#but then maybe I wouldn’t try myself half to death over things. who knows

[starredforlife]

okay so I generally skate by on feeling or pretending confidence enough to apply to jobs for animation . But quite simply ik there’s something off abt a lot of my portfolio work. It rarely finds that unique appeal that makes people stop and wonder and look. Idk if it’s a lifelessness or if it’s the shortcoming in technical skill or the composition and formatting of both my work and the website….but I’d reckon it’s safe to say all of these things need to be worked on. It’s clumsy. It’s all really clumsy

I like a lot of my more recent work compared to my portfolio stuff. I think there’s been some kind of ground broken where I’m finding a style I really like and the life drawing practice is catching up to me (though I still think I have a ways to go with it. Sometimes how good I am at anatomy depends entirely on my mood). It all feels less lifeless more enjoyed more interesting. It’s not perfect bc I give up on the details pretty easily so the level of polish in, say, most other illustrators’ work, isn’t there for mine. But if I tried to make portfolio pieces using my shorthand more often I think that would honestly work better. I’m trying to come up with prompts and ideas that I can keep myself passionate abt the whole time. I wish I didn’t get tired so easily and my sleep schedule wasn’t so fucked. Whatever!!! I persist bc I have nothing else I know how to do

A fun fact abt me is that I don’t consider myself an artistic person :^] I’m not precise I’m not detail-oriented I’m not cohesive and I’m barely creative past my own narrow fixations. I’m just incredibly stubborn and I don’t like doing things that bore me, so I’m holed into this whether I like it or not. I’m cursed with this awful ambition that doesn’t want me to turn my head anywhere else. I don’t know how I could live without it. It’s like I have the burden of an artist’s soul and the hands of a five year old. My play-doh creations suck ass !! But I’m too sick with story and art and nonesense to do anything abt it. God.

[gghostwriter]

Poison Me, I’m Fine

Spencer Reid x Songwriter!Fem!Reader

Summary: Your choice of poison was Spencer Reid. Who knew he would kill you and set you free in the process

Warning: angst with no happy ending

A/n: I feel insane for writing this in one sitting and not editing it. There's no part 2 for this, I just wanted to purge myself of this angst plot that took over me. This is probably the closest I could write to a singer-songwriter reader x spencer, granted she just writes for other pop stars (maybe I'll write some popstar!reader next time idk yet.) Also, 'Free Now by Gracie Abrams' and 'The Black Dog by Taylor Swift' was on repeat when I wrote this so you can spot some inspiration from both here. Hope you like it!

Main masterlist

You don’t know why you settled for less. Why you opted to walk on a blurry tight rope, why you chose a crumbling place to land on, and why you chose to enter a situationship that will end in heartbreak. Actually, scratch that, you do know why. Spencer Reid, that was enough reason for you to put yourself on the line. Or it was until your treacherous, greedy heart wanted more. 

Does she follow like an echo? Like your shadow, you can try, but you can't run

It started with hushed whispers. Your mind slowly poisoning itself with what ifs and scenarios where he was fully yours, just like how he unknowingly owned you—mind, body, and soul. Whispers of—wouldn’t it be nice to visit this museum again with Spencer or he’d love this newly opened vintage bookstore around the block or it’d be nice to see the stars with him right now. You tried to cleanse those thoughts away but that’s the thing, poison that has entered your bloodstream is hard to remove. 

It's a pain that I caught you at a bad time It's a shame that I memorized your outline

It morphed to vivid imagery next—hallucinations so life-like that you found yourself believing it half of the time. Portraits of him and you holding hands as you both walked down the streets, phantom outlines of you together swaying close to muted music, and shadows of you and him twisting in bedsheets. All untrue, except for the latter. You attempt to blink them all away with no success. Your heart reluctant to part with the delusion than face the truth—that he had only offered you his body and nothing else.

Every page that I wrote, you were on it Feel you deep in my bones, you're the current

It seeped out of you next—to your writings, to your works as if your body was doing its best to reject the poison away. To save itself from the nearing death that seemed inevitable in the end. Your poetry, your lyrics, and your art all contain entangled webs of metaphors and colors that lead back to him. Purple streaks on your canvas to represent his favorite, his beloved authors mentioned in your verses, and symbolisms of his career scattered all over—cuffs, guns, shot and everything in between. You tried to pour it all out of you, the dark and sticky emotion of despair and longing covering you and all extensions of you. Everyone noticed the change. The dimming of lights in your eyes and the shadows that threaten to swallow you whole. Everyone noticed—your family, friends, colleagues, and even the pop stars that buy your singles. Everyone except for the one that could save you, Spencer. 

It turned into screams next. It was as if your body gathered all its remaining strength to shout for help or to howl in pain, you’re not sure really. All you’re sure of was that the end was near. The end was coming to free you from everything—from him. The trigger was overhearing him discuss you with his friend and male co-worker during a run-in in his apartment where he had no choice but to introduce you. Six months of pseudo dating him and no one knew you existed.

You excused yourself to the bathroom, wanting to escape the tension emitting from the situation and when you came back, that’s when you heard it. The lethal blow to your already dying heart.

“She seems nice,” his friend, Morgan, commented.

Spencer shrugged. “She’s no Maeve—not as deep but she’s—she’s safe.”

You bit your lip, trying to stop it from quivering lest you whimper out loud the pain his words has caused you.

Donning on a fake smile on your face, you watched as Morgan left with a wave goodbye to you and a casual ‘see you again.’ Not like that would ever come true.

Within seconds, you felt your mask cracking as tears slowly trickled down your face.

“I love you.”

They say the truth sets us free but not this truth. All it did was crash, burn, and pulverize your already precarious stacks of sticks that represent you and him. 

Silence.

“You know, when we first started this—whatever this is—I promised to myself that I wouldn’t fall for you. That this was purely physical, sex,” you sardonically laughed. “But you know what I realized, that you were easy to fall in love with. So easy that I found myself ruined even before I could comprehend where and when it happened.”

“We agreed, didn’t we? That we would tell the truth and stop when feelings are starting to get involved. Why didn’t you tell me?” 

You roughly swiped away the tears. “I didn’t know when it happened, Spencer! I thought if I stuck it out long enough, you’d feel something for me too! But that was foolish of me to believe. I see it now.” 

“See what?” 

You walked towards him, invading his personal space. The same way he did with yours. “That you’re not ready. Honestly I’d prefer if my opponent was standing in front of me. At least I could gauge if I had the chance to win. But with her, she’s gone, Spencer—” you jabbed your pointy finger on his chest, where his heart was. “I’m fighting with a ghost who I can’t even land a hit on. A ghost who haunts your every waking and dreaming moment. Tell me, Spencer, how do I compete with that—when I feel there’s little to no space for me. I exist only in between and in your limbo when you’re craving for a physical companion. How do I win, Spencer? Tell me or should I just throw in the towel?” 

“Y/N—”

His eyes contained the answer and although it wasn’t what you were wishing for, it was what you subconsciously knew you needed to free you. 

You nodded your head. “I guess—I guess this is it, huh. End of the line for us.” 

“I guess so.” 

You gathered your coat, haphazardly strewn on the floor—just like the pieces of your shattered heart and as you stepped out of his threshold, you gave yourself one last chance to memorize his outlines.

“Goodbye, Spencer.” 

And finally, the poison had killed you and had set you free. 

If you feel like fallin', catch me on the way down Never been less empty, all I feel is free now

[hollandorks]

haven

battinson! bruce wayne x f! reader

chapter fifteen

Summary: After the sudden deaths of her mother and grandmother, y/n is forced to return home to Gotham…and to the man who broke her heart three years ago. Back in Bruce Wayne’s inescapable orbit, she vows to get to the bottom of her former best friend’s new cold personality. But Bruce’s secrets aren’t what she’s expecting.

a/n: Will I remain posting regularly? That remains to be seen by everyone, myself included....Because every single time I say something, I end up accidentally not posting for weeks. Anyways, enjoy!

Series Masterlist

word count: 2.7k

Two nights later, all Bruce could think about was that Alfred had been right. 

He should have told y/n the truth while he had the chance.

“Where are you going?” 

A full day had passed since y/n found the picture in the elevator, and she half-expected Bruce’s voice to be a dream when she turned around. She hadn’t slept much, except for a brief few hours where her body literally had shut down and forced her into unconsciousness. Fear was her constant companion, but now, when she turned to see Bruce standing behind her with his arms crossed, anger cut through the fog of fear like a spear of flame. 

