, Damian was ready to answer with all the words he’d ever wanted to say, words that took years to ever reach his lips.

“Yes, I am. And …I love you. Dear gods, I love you.”

[codylabs]

Chapter 25: The End of Fate

Links: P 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

Wendy strained one last time at the webs holding her to the wall. She thought she felt a few strands breaking near her legs, but their failure did nothing to weaken the rest of the material. In fact, the more she wiggled around and tried to loose herself, the more the webs just stuck and mashed together, the more they bonded to her skin, and the more her muscles yielded to fatigue. After a minute or so she gave up, no closer to freedom and feeling significantly more like a cocooned insect.

She could move her fingers. She could move her toes. She could move her neck and her eyes, but that was the limit of her. Her arms, legs, torso, all her body… It no longer obeyed her. All she could do was stare at the monster, as it stared back.

The Shapeshifter’s mother. Some kind of time-traveling mystery character, who’d seen thousands of years of history, who’d killed people throughout them, who seemed to know everything, and who most likely ate people. Wendy could feel the eyes probing and inspecting, as indifferently as one might regard a museum piece, or a slab of meat.

The beast took a step toward her.

She could kill me. Wendy knew. She could kill me if she wanted, and I can’t even move.

…Wait, was she an ‘it’? Or was it a ‘she’? Wendy briefly wondered to herself. A person or a thing? How do you refer to intelligent creatures which act like this? Are they still rational beings? Or can you really be so evil and twisted that you forsake your own soul?

Wendy was quite too mad to really care.

“Let me down.” She told her, as she came closer. “Come on, you grimy old sack of phlegm! Let me down or I’ll beat the living daylights out of you! Come on!”

She stopped about 3 feet from Wendy, and peered down at her face. “I thought I gagged you.” She replied calmly, as she inspected the stray scraps of webbing around Wendy’s mouth.

“Yeah, well, maybe you should use more than weird spider webs next time.” Wendy growled. “Something I can’t just chew up and spit out.”

“Probably good advice.” Her head widened slightly, and her teeth shapeshifted into some kind of slobbering, many-tendrilled orifice, which then secreted a stringy mass of webbing. She rolled the material into a tight ball with her hands.

“Well, it’s just common sense.” Wendy tried to shrug. “I mean, if I had some alien tied up in my basement, you can bet I’d make darn su—” She squeezed Wendy’s cheeks, forced her mouth open, shoved the ball in between her teeth, and pasted it in place with another web across her face.

Wendy took a deep breath in through her nose, as she silently glared.

The creature calmly wiped the excess gunk off her hands, then eased to a seated position on the floor. They were both silent for a moment, one by necessity, one for thought.

“I know lots of things.” The shifter finally remarked. “From lots of times, from lots of places.”

“Mmf mf.” Wendy retorted.

“Some of them happen to be about you.” She said. Her body rearranged into the form of Mr. Sherman, her PE coach from grade school. “Wendy Blerble Corduroy…” Mr. Sherman’s voice hummed with perfect clarity. “You did pretty well on the football and wrestling teams during elementary and middle school… And word on the street is, you ‘kind of ruled’ in the annual lumberjack games…”

“Rgf mmf.” The gag made it easy to hide her confusion. Wait a minute, was Mr. Sherman the shapeshifter all along? How does THAT make sense? What the heck?

The shifter’s form changed again, this time solidifying as a short, intense Asian man: Mr. Chiu, her science teacher from just last year… “Although both your grades and extra-scholastic endeavors declined steadily through your teen years.” Mr. Chiu’s voice told her. Wait a minute! Wendy thought. Mr. Chiu has a human daughter. He couldn’t have been her all along… She must have… Wait, what? “Perhaps.” The image of Mr. Chiu continued. “Was it because you discovered friends in lower circles? Or as you became increasingly disillusioned with the world…?” She transformed into Toot-Toot McBumbersnazzle, aka Blind Ivan. “Or perhaps as the late Blind Eye Society trimmed back your working knowledge whenever you happened across something you ought not see…” Okay, there’s no WAY that HE was her this entire time… So how DOES she know so much…? It morphed again, and she was looking at and listening to her own dad… “However it worked, you got it through yer noggin’ that everything ya did was just useless and pointless… Guess ya figured on how easy it was to sit on your butt and do nothing at all. So ya threw yer life away, and turned inta the lazy one…”

Wendy glared.

The mimic of her father leaned in a little closer. “Yeah, that’s it, ain’t it? The Wendy that allll them school records show. Always so darn chill, always calm, level, and cool… But as far as the world’s concerned, less than useless…” It sounded and felt like her own dad talking. Gruff as ever. Candid as ever. Right as ever…

The shape changed again, to Stanley Pines. “No…” Her former employer scratched his chin skeptically, and adjusted his glasses. “No it’s not. That’s ain’t you, not anymore. Now I hear yer doing better in school, ya had a hand in eliminating the Blind Eye, in that rascal Bill’s defeat, and now in even deeper, stranger matters…”

She took the form of Robbie, which set off some alarm in Wendy’s mind, as she remembered that Robbie was probably dead… “You, like, don’t fear anything at all…” Robbie’s voice told her. “You fight robots on Tuesday, Aliens on Wednesday, ghosts on Thursday… All sorts of crazy adventures, you’re probably real close to a lot of things you really shouldn’t see…” And now the shifter looked like Tambry. “People don’t ever change.” Tambry told her. “They get changed. So why are you different all of a sudden? What changed you? Your job at the tourist trap selling junk? Mr. Pines, that old jerk you worked for?” Tambry put her hands on her hips. “Or something else, like your new friends?”

Now the shifter shrunk down to the size of a child. A very familiar size. A very familiar shape… Before Wendy had a chance to mentally prepare herself to look at this, she found her eyes locked with those of Dipper. “Was it me?” It was his voice again, his old, familiar, youthful voice. The voice tore into the weird corners of Wendy’s mind, upsetting everything, confusing everything; she was defenseless against it. Dipper. She blinked. DIPPER! She tried to shake her head. Dipper’s dead… Dipper! “…Was it Dipper…?” Dipper asked.

Wendy couldn’t quite find words.

“Sorry.” The Dipper mimic smiled awkwardly. “I didn’t mean to ramble. I guess… I guess what I really want to get down to is the cause of things. Why are you the way that you are? What happened, where, when… What made you? If it was Dipper, then what made him who he was? Who guided you? Trained you? Inspired you, knighted you, blessed you? What force of fate, chance or choice placed this destiny in your lap, and bid you go and become a hero?”

What a strange thing to ask.

“You do know.” The Dipper mimic insisted. “I know you’re not stupid, I know you know what I’m asking… Just c’mon, please Wendy?” The intonation of his voice matched Dipper’s so perfectly for a moment that she couldn’t help but recoil. Dipper’s hands reached up and peeled the gag off her mouth. “Like, c’mon, I can tell there’s something you’re not saying. Maybe many things? …No, just one thing… Yeah, there’s one secret you swore to always keep from me, and what’s that? C’mon, you can tell me… I mean, why not at this point, huh? Ha ha… Yeah…”

Wendy flexed her jaw, enjoying the ability to once again breath freely. Dipper’s hand reached up and brushed gently across her cheek. The thin, cold little fingers felt just exactly like his… Cognitive dissonance hit like another wet slap, as half her brain believed for a moment that it was him.

But of course, it wasn’t. And she didn’t believe it. “Go die in a hole, you PSYCHO!” She screamed.

“Whaaaat, c’mon Wendy!”

“You—”

“Hey now, you don’t want me to use the tentacles.”

“The? Wait, tenta—”

“I guess I wouldn’t mind though.” Two of the fingers on Dipper’s hand grew and expanded into a pair of stiff, thin, sharp little appendages, which he then shoved up Wendy’s nostrils.

It hurt.

Wendy thrashed around, tried to pull away, tried to turn and hide her face, tried to reach her hands in to help, but nothing worked; they were working their way deeper into her skull. Wendy’s furious struggling managed to break some of the webs holding her head in place, but the extra movement just made the probes hurt a hundred times worse.

IT HURT.

“You.” Dipper said. “Who were you? Who are you? And why?”

Wendy emitted a furious cry; a guttural, feral sound she didn’t know she had in her, and arched up to try to bite the hand. Her teeth clacked in the empty air.

Dipper’s voice burst out laughing. “An animal!” He said, as he drug Wendy’s head back down to face forward. “An animal pretending to be a person! A person priding in its ingenuity, modesty, fair judgement, rationality; the kinda things that set it above the beast. But deep, deep down, beyond the walls of faith and friendship, only nature remains. Now that you have lost these things, you’re getting the point where you cross the line. Maybe you already crossed it?”

“Die! In! A! Hole!” She managed.

“How can you say that? Look at your body, sick, weak, helpless, invaded, bound… It’s not your body, it’s mine now, and I see it as nothing but so much meat… So what do you hang on to? How can you spit in my face, when you dangle precariously at the end of yourself? Why aren’t you afraid? Do you believe yourself to be strong? Indestructible? Or is this fleshy body nothing but meat to you as well? What made you into this thing, this thing that thinks itself fearsome?”

“NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!!”

“Remember everything you still have left to lose! Your sanity! Your honor! Your dignity! Your soul! How long until there is nothing left of Ms. Corduroy for me to speak to? How long until there’s nothing on this wall but a wild, snarling dog?!?”

“YOU SHUT UP!” Wendy screamed.

The lights flicked off in the room, leaving Wendy with no perception of the world except the sloppy sounds of creature’s movement, the taste of her own blood, and the pain…

She felt the fingers curling inside her nose, pulling her forward. Then they pushed, and slammed her head against the metal wall behind her. Then they pulled again, and they slammed again, and again, and now her entire head hurt and she could barely concentrate, and she could feel something inside her head splitting and stinging, as if with every blow was drilling the dreaded things deeper, closer to her brain.

Tiny, sharp, incredible pains shot through her arms and legs now too, and she guessed the shapeshifter must have put other limbs to work as well, poking and prodding and crawling over her like the probing limbs of some spidery thing, drilling and cutting and who knows what else. And all through it, there was just this darkness, hiding whatever else may be in store…

Why is this even happening? Why does it have to hurt? And why do I care whether this THING knows or not anyway? It’s not like it’s super important, or even true… What’s the point in keeping secrets? What’s the point in screaming threats? What’s the point in even trying? Just kill me! KILL ME!

All alone, in great pain, at the end of everything, Wendy finally panicked.

“11:03 THIS MORNING!” She gasped.

The pounding ceased. The poking and the stabbing paused.

“What was that, red?” Dipper’s voice asked.

“Eleven…” Wendy screwed her eyes shut, and felt tears trickle down her face. “Eleven-oh-three this morning… This morning… You’ll see… My secret…”

Slowly and painfully, the fingers pulled out of Wendy’s nose.

She sneezed up blood.

“Broken at last.” The creature remarked in its natural voice.

The gag was crammed back in her mouth, the loosened webs were reinforced, and then the monster retreated. She must have had a second time machine besides the one she gifted her son, because she promptly disappeared in a flash of blue light, leaving Wendy alone.

All seemed suddenly quiet and still… But not empty. All around her, she could feel the evil standing; threatening, near, haunting… It was danger, it was fear, this malignant force that watched and taunted and worked deeper, searching out those corners of her brain that hadn’t yet been violated. And one by one, as hopeful thoughts stood, up, it crushed them down, reminding her that she was broken, and helpless, and small. Nothing but a tiny, squealing animal, hanging on the wall.

She blinked.

I need to escape…

Wendy knew she couldn’t escape.

I need to bust loose…

How on Earth could she ever bust loose?

I need to stay conscious. Alert…

That was looking difficult…

I need to think…

Wendy couldn’t think.

I need to think…!

She wasn’t good at thinking.

I NEED TO THINK!

She never had been the thinking one. She was just the athletic one. The fighting one. The level one. The calm one. Dipper was the thinking one. Dipper was the creative one. Dipper was the hero, and I was just his crush. Just his sidekick. Just there to make sure he didn’t get hurt…

Dipper…

I knew you.

Know you.

I was your crush. I was your protection. And I was your calm.

Now I guess I’ve failed all three.

She sneezed again. Her chest heaved painfully, and more blood dribbled over her lips and down her chin. Dipper… She could barely breath, past her flooded nose and the gag in her mouth, so she gasped and wheezed every breath, as she croaked, and coughed, and cried, and bled. I’m sorry… I never told you that you were a great guy…. I never told you how much you meant to me… I let you die, left you for others to bury, I just stormed off and got myself here… And now I panicked… And now I played the fool with a monster who doesn’t even know you… I gave up my secret… I gave up OUR secret… She cried and she bled. I’m sorry…

He wasn’t who the shifter pretended to be. He wasn’t that. He wouldn’t say or do those things, wouldn’t taunt her for not being as indestructible as she seemed…

What would he say if he were here?

If Dipper were here…

Well. First of all, he’d probably be all like: ‘Wait, what secret? What’s so special about 11:03?’ He was a curious guy; always did have a hard time knowing when to mind his own business.