She mirrored his stance and crossed her own arms. “I’m going to let it slide since we’re all stressed, but try to boss me around again and see what happens.” 

Both of their jaws were clenched tightly shut. 

Bruce’s eyes narrowed. She could practically hear the words come out of his mouth, That’s not an answer. 

“I asked Gordon to come up,” she finally said, caving, though the anger still simmered below the surface. The nerve that Bruce Wayne had to barely be home, to barely care about her, and still try to boss her around all the same. She was this close to punching him in the face or pushing him down the stairs. Or maybe she would pour ice cubes in his bed next time he was asleep. “And if you’re going to bother me every single time I’m next to the fucking elevator, think again.”

Bruce relaxed marginally, completely ignoring her barbed comment–which was probably for the best. She had no energy left to really fight, anyways. 

Most of that energy had gone towards a preliminary article she had just submitted about the Gallo family. She hadn’t released any details about her involvement with them, merely reporting the fact that they were trying to make a move on Gotham. 

She had debated doing the article at all. Was it better to pretend like nothing was happening? Was it better to keep her head down and wait for it to resolve itself, whether because of Gordon and the Batman or through the Gallos finally getting to her? 

But then she realized that the people of Gotham deserved the truth, or at least as much of it she could get away with. She was already a target, but she didn’t need everyone else knowing that. 

So she had simply decided to send an article to print that Gotham was on the brink of another mob takeover, just like all of the business with Falcone and Maroni and everyone else who had corrupted their city. 

If only half of the city shared her views, y/n knew that they wouldn’t be happy with someone else trying to worm their way into their city. Gotham might be a shithole, but it was their shithole. 

The moment she had hit send, it had hit her. 

She didn’t want to be a sitting duck. She wanted to do something about it. She wanted those bastards gone. She wanted the work Bella Real and the Batman and cops like Gordon had done in the last year to stick–or at least have the chance of doing so. 

She had called Gordon, told him she wanted to talk over some things, that she needed company anyways. 

And now there she was, staring down the man who had broken her heart, waiting on Gordon to arrive on the elevator behind her. 

“Gordon and I are going to have a private conversation,” she said pointedly as the elevator doors slid open behind her. 

“Y/n,” Gordon said in greeting, but she still didn’t turn around. She and Bruce were still in the middle of their standoff. “Mr. Wayne. Good to see you again, at least under more…normal circumstances than last time.” 

She raised an eyebrow at Bruce. She could tell he wanted to argue, wanted to stick around and stick his nose even further into her business. But after a long silence, he inclined his head and said, “Detective,” before turning and disappearing back the way he had come. 

Once Bruce was safely out of earshot, she gave Gordon her full attention and said what had been on her mind the past couple of hours. Or, if she was being completely honest, the past several days.

“I want you to use me as bait, and I don’t want you to argue about it. I want you to help me actually figure out how to get rid of these motherfuckers.” She crossed her arms again for good measure.  

Gordon sighed, long and loud. She expected an argument or a lecture or a combination of the two. But instead, all he said was, “We better bring our other friend into this discussion.” 

–

“Absolutely not,” was the very first thing the Batman said when she laid out her plan. 

“Yeah, well, as I like to point out to certain other people in my life, you’re not the boss of me. I’m going to do something stupid with or without your help, because I am fucking sick of this. Alright? I can’t live like this.” She shivered as a particularly brutal gust of wind cut through her. 

They were on top of the signal tower. She and Gordon had decided together that it was easier to smuggle her out than it would be to smuggle Batman in. Besides, she didn’t want those two parts of her life mixing. God forbid Bruce find out what she was up to. She was arguing with him enough already. 

Not to mention the fact that she didn’t want to disappoint Alfred, or cause him any more stress than she already had. 

The smuggling had taken a willing female detective–a nice woman in her late thirties name Lori Ayers–trading places with y/n. They were relatively the same height and build luckily enough, and Detective Ayers was already assigned to the security on Wayne Tower. An outfit switch, a fake detective badge, and lots of praying later, and there they were. Y/n had asked Gordon and Ayers if she could have a gun, but both of them had practically shouted no in her face. 

Gordon held up his hands, ever the peacekeeper. “Listen, man, I’m not saying we should put her in any unnecessary danger, but–” 

“The whole idea is unnecessary danger!” The Batman cut in. His voice echoed in the darkness of the night around them. 

Gordon continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “–but all I’m saying is that we aren’t any closer to catching these guys. None of us are. So if we can do something we know will draw them out…why not do it?” Gordon gave her a wry look. “And, like she said, it’s probably better to have us for backup before she does anything stupid on her own.” 

Y/n gave Batman a triumphant look as if to say See? I’m right. 

She studied him while he worked his jaw in annoyance. Was he sick of looking out for her? Because she was certainly sick of needing to be looked out for. She wanted to end it. 

“Fine,” he said, the word a growl he spat out. She tried to resist pumping her fist in the air, she really did. He gave her a Look with a capital L that had her lowering it immediately. “But let me just–let me follow this last lead, alright? If it doesn’t pan out, we’ll make a plan. Give me tonight before you do anything stupid.” 

She nodded eagerly. “Great, fine. I needed to get out of the house anyway.” Gordon was also giving her a Look. “What?” she said a bit defensively. 

“You’re awfully upbeat for someone who wants to offer herself up for bait to the mob.” He raised one dark eyebrow above the frames of his glasses. 

She shrugged. “Well, I have cabin fever, so this helped my mood immensely. Plus, the end is in sight. It’s about to be over, one way or another.” 

Later, when she thought back to that moment, she would wonder if she had jinxed it. Or maybe she was simply jinxed all along, one thing leading to another, leading to its inevitable end. Leading to the only possible way it could play out. Her luck, ever since stepping foot back in Gotham–and even before then, ever since Alfred had knocked on her apartment door–had been nonexistent. 

“One last lead,” Batman repeated, holding her gaze steadily for once. Something ran through her like an electric current at that look. Like he was trying to tell her something. 

“One last lead,” she said, crossing her heart for good measure. “I promise I’ll be good.” 

Gordon chuckled like he didn’t quite believe her. “Alright, let’s get back.” 

“I’ll follow you,” Batman said, interrupting her thoughts of how she was going to get Gordon to sneak her past Bruce and Alfred both. She hadn’t told either of them she was leaving, and she didn’t want to think about what they would say to her if they found out. It would only make her life that much harder. 

Her ride back with Gordon was mostly quiet. 

“Where did you get this fake badge anyways?” she asked when Wayne Tower’s doors finally came into view. She toyed with it, noting all the ways it looked like the real deal. Maybe she could hold onto it…just in case. 

“Confiscated it from a kid caught forging all kinds of stuff, including badges she used to get classified materials.” 

She. Interesting. Sounded like somebody y/n would like to hang out with. 

She didn’t say any of that out loud, however. All she did was hum and put the badge back on her belt. 

“And no, I won’t give you her name,” Gordon said. Their eyes met and they both laughed in tandem. 

“Fine, fine. I might be able to find it on my own anyway.” She winked. 

They parked in an alley where Gordon or the other detectives on stakeout duty usually parked. As they stepped out into the cold air, Gordon’s phone rang. 

“Just a second,” he said, stepping further towards the mouth of the alley. “I have to take this. Don’t move.” He pointed at threatening finger at her. She held up both hands in surrender. 

He needn’t have worried–the sound of an approaching motorcycle reached her ears as Batman pulled into the alley behind them. The noise reverberated off of the building walls for a moment before abruptly shutting off. Gordon locked eyes with him, inclined his head, and then answered the phone while striding towards the street ahead. 

“So,” she said casually to Batman as he stood broodily in the shadows. “Think I could have been a detective in another life?” She struck a little pose in her smart, borrowed business suit and trench coat, imagining the fake badge glinting in the low light. 

Batman made a noise that could have been a scoff or a laugh. “Sure, except you would have been fired for repeatedly breaking the rules. And laws.” 

She laughed delightedly. “You’re probably right.” She definitely had chosen the only profession that suited her nosiness and penchant for getting into trouble, something Bruce had pointed out years ago. 

“I’m definitely right.” 

They were closer together than she expected, the toes of their shoes almost touching. She wasn’t sure how that had happened. It was if they had both been drawn in by the other’s gravity, invisible and inevitable. He stared down at her for a moment before, of course, turning his face away. 