Wendy scraped her cheek against her shoulder as hard as she could, and managed to loosen some of the webs holding the gag in place. After a minute or so, she was able to get her tongue past the edges of it, and break the rest of the strings. Then she spat the ball to the ground, and was able to breathe easily again. The oxygen was little reconciliation for the rest of her suffering, and she may have swallowed some of the sticky gunk by accident.

If Dipper were here…

‘At 11:03 this morning…’ She would have muttered to him. ‘I… Kinda let Stan in on my secret… If creepy-face warps back to then, she’ll know too… Ha ha… I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t going crazy, that’s why I told Stan… But I guess I’m still not sure… Guess I’ll never know…’

He would’ve been quick to deny her angst. ‘You’re not crazy… Y’know the stuff she said about being an animal isn’t true. You… You’re not. You’re not crazy. You’re not.’

‘… I guess everyone reaches a point, dude… Guess it just takes one bad day…’

He wouldn’t be quite sure how to counter that. ‘So… I dunno. So what’s the secret?’ He would’ve changed the subject.

Yeah, I never did tell him that one. Real shame, because I guess it was his secret as well as mine… If he were here, if things were looking this bad, I guess I probably would have admitted it to him. If we’re both to die, he deserves to know. She would have told him. ‘…I met myself last fall.’ She would’ve blurted reluctantly. ‘My future self. She came time-traveling back from maybe a decade down the road, and she talked to me… So she’s a big part of the reason I’m working harder in school, going on these adventures, and doing better with things in general… Like Momma Shifter said, I got changed…  Didn’t want her to know, because… I don’t know. It’s private. It’s cool… And after everything I lost, I didn’t want to lose that too…’

‘Woah… What was she like?’ Wendy turned her head to the left in the darkness. If Dipper had been here with her, he would have been captured too. He would’ve been webbed up in the empty spot next to her… She imagined him there now, and wondered again if she really was going crazy.

‘Uh… Real chill… Real chill.’ Wendy recalled. ‘Totally decked out in futurey gear though, like some kinda time-cop. She was wearing this big robotic suit of armor, she had weapons, and a time machine…’

‘…Did she say anything about me?’ Dipper would have asked. Well, no, actually he wouldn’t say that. He’d just think that. Out loud, he’d just nervously mumble something lame like… ‘Huh, wow. Robot suit, huh?’

‘Heck yes she mentioned you.’ Wendy would have replied. ‘Yeah… She said you were a great guy. An example to learn from, even… In fact!’ Wendy crossed the point of no return, and spat it out. ‘She said! She said that you end up being my husband for some reason! We’re married! How ‘bout that?’

That would have taken a couple seconds to sink into his brain. And then he would have freaked out for a several minutes at least.

‘Yeah, c’mon, see? See why I never told you?’ She would’ve scoffed, tried to downplay it. ‘You make this whole relationship weird and awkward enough without me dropping the “oh-hey-it’s-destiny-or-something!” bomb in the middle of things.’

‘WELL! BUT! I! UGH! AH! WHAT?!’

‘Look… Just calm down, it doesn’t matter, all right? I mean… It’s not even true. You’re dead. And now I’ll be dead. Somehow it wasn’t real… And now I don’t even know what’s happening! Everything’s falling apart and dying so fast; you, my friends, my dad… And to top it off, I sang like a canary after a measly 5 minutes of torture! I lost my calm! She got to me…! Like, what’s the point in even trying? I’m not strong any more… Dipper, if I’m not the strong one, then who am I?’

He would’ve forced his mind back on-topic; he was good at that. He would’ve thought about it all for a minute, trying to think of something wise to say. Then he’d finally say it, and it wouldn��t be very wise at all; just sweet and simple and caring… Something like, ‘Don’t you remember? You’re a flippin’ Corduroy!’

‘A flippin’ Corduroy…’ She sighed. ‘…Why did you idolize me so much, dude? Everything meaningful I ever did was just because I had to or because I was bored…’

‘Well—’

‘You know you could’ve done better than me… Guy like you could’ve set your sights higher; fallen in love with somebody beautiful and talented… A genius, or a super hero, or a princess…’

‘UH…!’ He would’ve hurried to interject ‘W-w-would it, like, be too cheesy to say you’re a princess to me?’

‘Oh my friggin’…’ She tried not to roll her eyes. ‘You…! Oh… Geez, okay, focus. C’mon Dipper. C’mon, help me out here, look at this rationally, what do I DO? How do I get out of this? I can’t fight time-traveling monsters, can I? Time traveling monsters that can be anyone, do anything…’

‘Well… I don’t… Uh…’

‘You have to know! I got myself into this mess, and now you have to get me out of it! Come on… You always know! You’re the smart one! You’re always able to ad-lib some kinda plan! Always!’

‘Umm… I don’t know… Oh man, I wish I could reach my journal…’

Wendy’s eyes drifted across the darkened room to the place where it was lying among her other confiscated stuff. ‘I can’t reach it either… But well, hey, I have been reading it the last couple nights since you died, so I remember a lot of it… Why?’

‘It’s got my notes on time travel…’

‘Uh… Oh, wait wait, yeah, I read those! I read them… What about ‘em?’

‘Well… Okay, think. Think about it: When did you see your future self?’

‘Huh?’

‘When did you see her? Before I died, or after?’

‘Before! Duh… I tried to write down a time and date to bring her back AFTER you died… But she didn’t show…’

‘Okay… Okay… Okayokayokay… Okay, So! Why wouldn’t she show up after Sam killed me?’

‘Umm…’ Wendy thought about that. Up to now, she’d just blindly accepted that something changed; that for some reason, it didn’t work anymore. But why? She tried to put it together. ‘Maybe… Maybe when he killed you, he changed the future? Yeah, so in this reality, I die right now instead of later, so she isn’t able to come back for me…’

‘But if you die right now, then how would she have been able to come back in the first place? If this is the way the future goes, then how could she ever have existed?’

‘The future changed…’

‘No no no! Remember my notes! What did I say?’

‘Uh…’ Wendy racked her brain. ‘I don’t… There wasn’t anything in there about this. Just one part about you trying to fix a mistake and then something about a baby and some gladiator battle…’

‘The first one. The mistake. Do you remember what happened?’

‘Well… I remember you were pretty vague; what was the mistake again?’

‘Doesn’t matter. All that matters is what happened! What happened? Remember!’

‘Uh… Well… Didn’t you say it didn’t work for some reason? Right? Yeah… You said it didn’t work…’

‘Right!’

‘And then…’

‘Then?’

‘Then one time… You said you tried really really hard, and actually did change it… But even then, circumstances forced you to go back in time by your own free will, and change it back…’

‘Exactly. No matter what I did, no matter WHAT, fate intervened to set history on its proper course… Even when I succeeded in one place, another place failed. Eventually even I gave up.’