“There you go again,” she murmured as she memorized the line of his jaw. “Scared to look me in the eyes.” She reached out and poked his stubbled cheek gently. He froze, but didn’t make a move to step away. 

“I’m scared for you,” he said in an equally soft voice that sent shivers over her skin. “I don’t want you to have to offer yourself up. I don’t like thinking that I might not be able to keep you safe.” 

Y/n felt each of his words sink into her like rocks in a deep lake, sinking down and down and down until they settled at the bottom, heavy in her stomach. She was staring up at him now, their breath mingling, and he was finally, finally looking back. 

She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. 

Instead, she did the next best thing. 

She stretched up onto her toes and kissed him. 

He went so still she immediately knew she had overstepped–and had overstepped badly. She quickly pulled away, face on fire, eyes straining to find anything to look at other than the rejection in his eyes. Stupid, that was so stupid. Just because he wanted her safe didn’t mean that he wanted her to kiss him. 

But before she got too far, his gloved hand caught her arm and tugged her closer. And then he was kissing her.

She inhaled deeply, her stomach doing somersaults in a way it had never done before. She was flying above Wayne Tower yet still somehow firmly rooted to the ground. It was like she could finally breathe again and yet somehow she was gasping for breath. His lips were gentle. One of his hands cupped her elbow while the other splayed across her upper back. She wished he had his gloves off, like that moment in another alley on another night. She wanted to feel his skin against hers. 

Then he was gone, a full step away. 

She couldn’t help it–her fingers traced her lips in a daze. 

They were staring at each other, both breathing slightly heavier than they had been before. 

“Alright, let’s go,” Gordon called from behind her somewhere. She couldn’t bring it within herself to care if he had seen or not. Her and the Batman were still staring at each other, in their own world, a seismic shift between them. 

“Goodnight,” she said, her voice low and raspy with want. 

“Be safe,” was all the Batman said as he watched her go. 

Gordon didn’t look at her like he had just seen them kissing, but she felt as if it were written all over her face. 

“Crime never sleeps,” he said to her as they walked the short distance to the doors. His head was constantly swiveling, searching for danger, and she knew a certain vigilante was watching from the shadows as well. 

Her entire body was electric, every nerve ending on fire, heat settling in her face and chest and lower, too. 

For once, she wasn’t wondering about who the Batman was. Her mind had been rendered totally blank by one kiss. She wasn’t even thinking about how he wasn’t Bruce Wayne, like every other kiss of her life. 

Instead it simply felt…right. 

She blinked and they were somehow inside. 

“Blake, can you escort Detective Ayers upstairs? I have to go to a crime scene.” Gordon gave Blake a long, searching look. Y/n knew that the moment the security guard looked up, he would recognize her. 

Sure enough, he did. His face did something complicated before he realized what Gordon said and stammered out, “S-sure. This way, Detective, um, Ayers.” He hit something on the computer keyboard, scrambling, having to hit whatever button it was a second time. 

“See you later,” Gordon said to her, the words full of meaning. 

She turned towards him and nodded. “Goodnight.” 

It felt stupid, pretending to be someone else in the lobby of her home, but they still didn’t know who had breached security two nights earlier. She knew it was better to be safe than sorry, but Blake knew who she was. What was to stop whoever worked for the Gallos from recognizing her as well? She imagined their pub, Maverick’s, covered in hundreds of stalkery photos of her. 

Gordon waved over his shoulder as she and Blake stepped into the elevator. As soon as the doors slid closed, y/n relaxed a bit. Everything was almost over. 

And she had kissed the Batman.

A smile grew on her face before she could stop it. 

When she glanced up, Blake was watching her. 

His upper lip and his hairline were beaded with sweat and he was much paler than normal. 

“Are you okay?” she asked, wondering if maybe he was sick. Something in her gut shivered with warning. 

“I’m so sorry–” he said, the words choked. “I’m so sorry. They have my sister.” 

That’s when she saw the glint of a needle in his hand.

taglist:

@ktficworld @grunge-n-roses5 @anon-cat-posts @projectdreamwalker @warsaur @lachillona02 @crazyunsexycool @doetic @alexiris @that-girl-named-alex @harry-bowie-mercury @vaniasagitaa @widows-writings @missing-loki @exactlyelegantwizard @miriamnox @mavenmoon @eclipsedplanet @spencerrxids @giulia2372 @katara-is-a-goddess-changemymind @janezat @incorrectmarvelquotesss @spiritdetectivel @i-have-no-life-charlie @ilovemybabes @curseyouperrytheplatypus @lightsinmycity @yondiii @spideybv28 @fictionalmansl4t @just-pure-trash @pastelsweaters-and-bubble-t @thiswildandpreciouslife @givemylovetoall @eddieslooneymoonie

[hxney-lemcn]

Dedicated To The One I Love — Connor x gn! reader

summery: A series of events that that reader and Connor share (a bunch of my daydreams put together somewhat poorly)

tw: Connor breaks in and reader freaks out (that one scene with Hank), mentions of alcoholism, mentions of death.

a/n: I'm not super proud of this but it's better than nothing I guess.

wc: 3.1k

Master List

Change is universal, inevitable. No matter how hard you try to push it away, to forget, change will always follow. Change can be slow, barely noticeable until you peer into hindsight. But it can also be fast, like a predator pouncing on its prey. 

We all experience change. From the clothes we choose to wear, to a star blinking out of existence. Growing up, my life wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t perfect either. I’ve experienced relative poverty, but also having unwavering support from family. I’ve experienced my mom choosing to nurse bottles of beer night after night, but I also witnessed her becoming sober. 

Change will happen. There is no stopping it, no matter how hard humans try. But it’s people's choices that decide what that change will become. Whether it’s a good or bad change, or possibly something that doesn’t fit in that binary. My mother has made many bad choices, but it was an opportunity to make me a better person. Showing me what not to do to better myself. 

But change will rock your boat. Like how my mom died suddenly, and I was put under the care of my estranged uncle. I suppose estranged is the wrong word. My mom and him were close. Until Uncle Hank lost his son. We tried to help, offer him support, but he pushed us away and turned to the bottle like my mother once did. So being under his care was like reliving those painful memories once more. 

This night seemed to be particularly bad. In my last year of college, I was exhausted half the time. Trying to find a job, an internship, something to help get me out of what’s become a hell hole to me. I didn’t blame Uncle Hank, I can’t imagine losing a child. Yes I lost my mom, but her death was more of just a bitter feeling. I stopped caring for her when I believed she chose her addictions over me, and when she died I was just learning to love her again. 

I was just on my phone, scrolling through social media before I turned in for the night. I felt myself calm when Uncle Hanks drunken shouts died down. I tried to ignore the sudden thud that soon followed, he probably passed out somewhere. I felt bad that I would avoid him, sober or not. But I don’t think I can handle looking him in the face. 

About twenty minutes later, the doorbell rang, making me jump out of my skin at the abrupt sound. My heartrate picked up, wondering who could be visiting us at night? I heard a muffled shout, barely making out what he was saying, I heard the work title of my uncle. I let out a sigh, getting slightly irritated as the person held the buzzer down for a ridiculously long time. I just turned back to my phone, maybe if no one answered he’d realize it was a lost cause? Was it someone from Uncle Hanks' work? Someone who was unhappy with his work? Rolling my eyes at the thought, I wondered who wouldn’t be unhappy with his work. Things seemed to be peaceful once more. Well until the sound of a window breaking made my heart leap to my throat. My heart hammered as I heard the same voice try to soothe Sumo. I stared at my phone. This is when I call emergency services right? 

I felt frozen as I heard the intruder shuffle and try to wake your uncle. Taking a deep breath, I dialed 911 and pressed the green call button before I could back down. Who knows what crazy person is in my house right now. 

“911 what’s your emergency?”

“There’s someone in my house,” I whispered, blood rushing past my ears. I slowly got off my bed, looking for a place to hide, but wasn’t overly cliche. 

“Do you know who it is?”

“No,” I replied. “They seem to know my uncle, Hank Anderson.”

“Are you and your uncle in a safe place?”

“I’m in my room,” I muttered, heart dropping as footsteps got closer to where I was. My eyes landed on my doorknob and I felt sick when I realized I didn’t even lock the fucking thing. “They’re coming-”

“Police are on the way,” The dispatcher alerted. “Please stay on the line, where’s your uncle?”

I quickly scurried under the bed, my breathing becoming erratic both from the small space of the underside of my bed, to how the footsteps stopped in front of my door. 

“Strange,” The voice muttered, muffled behind my door. “It says the call is coming from this room.”

“Where is your uncle?” The dispatcher kept repeating but I quickly hung up. He knew, he knew I was calling 911. He knew where I was. My eyes shut tight, small desperate tears falling down my face when the door opened slowly. The squeak of the door made my heart pump faster in anticipation. 

“Hello?” The man called out. I bit my lip, trying to stay as quiet as possible. “My name is Connor. Android sent by Cyberlife to assist with Lieutenant Anderson’s latest case. I apologize for scaring you.” 

Opening my eyes hesitantly, I couldn’t stop the scream that escaped me as our eyes met. Jump scare much? I scrambled out from under the bed, the claustrophobia finally getting the better of me. I leaned against the wall, taking deep breaths before finally getting a look at the intruder, only for my breath to be taken away once more due to the beauty of the man, or I suppose android, that stood in front of me. 

It wasn’t the best meeting of my uncles companion. Quite embarrassing actually. Especially when the next morning, he was sitting in the living room. I couldn’t help the double take I did, wondering if I should go back to my room or not. 

“Good morning,” Connor greeted before I could do anything. 

“Uh, good morning,” I greeted back, not sure what to do. I was somewhat confused. My uncle hated androids, so knowing he was working with one, no less letting one stay in his house, made me very confused. But instead of commenting on anything, I went to the kitchen. I decided to get myself something to drink, an excuse for leaving my room. I was too tired for this and I had to get ready for class. 

Begrudgingly, I sat down on the couch, hoping he wouldn’t start incessant small talk. I didn’t hate androids, quite the opposite actually. I found them very interesting. I wanted to know how they worked, what their programming looked like, how they managed to replicate the human body so well. Since I grew up somewhat poor, we never owned an android, not that I fully agreed with owning something that seemed so human anyways. So my interactions were limited. It never failed to amaze me how lifelike androids were, and Connor seemed to take the cake. 

His fingers tapped against his thigh, his gaze elsewhere. He looked so human, acted so human, the only reminder of him being an android was the spinning blue led on his temple. I wonder what he was thinking about, what he saw. 

“I apologize for scaring you,” Connor spoke up, brown eyes meeting mine. I looked away, the eye contact making me uncomfortable.

I couldn’t help the awkward smile that fell on my lips, “You’re still on that? Its okay, I probably should’ve answered the door anyways.”

“I should’ve done more research on Lieutenant Anderson,” Connor rebuttled. “I would’ve changed my approach if I knew he was housing another person.” I glanced at him and I couldn’t stop the genuine smile, his eyes held an innocence that made me completely forgive him for the absolute heart attack he put me through yesterday. 

“It’s kinda funny now that I think about it,” I chuckled lightly. 

Connor’s brows furrowed lightly, confusion splayed across his features, “How so?”

I opened my mouth to explain, but paused, not exactly sure how to explain it, “I guess cus the situation was so absurd? It’s not everyday you become an acquaintance of someone you called the cops on.” 

His led spun blue again, clearly thinking over my words, “I’m not sure I fully understand.”

I took a sip of my drink, not sure how I could make him understand, “I’m sorry, I’m not the best at explaining things.”

“It’s okay,” He replied, “Perhaps I will understand in the future.”

Checking the time, my eyes widened, wondering where all the time went. 

“Shoot,” I muttered, standing up quickly and rushing to my room. I got dressed as quick as I could before grabbing my bag. “Bye Connor,” I waved to him on my way out. His departing words faint as I was already trekking to my car. 

Soon, Connor became a comforting presence in the mornings. Once, I used to like getting ready alone, no one to bother me or make me cranky. But now…it was nice with Connor being there. In fact, I kinda looked forward to it. 

“Hm?” I hummed out confused as Connor placed toast in front of me on the coffee table. I looked up at him confused. 

“It is recommended for humans to eat a balanced meal in the morning,” Connor explained. “Unfortunately, I was unable to make anything but toast.”

I blinked, and suddenly I felt myself melt at the action. I smiled sheepishly, taking a slice, “Thank you Connor. This was nice of you.”

Every day Connor seemed to do something that would make my heart beat a little bit faster. I knew it was stupid. He was an android, he couldn’t feel, he didn’t care, he was only there to hunt deviants. 

So why did he slightly smile when I told the lamest joke in the world? Why did he scold me when I didn’t take care of myself? Why did I catch his stare lingering, or how he’d come to me with questions that others refused to answer? 

“I still don’t think our meeting is funny,” Connor said randomly one morning. I was currently house hunting. Having a steady income was a nice change of pace and I was excited to finally get a place of my own. 

I glanced up at him, “Oh?” 

Its been a few years since I met Connor and so much has changed. For one, androids had their freedom. Two, Connor ended up being my best friend, as he’d confide in me and I him. I had found a well paying job and things were finally looking up.

“In fact, I feel guilty when I think about it,” Connor frowned. His gaze fell on me, his eyes soft and he reminded me of a kicked puppy. “I wish I made a better impression.”

I rolled my eyes, “Connor, if anything, you made quite the impression. And besides, if I was really bothered by it we wouldn’t be friends now would we?”

“But-”

“No buts,” I interrupted. “People make mistakes, it’s apart of life. You grow, learn, and change from them. Besides, why don’t you apologize to uncle Hank about it? He’s the one that was really bothered by it.”

“Th-that’s different,” Connor rebuttled, leaning closer to me.

“How?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“He’s not you,” Connor breathed out. 

There it was again. The common occurrence of my heart skipping a beat. Of my heart melting. Of me falling deeper than I already was. So deep in fact, that I’m not sure if I could crawl out of it anymore. The occurrence of Connor saying something so sickingly sweet that I was surprised my teeth didn’t fall out. Something so hopelessly romantic that I wanted to just confess all these overwhelming feelings. No matter how common this would happen, it would always leave me breathless, and a memory for me to rewind like a broken record. 

I wasn’t sure how to reply, wondering what he meant by that. Did he mean in the way I was currently hoping he did? Or was it just because we were close friends? Was I looking to much into things? Why did Connor seem so desperate in this moment?

Our eyes met intensely. His brown eyes searching deeply within my own. I felt a certain tension fall over the room, or was that just me? 

“Your special to me,” Connor confessed, saying my name in the same breath. “Different than anyone else I’ve met. You’ve cared for me, guided me, make me feel alive.” 

I stared at him with batted breath. I couldn’t believe my own ears. Was he…confessing? Do I…confess my own feelings? Did he understand the weight his words currently held? That he was currently cradling my heart in his hands, and could crush it without even realizing it? His sweet, brown eyes once again seemed to be searching for something. 

“Your special to me too, Connor” I whispered. “I’ve never felt as close to someone as I do you. I love making you laugh, even if my jokes are dog shit, I love seeing you smile, and I’m glad you trust me enough to confide even the smallest things.”

I thought I’d be anxious to confess my feelings outloud, but I felt at peace as his gaze was soft, dare I say adoring. 

“You got to be kidding me,” I heard uncle Hank grumble as he passed by the living room. “You got a room for a reason kid, take the cheesiness elsewhere.” 

I flustered, breaking the intense staredown Connor and I had held. 

Ever since that conversation, I noticed that Connor seemed to be more affectionate. His hand would brush mine more often when he’d hand me something. He’d hug me more often, arms lingering longer than normal. 

“Holy shit,” I grinned, eyes wide in disbelief. I just found a place and managed to buy it. I just had to give the down payment and I could move in right away. 

Energy buzzed through me and I left my room to find Connor. Uncle Hank sat on the couch, his drinking habits have improved significantly. Connor stood a little farther away, hunched over a stove. He’d taken up the hobby of cooking, in fact he would pout when he couldn’t cook me something or if I’d already eaten. 

I beelined towards the handsome android and hugged him from behind, “Guess what?”

“What?” Connor asked, cranning his neck to try and look at me. 

Letting go, I stepped beside him, “I got my own house!”

His smile fell, before retaining a clearly fake smile, “That’s amazing to hear. When do you move?”

“Probably in the next week or so,” I replied, for some reason feeling…guilty. 

His stare didn’t shift from the pan that sat ontop of the stove, his shoulders tense. I fidgeted with my fingers, unsure how to make the situation better. 