‘Okay… So what does that mean?’ Wendy forced herself to think. ‘What does that mean, how does it all connect?!? Does that mean no matter what I do, I’m gonna die here?’

‘No! It just means that there’s only one reality, Wendy. You can’t change the future more than an inch, and even if you do, it’ll iron out the wrinkles itself. It’ll stabilize… And… And now this is great! This is great! Because remember, you’ve seen the future!’

‘…The future where I become… Like, a time-travely warrior thing?’

‘Yeah! Where we’re mar—’

‘Shut up.’

‘Ah! Sorry. I mean…! …I mean that future-you must have come from a time after all this… After the wrinkles get ironed out. After reality stabilizes. Which means that after today, after whatever happens next, somehow that’s the reality that’ll remain. And that’s probably why she couldn’t come back to today! Because this time is fated to get decay out and disappear. Get replaced…’

‘But…’

‘But what?’

‘…But how? What do I do to do that?’

‘Umm…’ Dipper came up short. This was as far as his optimistic reasoning took him, and he really didn’t know what to say next. ‘Well… I… I dunno. Time logic says something has to happen… I think… I guess you might outsmart her, or you might outfight her, or outfox her or out-time her… Uh… Heck, it might not be you; maybe somebody else entirely will find a way to change things. But I’m pretty sure something has to happen sometime, and if you’re the last one left, then… It’s pretty much up to you… It’s like destiny or something.’

‘But… Are you sure? What if… I mean, you don’t know everything. Your journal doesn’t know everything. What if this is all just… Stupid wishful thinking…?’

‘…You tell me; are you sure that it was you last fall? The time traveler?’

‘…Yes.’

‘And…’ His voice would have faltered just slightly. ‘Are you sure that that future is something you want?’

‘Well…’ Wendy thought for a minute.

If he were here, he would be trying not to stare at her, but still hanging on her every word, waiting for her reply. He’d said all he could say, and now he wanted to know if she would fight to the bitter end. Whether or not she could still keep her faith, even when everything seemed to be standing in the way, even after everyone who could ever help was gone, even if unspeakably twisted beasts tried to cut their way into her mind. He wanted to know if she would be willing to fight to the death to save him. He wanted to know if she loved him.

Wendy almost laughed when she realized what was being said. ‘Well, duh! Come on dude, of course!’

He would have nodded nervously; he was still a little stressed, a little overwhelmed, a little frightened. But now, he knew how she felt. He knew her secret. He wished he didn’t know it, because yeah: it did make everything weird. But still, he knew that this weak and hopeless prisoner would one day be his wife.

He believed it.

So he would have found a way to smile, and ask. “Then what are we waiting for?”

Wendy awoke with a start.

Just a dream.

…Just a dream? Naw… Naw, wait a minute, why would I have been sleeping anyway? Blood loss? Shock? General weirdness? No, that’s no reason to sleep… And that wasn’t a normal dream either… I dunno, that must’ve been Dipper’s ghost or some crap! …Or a wizard. Or some kinda time-traveling pseudo-memories from a timeline that never happened. Or the Shifter using psychic powers to deceive me… Or maybe it was just some kinda weird, prophetic dream that happens because… Reasons…

Oh, who am I kidding? It was nothing! Nothing at all… Everyone knows dreams never mean anything at all.

Of course they don’t.

But meaning or not, it made sense. It actually made a whole gob of sense.

She believed it.

Wendy shook her head to clear the last of her confusion, then took a deep breath to prepare herself. Her nose was still totally clogged up, but at least the bleeding had stopped, and she’d gotten that blasted gag loose.

Please God. She thought to pray. Make it all true. Help this all turn out alright.

She began to breath really heavily and quickly. She’d heard of scuba divers doing this before a deep dive; it’s to flood the body with oxygen and give you more energy.

When she felt fully riled up, she threw her entire weight to the left, curled with her left arm and pulled on her right, trying with every ounce of strength to pull it loose. When the webs digging into her wrist became too excruciating to bear, she threw herself to the right and tried to pull her left arm loose. That didn’t work either.

Dang it.

She relaxed after a moment, defeated yet again.

But when she wiggled her shoulders, she found the bands to be loosened at least partially. Maybe if she tried again in a couple minutes, after her muscles stopped hurting, and then another couple minutes after that, and again after that… Maybe she could eventually get free? It all depended on how long the shifter would take to get back… What was taking so long, anyway?

“Thought I gagged you.” The voice interrupted.

Wendy jumped. The voice unnerved her, startled her, reminded her of the pain that was still so near, and filled her imagination with pain to come… Before Wendy had time to fear, she reminded herself that she angry.

Bitterly, furiously angry.

Wendy Corduroy. Angry Corduroy. Flippin’ Corduroy.

There was gonna be payment. There was gonna be pain.

“You do realize I was able to just reappear the split second I left, don’t you?” The monster asked, with a tone like a smirk.

Wendy’s voice came out rather calm. Surprisingly calm, even to her. “…Oh yeah, I knew that.” She nodded smoothly. “Simple time logic, that’s what that is… So hey, I guess you know my secret now? How you like it? Bet you’re pretty surprised to find out you’ve got a time traveler locked in your basement, huh?”

“No… Not really. I get all types…” The lights in the room flicked back on. They weren’t very bright all considering, but after perfect blackness, Wendy still felt like blinking. The monster gestured to one of the skeletons on the wall. The body was human; and seemed to have some kind of cybernetic thing hanging from one eye socket. Its torso was plated in dusty, dark grey armor. “That one was a time traveler too.” She said, as she wiped a bit of dust off the hourglass insignia on the breastplate. “Lieutenant something-or-another. Very brave old man, very proud. Wouldn’t speak a word besides his name and rank… At least at first. But he cried out for his mother days later, and now I know all that he knew.” She pointed to another human cyborg skeleton. “That one, also a time traveler. He was head of his class at the time-academy, but applied all that knowledge just three and a half seconds too late.” She pointed again, this time to the lanky, squid-like skeleton of one of the ship’s crewmembers. “And the clever nuclear engineer. He knew every single bolt and beam of this vessel, and yet he failed to hide from me. That one? Top security officer of the whole place. He didn’t want to surrender the drone control codes, but such is the way of things… That one? A most prestigious scientist, master of everything from nanobiology to embryotic mutation decay. One of the smartest men I’ve ever talked too, he almost convinced me not to eat him. And her? Ex-convict. Stowed away on the ship to escape a death sentence on her homeworld. She devised all kinds of clever ways to escape from me too, but you can see how they ended. That one?” The shifter pointed to a metal skeleton, with clawed hands, a mouthful of saws, and dead aluminum eyeballs that had never quite rotted. “You know him; maybe even met him… Yes? Last survivor of a colony of intelligent machines. He was a truly great man in his life. Intelligent. Determined. Prepared. And an entirely good and noble man as well, stood for nothing but truth, honor, and the safety and preservation of loved ones… But he’s gone like the rest… Such a shame.”

“Yeah.” Wendy shrugged. “Nice collection… But, uh… None of them were destined to kick your butt though.”

The shifter turned to her. “So.” Her voice grated menacingly, like the tearing of cloth. “You claim a future version of yourself came into your life and directed you to become who you are… I’m sure it was a strong and powerful woman that came striding forward, reaching out to you as if out of your imagination, out of a dream, a wish, a vision, and made itself come true… Except it didn’t. Over time, this hard life beat you right back down from the lofty heights it raised you to, until it has proven to be just a wish after all, just a fancy, a youthful dream…” She chuckled. “Really, the only surprising part of your story is that you would even consider your secret a secret. The only surprising thing was how defeated and dejected you acted when I extracted a piece of trivia so petty and meaningless…”

“Yeah, well…”

“Oh, wait… Hold on a moment; you still think it’s true, don’t you? Really! What a wild idea; that a thing could give rise to itself. And not just some twisted, random, chaotic thing, but a thing of beauty, pride, heroism… It must have a cause, but what? Who sent it? Who sent it to you, that you might send it to yourself? And if nobody sent it, then how and why would fate choose a wild, rebellious animal like a Corduroy? Didn’t it ever dawn on you that somebody’s been lying to you all along? Did it ever even cross your mind?”

The shifter’s voice broke and changed now. Wendy couldn’t quite place it; it sounded familiar from somewhere… But then her body began to shift and morph. Four legs became two. White mucus hardened into flesh. Hard, dark plates formed together, rose up, and interlocked into armor. Little bioluminescent lights began to glow in high-tech patterns, and features solidified on the face.

The eyes… The hair… The suit of futuristic robotic armor… Wendy stared.

“Look familiar?” The monster ran a gloved hand through her long red hair, smiled her freckled, adult face, and twirled a futuristic axe. “You get good enough at shapeshifting, you can start inventing forms. How do you like this one? All I had to go on was your own appearance, and a little imagination…”

Wendy stared, and blinked, and stared again. She found herself at a loss for words.

“Perhaps I’ll head back to last Fall with this, and say some nice things to you. To make you do all the helpful things you’ve done since… What do you think of that?”

Wendy didn’t speak.

“…Or…” A smile twitched at the corners of the mimic’s mouth. “Or do you still believe you know the future?”

Wendy thought about this, as she stared at the perfect image of her dream. The image rested a hand on its hip, and stood in that characteristically powerful, proud, relaxed way… It really, truly was exactly how she remembered it.

My future self.

The promises. The mission. The hope. The vision.

It was all lies…

No…

No.

“No…” Wendy said.

The mimic cocked its head.

“No…” Wendy repeated. “Wait… You’ve seen her.”

“Hmm?”

“You’ve seen her! Seen me! That’s how you know what she looks like; you’ve met her… You’ve probably fought her, that’s it!” Wendy flexed her fingers, preparing to assault her bindings again. “You knew it all along! You’re trying to get in my head, trying to probe me and hurt me and BREAK me to prevent me from becoming who I AM, but you KNOW! You know the reason she didn’t show up this morning! It’s ‘Cause I’m gonna escape! This… This is destiny or something! I’m gonna fight my way across time and space to save my friends and my family, save the day, be the HERO! And then we’re gonna take what’s left of you, feed half to the pig and use the rest as VEGETABLE OIL!”

“YOU?” It scoffed, and gestured again to the skeletons. “When I’ve hunted and killed and eaten all who came before? Time travelers! Warriors! Scientists! Inventors! Heroes…! And now you! Hanging among the remains of better people, tell me:” Her voice rose to a screeching, furious, monstrous pitch as she raised her arm. The hand flattened itself, and sharpened into the fine edge of a large blade. Then she leapt at Wendy, lashing the deadly blade directly for her torso. “WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?!?”

Wendy didn’t blink.

*BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! *

The computer console in a corner of the room chimed loudly.

By some unforeseeable, freak act of fortune, the alarm seemed to distract the shifter for a fraction of a second.

The blade missed Wendy’s body.

“WARNING!” The console chimed, in a language that was most certainly not English. “INTRUDERS DETECTED INCONCLUSIVE REFERENCE CODE RETURN THREAT LEVEL UPGRADED TO JELLY ROLL ONE: ERROR 443\]kl;/oij#JE’~~3Dde~~~”

The Shifter spun toward the computers and began to head toward them, outraged at the improbable, incredible, inconceivable timing of the interruption.

Wendy realized that the blade had actually severed most of the webs.

She threw herself forward, and her left arm ripped free. Her right arm followed it. Then she grabbed a sharp scrap of metal, and with one long slice tore through the material on her legs.

With a final push, her boots landed on the ground with a dull thud.

She stood up.

The Shifter glanced back at the human. She saw the tangled, matted hair, the faded blue hat, the clenched fists, the blood-stained lip, the furious little scowl, and the dark, murderous thoughts behind those green eyes. She thought that this was getting a little too complicated and improbable for a standard hostage situation; she should probably time-travel back by about 5 minutes, to find out the source of the alarm ahead of time, and undo her accidental severing of the human’s bonds.

Quickly though, before something worse happened.

But she was too late, because something worse was already happening.

There was a brilliant blue flash of light,

a tiny yellow machine was suddenly flying through the air,

And Wendy caught it.

“Who do I think I am? Funny you should ask that…” Wendy smiled, as she ad-libbed a plan.

“I’m a flippin’ Pines.”

[words-writ-in-starlight]

Rey, from TFA!

For the Thousand Meme!  Now, I do feel that it’s relevant here that I don’t...entirely agree with TLJ as a narrative decision and reserve the right to ignore it to my taste.

1. Something before canon

Rey’s staff used to be medical piping, before she got to it.  She ripped it out of a downed Empire ship, crept through the bowels of the thing until she found a door that was jammed shut by a broken hydraulic.  It took her about three hours and five mild shocks to rewire it so that it could be opened.

The piping from the room on the other side, she kept.  She needed a weapon, and her last staff had been on the unfortunate end of a well-aimed laser cutter a week before, during a fight.  This was medical-grade tungsten-coated steel, and the thicker ones were heavy enough to do damage, so--weapon.