“I’m proud,” He muttered, the words sounding forced.

“It’s going to be hard to keep up with my payments,” I said without even thinking. My heart beat faster as I surmised that it was too late to back up now. “It’d be nice to have a roommate to help lighten the load.” 

I stared at the brown haired beauty from the corner of my eye as he seemed to piece together what I was hinting at. His gaze swept over to me and I almost choked at how hopeful he looked. 

“I-I could help,” Connor stuttered excitedly. “I make more than enough at the precinct now…a-and I don’t mind sharing a living space with you.”

He reminded me of a golden retriever with how he always seemed to try and please me. The thought made me swoon. And only made me double my efforts in showing him I cared as well.

“Okay than,” I nodded. “Hopefully uncle Hank won’t mind-”

“Please!” Hank exclaimed. “Get the hell out of my house so I can finally rest in peace.” 

Connor and I looked at each other before falling into a fit of laughter. 

“I suppose that answers that question,” I teased with a grin. “Better start packing mister, we’ve got a house to start decorating.” 

The sound of sizzling grew louder and Connor tried to save the meal he was making. Apologizing when it was burnt. 

I let out an exasperated sigh, trudging up to Connor who stared at me concerned from the couch. I laid down, resting my head on his lap, frowning in frustration. Today was just a bad day and I wanted to cling to the one comfort I found consistent. 

Connor didn’t hesitate to run his hand through my hair, soothing my touch starved self. I didn’t even realize I let out a hum of content at the contact. It was nice to share a space with Connor, not having to worry about uncle Hank walking around and making teasing comments. 

“I got you a surprise…” Connor trailed off, his nails scratching my scalp in a pleasing manner. 

“Is it a bad surprise?” I asked, wondering if he was buttering me up right now. 

“I think you’d enjoy it,” He hummed. I opened my eyes and met his loving gaze. 

“Do we have to get up?” I grumbled. 

His smile was so soft, I just wanted to lean up and kiss him. 

“I assure you it will be worth it.”

I froze when I heard a bark. I stared up at Connor in shock and he just gave me a smug grin. I scrambled up, running towards his room where the bark came from. I opened the door without second thought and a puppy barelled towards me, jumping up to meet me. A kitten trailed not too far behind, exploring the world around it. 

A giddy smile rested on my face as I sat on the ground and pet the puppy. Connor joined me, petting the kitten that sniffed at him curiously. When my gaze met Connor’s, my heart stuttered as he was already staring at me with that goofy grin of his. I lept at him, embracing him but also making us fall down, startling our pets. I squeezed him as tightly as I could, and he held me firmly as well. 

“I love you so much,” I confessed without even thinking. I froze, turning ridged in his hold. I tried to pull away but Connor only held me tighter. 

“I…love you too,” He breathed out, nuzzling his face into the side of my neck. 

Change will always happen. Where androids were once seen as emotionless slaves, they turned out to be complex beings, seeming more human than actual humans. When you thought that you’d never be close to an android, you ended up loving one. Things won’t always be perfect, as mistakes are a step of change, but as long as the intentions behind your choices are good, good is likely to follow. And you couldn’t be happier with the choices you made that led to this moment.

[skepsiss]

Tooth and Nail pt2

Part 2 of this mini-series. I guess I'm writing like 4 mini-series right now. This story is about Eddie being the one to question his sexuality after Steve comes out first. Read the first part to get the full details.

This part is pretty darn sad with a lot of introspection. I put up a mini-poll asking people what they wanted to read the most and Eddie being introspective was winning when I started writing this. I'm likely to write all the options on that poll still, so don't fret. I want to say clearly too that I do not agree with Eddie's thoughts. Sharing your emotions is never selfish and I think the fact that he feels like a burden is something he needs to work through. He is unwell. I'll admit I made myself cry writing this so if you're emotionally fragile like I am (lol) read at your own risk.

TW: Internalized homophobia (he's working through it), self-hatred, brief thoughts on death, mention of war (Vietnam and Korea).

PT1 PT2 PT3

---

"I kissed Steve."

"What?" Gareth said, startled as he stared at Eddie. 

Eddie was sitting on a beaten-up old armchair in Jeff’s garage; it was night and they’d opened the garage door to let in the summer air. The whole block was having a party and despite the time of night, the street was still alight with lamps and Christmas lights as people mingled in the street. Eddie had taken refuge in the garage (slightly paranoid that someone was going to touch the band equipment) after the first hour of forcing himself to be social. He had a beer in hand, even though he was underage, but it didn’t seem like any of the adults cared as long as they behaved. Hell, Eddie didn’t even live on this block but he was here enough that the neighbours didn’t seem to mind.

“A week and a half ago,” Eddie answered. He was slouching badly with one leg up on the seat, looking as if he was trying to lounge on a satee instead of a corduroy, La-Z-Boy from the 60s.

“Wait–sorry, what?” Gareth asked again, holding his own beer between his knees as he stared at Eddie. He had come to join him a few moments ago since Eddie had been moping by himself, and then they had proceeded to sit in silence until now.

Eddie flicked his gaze over to the younger boy before taking a long sip of his beer as if to say, yeah, you heard right without the willingness to repeat himself. He was quietly pissed, actually, but was chomping at the bit to talk to someone about it.

“So, are you like…” Gareth started, waving one of his hands as if that would fill in the blank.

“I’m fucking straight,” Eddie muttered, looking away and taking another long drink from his beer.

“Then why–” Gareth wasn’t going to get a word in edgewise and anyone who came to talk to Eddie when he was in a mood like this knew that coming in.

“I don’t fucking know!” Eddie grumbled, crossing his other arm over his chest and slouching all the way down in his seat so only his neck was being supported by the back of the chair.

Gareth frowned at him and looked away, no doubt wondering what he should say to all of that. It gave Eddie a moment to calm down and he eventually sat back up.

“I just…” he muttered, speaking into his drink, “I don’t know; it’d be easy if he was a girl. I just wish he was a girl.”

“Eddie…” Gareth mumbled a bit incredulously as he pinched his brows in. His expression was pitying and Eddie hated that it looked like he felt sorry for him. That was annoying and he scowled before looking away. 

Eddie’s logic was sound, it didn’t make sense why Gareth would be questioning it. Things would be easier if Steve was just a girl, that way if he had kissed him it wouldn’t be a big deal. Just an oops, sorry, that was uncool, well, anyways, and then they’d move on. He wouldn’t have to be dealing with this crisis of conscience and saying that he was just joking around wouldn’t have blown up in his face–maybe, he wasn’t sure. If Steve was a girl saying that he was joking actually might have blown up in his face more now that he was thinking about it… probably wasn’t cool to yank a girl’s chain like that.

“We were high and I don’t know, I wanted to talk to him about it being fine that he’s gay or whatever and I wasn’t thinking at all and I just…” Eddie sighed heavily and chugged the remainder of his beer. He twisted the pull-tab off and flicked it across the room, aiming for the bin and missing.

“You always want to kiss people when you’re high?” Gareth asked an edge of humour to his voice. He was teasing lightly, but Eddie didn’t have the patience for that kind of crap right now. 

“Fuck no,” Eddie grouched, crossing his arms and resuming his earlier position where one of his legs was up and he was slouched into the corner of the seat. “I wouldn’t kiss your ugly mug for money.”

Gareth snorted lightly and took a swig of his beer, letting the moment simmer.

“So…” he continued, glancing at Eddie before looking away sharply, “he get mad or something?”

Eddie groaned as he covered his eyes with the side of his hand, cupping his forehead as he tipped his head back. Why had he brought this up? He didn’t want to talk about this. It had been eating his insides alive, but he didn’t actually want to talk about it. What was Gareth going to do? Tell him the magic words to make Steve like him again?

“I told him I was joking,” Eddie mumbled, “and that I didn’t mean it–I even apologized, and I don’t fucking apologize to anyone.”

“Tell me about it,” Gareth muttered under his breath and Eddie hucked his empty beer can at his head, forcing Gareth to duck.

“Jesus–” he half laughed, the can knocking against him harmlessly and clattering to the ground, “just saying.”

Eddie flicked him off and motioned to get up. He didn’t need to be here for this, he didn’t want to be around people. This sucked. He could tell that Gareth was trying to be helpful–trying to be a friend–but he didn’t have the patience for it and he didn’t want to have another fight with another friend over something stupid.