The hyperbaric chamber--an odd thing to put in a warship, but not hers to question why, Rey supposed--got her food for a month and a half, when she dragged it back to the trading post. 

2. Something during canon (TFA)

The hug she gets from Finn is the first time Rey has been embraced in over a decade.

3. Something after canon

Someday Rey will be expected to attend state dinners as a war hero. 

It will be...interesting.

4. Something happy

Rey knows, in theory, that thunderstorms are a thing that exist.  Heat lightning ran rampant in Jakku, in the right weather.  But the first time she hearts thunder boom overhead, she freezes, and Jessica Pava waves a hand and says, “It’s just a rainstorm.”

The entire Resistance is treated to the sight of Rey, the hope of the Jedi, sprinting out into the rain so that she can whoop and holler up at the sky every time it roars.

5. Something sad

Rey never--she doesn’t miss Jakku, it really is as bad as Finn claims it is.  But sometimes she looks out her window or out of the Falcon, or out over a room full of people expecting things from her, expecting things from miraculous Jedi powers all the way down to knowing to use a fork rather than her fingers, and she misses being somewhere with rules she knows.  Sometimes she misses that so sharply it hurts.

6. Something shippy

Poe has known Rey for three days when he discovers that she thinks ration bars are the height of gastronomic joy.  Finn’s not quite that bad, but he’s close.

The second they’re on a planet with green things and a spare three hours, he sits them down and cooks them a whole meal.  It’s a bastardization of his father’s tapas, on account of being mostly made out of alien plant life, and could definitely be better, but both of them look at him like he’s a god while they’re stuffing their faces.  Poe grins back at them and considers in depth exactly how screwed he is.

7. Something smutty

Rey is a straight-shooter by nature, not overly given to concealing her thoughts when she doesn’t have to.  So once she finishes her tapas, she folds both hands on the table and looks at Finn and Poe and says, “I think we should have sex.”

Then she waits for the two of them to finish choking on air and says, “We all like each other very much and I believe this was a date.  Am I wrong?”

“Well, no,” Poe says frankly, and Finn stares at his hands like he’s trying to will himself into invisibility.  Rey smiles at him, sweet Finn who can’t hide his thoughts on his face for the life of him.  Too much time behind that helmet.

“So,” Rey says, standing up to whisk the plates away. Poe has explained this to her--plates are washed, which happens in the sink.  She leaves them there to get dealt with later and blinks at the two of them from the door to the bedroom.  “Are you coming?”

8. Something domestic

Rey’s love for plants becomes well-known within weeks of her joining the Resistance, and Rey is liked and likable, so people begin bringing her gifts.  Flowers in vases, at first, but the first time someone had to explain that they would die and she looked outright alarmed, they switched to potter ferns and succulents, hardy things that thrive even under the artificial lights of the Falcon.  The first time she’s given a carnivorous plant, sort of like a star-shaped, tentacled flytrap that snaps shut on insects like a mouth, she’s enchanted.  She becomes a remarkably talented gardener, for someone who grew up on a desert world.

9. Something dramatic

Rey finds some old footage from the Clone Wars and discovers that--shit son--if you use the Force right you can jump off buildings and do backflips over whole crowds.  The galaxy will never know peace again.

Finn can’t quite hold it against her, because the first time she puts it to use is to drop three stories into the middle of a fight and save his ass.

10. Something AU

I’m still bitterly upset about the whole “you’re no one” thing so...

It’s halfway true.  Kylo Ren says the words and Rey swallows them whole like razor blades and ignores the way they make her bleed.

It’s later, when she’s trying to meditate the feeling away in the pilot’s chair of the Falcon, that she feels a distinct little bzzt against her mind that’s almost like Ren hollering down that link, but not quite.  She opens her eyes suspiciously and there’s a young man sitting in the empty copilot’s chair, his legs crossed like hers, dressed in plain brown and looking at her through long curly hair the color of dark sand.  He has bright blue eyes and a scar and he glows.

“He was wrong, you know,” the young man observes--he has a deeper voice than she expected.  He can’t be much older than she is.

“About what?”  Rey has pretty well hit her threshold for dramatics and nonsense, these days, so--sure, now she’s seeing things.

“You’re not no one,” the young man says.  “Your mother was, but you aren’t.”

“I think I’m about done being told what I am,” Rey muses, and she gets a wide grin in reply.

“That’s a good instinct,” he advises.  “Go with it.  But you’re not no one, and I thought you might want to know.”

“All right, who am I, then?”

He offers her his gloved hand, bumps his knuckles against her own in an oddly fraternal gesture--or mimics the motion, at least, and stops before his hand passes too far through her own.  “You’re a second chance at balance.  Do better than the first one, yeah?”

[laughingdarkdreams]

Random writing practice.

"Did you know that there is a direct correlation between violent crime and the cycle of the full moon?" They asked. The mask over their face made it impossible to tell who they were, and the whisper they spoke in made it impossible to tell how old they were, or even if they were a man or a woman. "Did you know that the term 'lunacy' comes from people becoming violent on the nights of the full moon?" They had on a cloak, and their mask was smiling wide. He stared at the figure, and gave it an even gaze. He took a deep breath. "And...? Your point is?" "Quite the interesting one we've found." They said, disregarding him entirely. "We'll find you a place yet." "And who is this we?" The man asked, adjusting his suit and smiling. The moonlight shone red, and the crescent moon slowly filled itself with color, shining as a full blood moon. "Lunarian.” 

"I see. And...?" He asked, staring at the moon. "Should I follow you, or will you contact me again? I'd prefer the former." They took off their mask, and behind it.... there was nothing. Just an empty bit of cloth in the dark.

"Follow, if you can." Darkness came from behind him, and seemed to twist into odd patterns. It was not something in the shadows on the ground, rather that the world behind him had disappeared. "Charming." He said, his expression giving a slight twitch. "Well, I did ask for this." He sighed. He stared at the empty cloak. It had put back on its mask. "We will be heading-" He tossed a large key ring at its face and shouted "Move already! I'd hate to have whatever that is catch me." The figure flinched when he threw the keys. "Upwards." it finished. "Oh, great, so the advancing wall of empty darkness is just going to stay down there, is it?" He asked, getting into a running stance. The figure seemed to tilt its head, and then gestured at the nothingness behind him. "It hasn't moved in the first place. Why did you throw-" "Right, sorry about that. I thought you called that as some sort of challenge or something. I got annoyed and scared." He said honestly. His tone didn't seem honest, but it was hard to say if it was truth or not. "...It's there because the paths that don't lead forwards become closed. It doesn't hurt you." The figure said. "....Oh...." He paused and then walked towards the nothingness and tapped his knuckles against it. "Weird. It feels like it's not there, but I can't go past it." "Just walk." The figure said, explaining. "Then what was with the 'if you can' thing?" He asked "............" The figure paused "I was going to run ahead and let you wander for a while until you found the path." "And you're not now?" He wondered. "......No." They shrugged. "You seem fun, if not a bit irritable." "Why would I be irritable? I was only chased into a backstreet by an empty hooded cloak and surrounded by things I didn't understand." He said. "...A fair point." "What's with the whisper anyway?" He asked, starting to walk forwards with it. "It's natural that your kind cannot hear Lunarians properly." It said, matching paces with him. "Oh, so you're not human?" He inquired. "Don't tell me that I can't actually see you because I haven't been brought to wherever it is we're going yet?" "..." They didn't respond. "Do you have, like, more than one head? Or claws? Tentacles? You're not entirely made up of insect parts, are you?" He didn't really seem to be asking, more like he was making fun of them. "I....." They started. "Nah, don't tell me, I want it to be a surprise." He shrugged. "Say, I couldn't see you before you appeared in front of me randomly and chased me, but you called me by name. Because I can see your cloak, mask, clothes, and gloves......doesn't that mean you were naked and following me around to learn my name?" He asked. ".........." They didn't respond again. "........That was supposed to be a joke. That's actually kind of awkward." "So....how do we go up?" He asked as they turned down another street. "The streets are slanted upwards." It responded. "...If that's the case, this will take a long time." He sighed. He suddenly crashed into a wall that hadn't been there before and stepped back. The ground underneath him was red, and glowing. The wall turned out to be a glass door of a building that looked like a high rise apartment building. "Not really." The figure responded, gesturing behind him. He slowly turned around, and saw a blue circle in front of him. "Oh. So that's how it looks from here." He said, staring at the Earth from the surface of the moon. "You don't seem surprised." The figure said. Their voice had changed. It sounded rather amused, and friendly even. Almost energetic. Rather feminine too. "Oh, so you were a girl." He said, not caring. "Are you going to say that it's kinda hot that I stalked you while naked then?" They asked. "Nah, that's still totally creepy." He shrugged. "Is that just your hobby? I mean, there are other methods to gather information." They paused. "It's easier that way though...." "Whatever." He replied. "So, this is the moon." He stared down at the glowing red rocks beneath him. "Oh, right, oxygen." He said, thinking out loud. He then fell over, gasping and clutching at his throat, before making a choking noise and seeming to pass out. The cloaked figure panicked for a moment and then leaned down over him. "A-are you okay?" He sat up instantly and brushed off his shoulders. "Yes, fine. Why do you ask?" He said. The figure seemed slightly annoyed. "Why did you do that then?" "I dunno. Seemed funny. Might as well just pretend that the laws of physics still work, you know?" He said. "Not really....." They replied. "Well, lets go meet with whoever wanted me here and figure out what the hell I'm doing here, shall we?" He said, standing up. The figure had their hand half outstretched for some reason. "Sure." They said, walking towards the entrance. "Actually, that's the visitors entrance." He said, pointing at the door in front of them. "Right, I knew that, I just-" They paused "This is your first time here. This door isn't labeled. You're screwing with me again." "Yes." He said, shrugging. "Something wrong with that?" "It's kinda funny." They said, mimicking his shrug. "That's fair." He responded.

[gothika666faerie]

Let it Go

He should have been more contented. Happiness was too much of a stretch and honestly, no one could ever be truly, blissfully happy. At least, there was the possibility-or there should have been-of him reflecting back on his life with some feeling of accomplishment. Here he was, an established Duke of Ramsford, the highest and most noble aristocratic family in Cordonia. Certainly, not anything to sniff at. Bertrand Beaumont stared listlessly at the sheaf of papers on his desk, waiting to sorted through, read and more often than not, crushed and chucked away in a frustrated fury. 

He was discontented. Unhappy even. One could even label him miserable beyond belief. His father always bemoaned the curse that his elder son was so inclined towards random bouts of depression but now at this stage in his life, Bertrand swore it could become a regularity. He was already in his thirties and living the life of a true blue blood, with all the boredom, the stifling responsibilities and the many forever watchful eyes of society laying into his back. He rests his chin on his palms and lets the text blur into streams of black scattering insects. Eventually, he had reclined all the way in his chair and stared straight up into the ceiling. When was the last time he did something truly interesting or exhilarating? 

Skinny dip for the hell of it? Eat ice cream straight out of the tub while dancing as though no one was watching? Hell, he could barely remember the last time he laughed so hard, so long and so loud that his sides hurt. Along that note, when was the last time he had a pulse-pounding, ecstatic and breathless orgasm....that wasn’t by his own hand? He reached a hand up to finger his thick hair, always slicked back and hugged closely to his head and frowned. 

And great. A grey hair already. Just perfect. 

Outside, somewhere in the lounge, Bertrand could hear rollicking, careless laughter. He sneered. Of course, at least he was having fun. Maxwell always had fun. He never needed to aim for valedictorian in finishing school, go for etiquette lessons or watch his every move lest he were to ruin the name of the house. Bertrand was the heir, Maxwell was the darling of the family. How his parents fawned over the little puppy who cooed back in return with his haphazard crayon scribbles and hideous attempts at cartwheeling. Oh, and what was Bertrand doing? Learning how to play Mozart because “you would want to impress your guests when you hold your soirees. Oh, don’t talk nonsense, Bertrand! Maxwell is too young and he is already so naturally charming. You need a special talent to make sure you don’t bore your guests to tears.” 

Rage coursed through Bertrand’s veins as the memory and he sits back up, gripping tightly at his arm rests. It was not fair to Maxwell to be so angry, so resentful. Maxwell loved him and had been through the thick and thin with him; defending him when their father never saw any good in him, sometimes crawling into his room and imitating the old bastard for a laugh and always there to force him to look on the bright side. In return, Bertrand knew he needed to look out for his excitable and often too flighty little brother. When their parents died, he truly needed to be the man of the estate and that meant ensuring Maxwell would grow up right as rain. However, the boy was as stubborn a boy as always. They were just too different. Bertrand was cold, reserved and apathetic. Maxwell was warm, exuberant and a live wire over everything. It was no wonder the latter always had friends. 

Bertrand groans as he remembers their respective sixteenth birthdays. Maxwell’s was teeming with guests from all over and he watches from the sidelines, shadowed over by balloons as his little brother break dances on the floor and gets applauded and blown kisses by the girls around him. His birthday was his parents, his little brother and the towering pile of presents sent from all over by relatives and other noble families. He received about eight of the same set of suits from that pile of “gifts”. This was his lot in life; he never was the type to socialize so whatever. He was a grown man. He reaped what he sown. He just was not Maxwell. He was thirty-four to Maxwell’s twenty-five. He was old. Over the hill. Used up. At a standstill. 