Eddie stuck his hands in his pockets and shuffled over to Gareth before picking up the empty can and chucking it into the garbage. He wasn’t about to leave trash in Jeff’s garage, his parents let them practice there and store their gear most of the time and Eddie wasn’t going to burn this location. 

“Say bye to Jeff for me,” Eddie muttered, grouching out of the garage, “and thanks for the food.”

“You going home?” Gareth asked, leaning over the side of his chair to watch Eddie.

“No, this is an illusion,” Eddie mocked, turning and waving his hand in front of his face and giving a manic smile, “the Eddie you know died a long time ago.”

Gareth half laughed, but his brows pinched in at the same time. Eddie didn’t stick around to see if that meant he wanted to say something. He just continued to walk away, turning and hunching his shoulders as he walked past energetic little kids chasing one another and people starting to pack up their dishware. He didn’t feel like unpacking what he had told Gareth or why stating that he had died twisted his guts up into knots. He also didn’t like that he could tell that his upset wasn’t due to the fact that he was lying, but rather that it felt too close to the truth. 

Eddie lit a cigarette and started the long walk home. He lost the last of the dusk light halfway through his walk, already two cigarettes down as he got closer to Cherry Street. He wanted to say he ended up there by accident, but that would have been a lie. He walked this way often, actually, and it had been convenient once upon a time. Steve lived on Cherry Street… and Cherry Street backed up onto the forest that connected to the trailer park. A funny coincidence, he had said once to Steve, makes it easier to bother you. That was all too true now though. He was more than a bother.

Eddie stood looming at the end of the street as he stared off towards Steve’s house, the large, stark white structure easy to spot even in the dark. The lawn was lit up by small pot lights and the street lamp across the road shone brightly down onto the sidewalk. Eddie was out of view of any of the windows from his vantage, but he could see the side of the garage and the front of Steve’s house still.

He grumbled miserably and flicked the butt of his cigarette, not bothering to stamp it out before rerouting and taking the long way home. He didn’t want to walk past Steve’s place and risk seeing him, he didn’t know what he’d say if he saw him… he still didn’t really know what had happened. The whole thing felt jumbled in his mind and then crystal clear all at once. He could remember everything so vividly, but it was as if they had been speaking a foreign language to each other: none of it made sense.

Why did he kiss Steve?

Why had that led to Steve getting so angry he nearly got hit?

Why was he such a jackass that seemed to ruin any good thing that happened to him?

It was pitch black by the time Eddie made it home, but he knew the route well enough. The trailer park didn’t have any lights other than the rinky-dink porch lights that some of the homesteads had. It wasn’t that late, but things got dark this far away from town. He came home late like this all the time though, so it wasn’t a surprise when the flyscreen slapped open and Wayne was lounging on the couch. Wayne wasn’t working right now, which was a problem, but they had a small nest egg from the government to live off of for at least a few more weeks. It was amazing how far you could stretch a dollar when you’d been doing it for 20 years. 

“That you, Eddie?” Wayne asked, sparing a glance towards the door as a commercial popped onto the screen.

“Yeah…” Eddie mumbled, standing by the front door with his hands in his pockets still. He was looking at the ground, and Eddie wasn’t sure why he felt paralyzed. He didn’t want to move, but he didn’t want to be standing there either… stuck in some kind of limbo.

“You’re home early,” Wayne commented, his tone sounding cautious as if he wasn’t sure if a conversation was going to come out of this, “everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Eddie answered, again, not really sure what he was expecting.

Silence drew out between them as Eddie shifted from foot to foot, just wanting to… be around someone. He wasn’t sure if that was right, but he wanted to be invited in or something. He selfishly wanted to be comforted even though he was the problem.

“What’re you watching?” He mumbled, still not looking at Wayne.

“Mash,” Wayne answered easily, “reruns.”

Eddie nodded and sniffed, feeling like a stranger in his own home. Though he supposed that wasn’t right, this was Wayne’s home, he was a guest. He was a guest that had worn out his invitation by years and years. The deal had been until he graduated, but he still hadn’t done that and it was starting to feel like an impossibility. He didn’t want to be a burden though and he knew that getting a job was the next best thing… but he hadn’t been able to force himself to do that yet either.

Slowly, Eddie shuffled over to the couch and sat down a cushion width away from his uncle, looking up at the TV. The commercials were ending and Eddie felt his throat tighten as he tried to push himself into small talk.

“Is it a good episode?” He asked, having seen most of MASH living here with Wayne. He liked the show, and Eddie could understand why. All the characters questioned why they were at war and the ethics of it all. Made sense for someone like Wayne to get some kind of catharsis from the show after coming home from ‘Nam all those years ago.

“It’s the one where Hawkeye tries to get ribs sent from Chicago to Korea,” Wayne explained, sipping the drink he had in his hand and looking back at the TV.

Eddie snorted slightly, remembering the episode. He toed his shoes off and tucked up onto the couch so he could rest his chin on his knees, the room falling into silence except for the murmur of the TV and the tell-tale M*A*S*H song in the background. It was easy to watch and Eddie stared at the grainy images on the screen as Wayne and him shared the living room. He always liked that he could be quiet with Wayne, but it felt a bit forced on his part tonight.

A commercial broke up the episode and Eddie sighed, not looking at Wayne as he tipped his head to the side before chewing his lip and finally speaking.

“You ever… had a fight with a friend?” Eddie asked quietly, not liking the sound of his own voice right now. It was quiet for a beat before Wayne responded, his tone calm.

“Sure,” he said easily, obviously waiting for Eddie to continue, “you… have a fight with the band?”

“Steve,” Eddie mumbled, shaking his head no to Wayne’s assumption as he picked off the black polish on his nails.

“What did you do… to fix it?” Eddie asked, still not looking up.

“Apologized… talked, bought them a beer,” Wayne offered loosely, “depends on what the fight was about.”

Eddie nodded solemnly, not liking that there wasn’t some magic answer to his query. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but he didn’t feel like elaborating his problem either. So he just nodded and picked at his nails, waffling for a long time before more words tumbled out of him.

“Do you think… people just… dislike me?” Eddie asked, his lip quivering a bit before he got control of it, swallowing hard to hide his emotions. Wayne didn’t say anything right away which forced a bitter laugh from Eddie’s lungs.

“Like, I’m difficult, I know it, people don’t like difficult but sometimes…” Eddie smiled sadly as he held back his emotions, hiding his face between his knees again, “something even when I’m around people that are… like me, I’m just… different.”

Eddie didn’t like the words that were slipping out of him, why he felt like this was related to what had happened with Steve, or why he was saying it to begin with. He didn’t want to talk about this and he didn’t want to put this on Wayne to think about, that wasn’t fair. Wayne dealt with enough of his bullshit, more than any Uncle should have to, but sometimes Eddie couldn’t help that his uncle felt like the only safe person to talk to.

“It feels like it’s just so easy for me to–” he laughed quietly again, having a harder time holding back the wavering tone of his voice, “--to just–fuck things up with people.”

His body betrayed him and Eddie felt tears slipping down his face and he rushed to push them away so they wouldn’t be seen, still shielded by his knees as he hunched like a gargoyle.

“Eddie–” Wayne started, too much sympathy in his voice.

“Sorry,” Eddie muttered, trying to put levity into his tone, “I know you don’t like it when I drop the f-bomb.”

That was partly true, but Eddie also knew that Wayne didn’t care that much. They swore all the time, he just didn’t like being sworn at.

Wayne went quiet for a moment and Eddie squeezed his eyes shut, trying to get rid of any lingering tears that might be holed up in there.

“What’s going on, boy?” Wayne asked, his voice incredibly gentle.

Eddie felt his bottom lip bunch up, hating that any time Wayne sounded like that Eddie was doomed to start breaking down. It was like a superpower or something–he didn’t know, but Wayne had made him cry dozens of times when he felt on the verge of tears. He always felt selfish seeking out comfort from his uncle when he had already saddled him with so many problems.

“I hate people–” Eddie blubbered, not sure if that was what he really wanted to say but that felt like the strongest phrasing he could find to describe how he felt. He felt so small and so selfish, reverting back to some kind of scared kid who didn’t know how to deal with his own emotions. 

Eddie finally looked up, his face wet and his chest tight, and he crawled across the seat cushioned and collapsed onto his side, pressing his face into Wayne’s thigh. He was so pathetic… he was twenty years old and he was crying into his uncle's lap? Eddie the demon, the freak, the devil, metal head, satanic worshipper – yeah right.

“Sometimes it feels like–people just–I’m just–-I’m made to be hated,” he blubbered, hiding his face and gasping through his words. He felt miserable and like he wasn’t really saying what he meant, but he didn’t know what he wanted to say or even why he was doing this right now. It was like hundreds of emotions were trying to fight their way out of his chest and he couldn’t do anything about it. He hated it.

Wayne touched the top of his head and Eddie felt himself choke.

Wayne’s touch was gentle and Eddie couldn’t help but sob as he started to stroke the back of his head. It was a subdued affection, but one that Eddie knew was genuine. Wayne wasn’t a man of many words, so sometimes a touch was the best he was going to get. There was a reason why Wayne sometimes felt like the only safe person–even if Eddie still felt like he was a burden to his uncle.

“Everything about me just—” Eddie sobbed, gritting his teeth as he just let his thoughts and feelings freefall from him. “Why am–I—I–why do I like everything people can–can just hate–about me? I don’t like anything normal—I’m just–nothing about me is normal.”

Usually, Eddie was the first one to proclaim that he was different and scream it loudly for people to hear. He’d shout and point and own it and draw all the other weirdos towards him. He was the king of all the freaks, but it felt like he was still an island amongst them. He was always somehow different. Like there was this wall he bumped up against far too easily that would crop up out of nowhere. How he’d say or do something and just fuck everything up in one fell swoop. 

Why did he keep giving people new reasons to call him a freak?

“I hate being like this–I hate–I hate that I can’t just–be normal for—for five minutes,” he gasped, feeling that swell of self-hatred rising in his chest, “it’s always my fault–it’s–I’m always… so… difficult. I just—I can’t—...I don’t know why–I don’t—I hate it, I hate it so much.”

He was feeling sorry for himself again and that felt unfair. It didn’t feel like this was something he got to be upset about or something that Wayne or anyone else cared about. It felt unfair to complain to a man who had probably watched dozens of friends die right in front of him during the war; to complain to a man who had taken him in when no one else would and had to bear this kind of responsibility when he hadn’t asked for it. To have a snot-nosed-brat sobbing in his lap because people didn’t like him. But Eddie was nothing if not selfish.

“I’m so tired of being different–I don’t… I don’t want it anymore–why does it matter so much to people? I just–I don’t want it anymore–It’s–like—I know, I know people hate me—everyone in this goddamn town–people–pe—everyone hates me. Wayne–” he was heaving now as he rambled, everything just spilling out of him in these waves of emotions as each ugly sound crashed into the next. “It’s not fair—I don’t—I don’t want to be the freak–I don’t what—I don’t want to be a loser–to be a drop out–I don’t want—I don’t want to like men–”

The last of his confessions slipped out and Eddie felt his body tighten; his throat felt like it was being ripped apart and his lungs couldn’t pull in enough breath to satiate him. It hurt so badly. It hurt and he hated it and he didn’t know why he said it.

Eddie felt Wayne’s pets pause briefly before picking back up again. That more than anything made Eddie feel ashamed. It made his jaw shake and his shoulders tighten. How fear and sorrow rattled around inside of him at the consequences of his words. He didn’t know what saying them would do–he didn’t mean them. He knew he didn’t mean them–he couldn’t have meant them. Those words were a death sentence.

“It’ll be alright,” Wayne mumbled, the words not sounding as hollow as Eddie thought they would, “I like you plenty.”

Eddie tucked in at the compliment, feeling weak and small as his sobs quieted a bit. His tears didn’t stop, but his chest heaves changed into fluttering gasps as he slowly regained his composure.

“Freaks run in the Munson blood,” Wayne continued and Eddie blubbered a small laugh shifting to press into Wayne’s hip. He was such a child, but he couldn’t help but soak in the comfort.

It was quiet again for some time as Eddie’s crying turned into hiccups and then sniffles, the TV quietly rambling in the background. It took a long while for Eddie to calm down, but Wayne never stopped stroking his hair. He felt wrung out and hollow now, his emotions dull and his body aching from how hard he had cried. Still, it did feel better than when he walked in here.

“I kissed him…” Eddie said quietly. He felt Wayne shift to look down at him, a question in his movement.

“Steve,” Eddie explained, mumbling, “I kissed Steve the other week.”

“I see,” Wayne answered back, obvious awkwardness in his delivery. He had never been good at talking about stuff like this–anything really–but it was obvious that he was trying. “And he doesn’t like that you’re a guy?”

Eddie shook his head, and closed his eyes, tucking in closer still as he pressed his forehead against Wayne’s stomach.

“Steve likes guys,” Eddie sighed, breathing heavily as he wrangled his emotions.

“Alright…” Wayne replied slowly, obviously puzzling through everything. Eddie frowned and tucked in again, hiding as he felt shame wash over him.

“I kissed him…” he explained, sniffing, “and then I told him it was a joke, that I didn’t mean it…”

“Ah…” Wayne answered, sighing a knowing breath. “Did you mean it?”

Eddie swallowed thickly, taking a long time to answer as he pressed hard into Wayne as if he could disappear this way.

“I don’t know…” Eddie replied, his voice muffled. Wayne stroked his head again and Eddie breathed deeply through his mouth, feeling bad for crying all over Wayne’s lap.

“Alright,” Wayne answered simply, not pushing the subject at all. He was good at listening and Eddie quietly appreciated that Wayne always seemed to have time to listen to him ramble. Slowly, Eddie sat back up, his back to Wayne as he hugged his knees and rallied.

“Sorry,” Eddie mumbled, feeling like he had to apologize for the way he had acted. 

Wayne just patted his shoulder and Eddie felt a few tears slip down his cheek as if they had been knocked out of him by his uncle’s kindness. He sniffed hard again before getting off the couch and stumbling into the kitchen to splash water into his face and clean off the snot and tears. Eddie lifted the hem of his shirt to dry his face and then leaned against the kitchen counter, going quiet once more.

“Eddie?” Wayne spoke up and Eddie peered over at him through the cabinet shelf, “try telling your friend the truth.”

Eddie frowned at the suggestion, but he didn’t have it in him to be angry. Still, he didn’t think that was a great idea. What was he supposed to say? He wasn’t even sure if he knew what the truth was. How did he feel? Did he like Steve? That felt stupid and the idea made his stomach turn over. What good would a confession do anyway?

“And what’s that?” Eddie asked a bit flippantly, wiping wet strands of hair out of his face. 

“That you’re figuring it out and you want to stay friends,” Wayne offered, looking over at Eddie for a moment before turning to look at the TV again.

Eddie stared at the back of his uncle’s head, not sure what to say to that. Was it that simple? It felt like he wasn’t allowed to tell anyone that he didn’t know how he felt about something. That he was unsure and vulnerable and scared—it didn’t feel like things were allowed to be that simple.

He didn’t answer Wayne as the TV flicked from image to image painting the dark little trailer in different colours each time. It felt comforting and Eddie appreciated that his Uncle wasn’t smothering him. He was more grateful that Wayne had just… accepted him. He had accepted him like he always did. He hadn’t said anything when Eddie started to grow his hair out or when he got a tattoo, when he flunked school, and now when he had said… he liked men. It had been a surprise to hear himself say those words and there was still deep-rooted shame attached to all of that, but that felt like something he had to unpack on his own. Still, Wayne’s reaction had been the same as it was for all of Eddie’s past transgressions. He’d quietly support him or sigh with worry, but it never seemed to change anything between them.

Eddie shifted awkwardly from foot to foot and went to the fridge. He pulled out a can of beer and walked it over to his uncle, touching the cold metal to Wayne’s forearm so he’d look up.

“Thanks,” he muttered gruffly, looking at Eddie briefly before redirecting his attention to the TV.

“Yeah,” Eddie replied quietly, wiping his nose and touching his uncle’s shoulder before stepping away, “thanks.”

PT3

[uh-wriring]

Like a Wild Animal

Prompt: You're in an argument with Miguel regarding the situation with Miles. He doesn't know how to deal with things.

Tags: Miguel & gn reader. Angst, grief, he raises his voice, a bit of physical violence.

Drops of rain fell from the clouds above, painting the sky in shades of gray and blue. The rooftop held a kind of beauty, with the smell of water hitting the concrete, birds flying to their homes much like the people bellow on the street.