He slams a fist on the desk and stands up, determined. He could still do something. Anything. He gazes at the hanging wall clock; the short hand at eleven and the long hand just past one. He rummages through one of the desk drawers and removes a small box with a lock. Fishing out its companion from his lapel, the box snaps open to reveal a ring of jagged keys and a key chain that bore their family crest of crossed tentacles and topless sirens. 

With his new bounty in his pocket, the duke marches out of his office and down the stairs and was nearing the door when he hears the voice he really did not want to deal with right now. 

“Bertrand....where are you going?” It is Maxwell of course, in a simple pajama set of Crown and Flame shirt and boxer shorts wrapped up in a blanket. Oh Christ, was the boy really having a marathon at this time of night? 

“Out.” The reply is short, curt and unfortunately, unsatisfactory. Maxwell’s brow furrows as his brother reaches for the doorknob ready to unlock it and leave. He grabs onto Bertrand’s jacket.

“Bertrand, it’s 11:10 pm. It isn’t like you to go out so late for no reason. Is something wrong?”

“Maxwell,” Bertrand’s voice was cold and heavy, his brow creased with a sternness that made the boy shudder. “You’re the younger brother. You don’t need to keep tabs on me. I can take care of myself.”

“I know...I just...you haven’t looked really happy nowadays. I just don’t want you to do anything stupid alright?” Bertrand sighs at his brother’s thoughtfulness and softens, placing a hand on Maxwell’s shoulder.

“I’ll be fine. I...I just need to go for a ride. To clear my head.” Maxwell smiles up at him and nods. “I understand. Just be careful alright? And don’t come back so late...wow, it feels weird sounding like you.”

Bertrand snorts and shoves at his brother’s head but cannot help the smile spreading on his face before he is finally out the door. Maxwell holds the front door ajar and peeks out, staring at his brother as he heads for the gates and pushes them open, locking them behind him afterwards. Convinced and satisfied that his brother could take care of himself and was admittedly, more responsible and cautious than he was when he went out on late night partying escapades, Maxwell retreated inside to continue on season 3 of The Crown and Flame and was certain eventually Sei and Dominic were going to fall in love. 

Bertrand was not going to take the limo. Nor a horse. His choice of ride tonight was going to fit his mood. He enters the garage at the far back of the estate, surrounded by their plantation of Cordonian rubies and white roses and sidesteps around the array of their expensive, vintage cars before considering the vehicle at the far end, covered unglamorously with a silver tarp. He tugs it off and smiles in nostalgia as he takes in the polished exhaust pipe, the buttery leather seat and the handlebars ergonomically designed to be gripped tightly when the bike would take to rougher terrain. 

It had been his one moment of teenage rebellion; saving up his hefty allowance to get himself his own motorcycle; a Harley Davidson no less and he remembered tearing down the highways and pavements with the wind whipping his face and hair as he laughs in virile triumph, scraping the bark of an apple tree here and there. Obviously, that phase never lasted and his father had confiscated the keys, given him a good tanning with the rod and Bertrand had been sent to a commune to think over his indiscretions. Maxwell was given the bike as a last minute birthday gift on his nineteenth birthday but oh, the sweet lad could never dream of enjoying the fruits of his brother’s labor and merely kept it clean and running before giving it a home in their garage under that silver tarp. 

Bertrand traces the sleek body of the ride with fond affection, smirking when he got to his initials that he had spray painted on the side in violet indigo, a stark contrast to the iridescent silver of the paint job. It was settled. Tonight, he was not going to be Duke Bertrand Beaumont. He marches towards the metal lockers lined parallel to the wall and opens one to reveal a duffel bag hanging on a hook. He takes it down, unzips it and removes the articles of clothing inside along with a pair of aviator sunglasses. He makes quick work of his suit, first the jacket, that awful sweater vest, his tie and shirt and folds them up neatly, stuffing them in the bag. He catches sight of his half-naked form in the mirror in the locker and smirks. Maxwell may be limber and flexible but he had nothing on him. 

On goes the deep blue, almost midnight black shirt that drapes against his broad firm chest. The leather jacket slips on snugly afterwards. His sensible pants were next to go and were replaced by some well-fitting-thankfully, still fit-black jeans and lastly his Oxford shoes were tucked away as he slipped on some ragged, sturdy boots, as soft and rugged as his jacket. All that was left was to ruffle his usually put together hair (fuck that grey strand) and slip on the aviators. He finds a pack of Menthol cigarettes too in the bag and lights up, knowing it was positively foolish to smoke in a garage with flammable objects just within reach but he honestly could not care. He blows out a stream of the tobacco fumes and breathes in the intoxication he was going to immerse himself in tonight. Letting it carelessly fall to the ground, he snuffed it out with his heeled boot and kicks up the stand of the bike, wheeling it out of the garage and positioning in the driveway. 

Key in the ignition, Bertrand gives it a few turns till the engine was putting and purring like a jungle cat that had come out of induced tranquility. Bewildered, confused but raring to pounce at any minute. That was him right now. He straightens his jacket to fit tightly onto him and mounts the ride. He revs it up and soon enough, he was tearing up the paved road, leaving his castle, his home and his prison for this one night and oh how he laughed. He laughed. He laughed. And he laughed. 

The stars were winking down on him as he whoops, getting on the expressway and weaving in and out of traffic, finding that empty lane where he could just go at full speed, let the wind mess up his normally neat coif even more and truly let it all go. The wind billows out his leather jacket and the sunglasses keep it from getting in his eyes but they are still watery. He had never remembered feeling this alive, this free and as he gets on the shore road and gazes out to the expanse of the deep blue sea that surrounds Cordonia, he realizes that he had been missing out for far too long. 

This could be a nightly ritual. No one would find out. He just had to keep in disguise. He could go out to the slums of Cordonia, the seedy nightclubs and brothels and drink till he fainted, do lines of imported drugs till his blood was set alight and actually remember what it felt like to fuck a woman. 

He had been hiding, been forced to hide since he was young. It was high time he let go. The night air was getting chillier and the wind picked up. Above him, thunder roared but Bertrand could only laugh in the storm’s face. 

The cold never bothered him anyway. 

(( Written out of pure randomness and also, cause we KNOW Bertrand is the Elsa of The Royal Romance. I like to thank @ladyashtonofcordonia and @smartlillian. Their fanfics have been inspirational. Also, this goes out to @ohmymaxwell and @mochimicho who also absolutely adore Bertrand (and think he is hot like me) so yes, you beautiful people, thanks so much))