You’d appreciate the scenery so much more if you weren’t arguing with O’hara, who just raised his voice at you. Not in the “you fucked up in a mission” way, no, much worse. You just touched an open wound, and like a wild animal, he showed his teeth and claws, clearly telling you to stay away.

He wasn’t disappointed, he was defensive.

Suppose that’s what you get for bringing Gabriella up. Or maybe for disagreeing on the “Miles subject.” Likely both, though.

“You know I’m right, Miguel.” You recover your previous poise, the one you held before you tuned out as he screamed. “You know it.”

“Do not compare my situation to this.” his posture tells all you need to know. He’s ready. Alert. Angry. Who were you to even mention his family, let alone mention them in this context.

In reality, he is still grieving. You had been through something so similar, the pain that reoccurs can break a vein in half, shatter your lungs and take you out for a days, but Miguel insisted on keeping on working and looking at old pictures, and he just… He’s grieving.

And grief is an abyss.

One that threatens to swallow even the highest of hearts. You knew the urge to throw yourself into work, to revisit old memories, to keep moving forward just to keep from sinking. And that’s what he is doing.

“This is different. Miles is different.” You say, mouth now aching and throbbing.

“It isn’t.” he turns to the exit, so high and strong, he almost looks fragile. But you continue, pushing through the pain in your mouth.

“We could help him, imagine what that would mean for the society- he wasn’t even supposed to be spider -man, and, if it’s the Spot that’s killing his father, wouldn’t that make his death the consequence of an anomaly- don’t - Miguel!”

The exit door makes a click when opening.

He fucking walked out on you.

You go after him, walking through the pale corridors of the spider society, almost screaming.

“You know damn well this isn’t the same, O’hara!”

He doesn’t answer, he only walks, always walking, always running, always facing but never feeling. Oh how he would hate you for your next words.

“He isn't doing what you did!”

His steps slowed, his back rigid. The words must’ve hit him like a punch to the gut.

He froze, his fingers trembling almost imperceptibly. And then, as if the weight of your words had cracked something open within him, he turned back to you.

The tension in the air was thick, charged with unspoken history.

And then it happened.

His fists collide with you, your body crashing to the ground. The pain was sharp, the taste of copper in your mouth strong, warm, coming from above.

“You don’t know shit about my family.” He looms over you, presence almost suffocating. He could kill you if he so wished. And maybe you wanted to make him wish that.

Your head rests against the cold floor, accepting the physical loss.

“You know what makes people like us?” you ask, “We try, Miguel. We always try. Isn’t this worth a try?”

For a second, a maroon, cloud gazed, second, you catch his eyes shifting from anger to something softer. But just like summer rain, it goes away, and he threatens:

“I won’t let him break the universe more than he already has. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

And then he left.

The corridor was silent, save for the rain hitting the walls and the sound of your ragged breaths. You gingerly touch your nose, your fingers coming away red.

Your words hung in the air. Hopefully you had planted a seed.

And as the rain continued to fall, a steady rhythm seemed to mirror your heartbeat. You contemplated the path ahead. Perhaps Lyla could help.

[wayfayrr]

Hello!

If it's alright with you, can I get a spiked Latte and some Christmas pudding to eat in please?

I absolutely love your writings and all of your works! You're definitely one of my favorite authors (*´꒳`*)

I hope you have a great day/night and a Happy Holiday!

- 𐂂 anon (if that's okay with you ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ)

it's more than alright!! welcome to this little corner of our hellsite elk!! (if you don't mind me calling you that ofc) I've seen you over on fir's blog assuming this is the same 𐂂 and it's lovely to meet you myself, I hope you're having a lovely day too <3

I wrote this one as a continuation to the other first request seeing as it flowed well and felt like the most natural thing to do. I hope you'll enjoy your order and your time here <3

[event masterlist]

“My deity? Is this not to your taste, did - did I do something wrong?”

What am I supposed to say to that? I feel like I’m about to throw up or pass out, not to mention the countless things in between. He’s standing in front of me with a bloody heart, all the while looking at me like a puppy begging for approval. 

“You - wh- where-”

don’tpassoutdon’tpassoutdon’tpassoutDON’TPASSOUT

[name] if you pass out here then none of the links will be able to help you, you cannot pass out. Just - just ask him to get rid of it, but he looked so proud of it. 

“Ple- please can you just… I don’t need that, can you… just - please get rid of it.”

He seemed dejected when I said that but he -thankfully- didn’t question it. Just left without another word with a defeated look on his face now leaving me all alone to settle myself enough to try get some sleep. Just - just have to get the image of that out of my head,�� else I might never be able to sleep till I do. Maybe the others wouldn’t mind me going to share a room with one of them for the night but there’s always the chance they won’t let me live this down they have gone through worse than I have after all. No, it’s not worth the chance of embarrassing yourself infront of them like that, you’re fine in here on your own all you need to do is get changed and get into bed it’s easy; what chance will you have to get in a normal bed again anyway?

Going through the familiar motions of getting changed is grounding, calming even, throwing myself onto the bed and wrapping myself up in the plush blanket just helps even more. Falling asleep really won’t be hard. 

Mhpm why am I up? It’s not that much darker so I can’t have been asleep for much more than half an hour or so and I’ve never been a light sleeper like this. Who’s in the bed with me?

There’s a hand around you - look at that and then panic. Why is it cove-

“...First?”

“My deity? I thought you were sleeping?”

“And I - I - you… I - didn’t you say - didn’t I ask you to get rid of the blood?”

Oh fuck. Why is he holding me tighter now and… he’s sobbing. My back’s getting wet but it's not blood I hope, he’s just using me as a - a pillow. What did hylia do to him to mess him up this badly? From what he said before…she had to have something to do with why he’s like this. He can’t even breathe through his tears right now…

“Firs- link. Can we talk about - you know - all of this?”

Just more tears and half-hearted breaths. Is he forcing himself to be like this? Maybe if I can hold him it’ll help comfort him somehow. He- he has surprisingly strong arms considering, you shouldn’t be surprised, he probably beat that man to death with his bare hands, the fact that he was tortured and starved in a dungeon for who knows how long. 

“If not now… In the morning at least? Please?” 

A pout and a wet sniffle while he wipes his eyes to calm himself. 

“You know acting like this - it isn’t healthy. I - you can’t go around gifting me peoples hearts - that - that is not normal.”

“... if you say I must my deity.”

I’ll take it. 

Even with the puppy dog eyes he’s making at me.

[tojiscumdumpster]

CHAPTER SEVEN - TOJI

⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀✧ summary page

Within the next few minutes, I’ll be dead. I knew this the moment I saw that blue-eyed freak reappear after when I thought I killed him. Fucking sorcerers and their cursed technique bullshit. Maybe I was too confident thinking I would win the second time. I doubted myself at first, but then I calmed down… No. 

 I was just too confident.

 A world like this wasn’t meant for a monkey like me. I was born into a fucked up family that treated me like shit because I didn’t have any cursed technique. The scar on my lip reminds me of it every day. I got over it, though. I accepted this was my faith. I served my purpose, and it was time for me to go.

 Still, I can’t help but wish I made it out alive. That I had a little bit more time. 

 “Nah,” I replied, vaguely. 

 How am I supposed to answer some cliché question like that? 

 Any last words?

 Why would I tell him that? 

 Tell him about the thoughts and images that’s in my head.

 Tell him that I had a wife who I actually saw some good in me. Good enough to get pregnant and raise a kid together. Tch, me? Toji Fushiguro? A husband and father? I never thought I would live to see the day. And of course, it didn’t last long. 

 My wife died because of an incurable sickness. I never felt pain before. Not when I’m standing here with half my body blown off. Not when my family tortured me. But the day she died, I felt pain. I didn’t cry. I just felt empty. Felt like I had no reason to be decent anymore. How was I supposed to raise a kid by myself? 

 She told me I was going to be okay. 

 I wasn’t okay. 

 I’m a fucked a person.

 A fucked up father.

 . . . I was never made to be a fucking dad. Me selling my son to my family is better than what I could’ve done for him. It wouldn’t make any difference if I was or was not in his life because I would never be good enough to be a father. . . A person. . . But I met. . . Her.

 In my final moments, I think of my late wife, my son, and—

“Dad!” Megumi’s deafening voice wakes me up. “It’s almost five. We have to go to the store.”

  What the…

 What the fuck was that? 

 Lately my mind has been clogged with thoughts and what feels like memories I used to have. Could never decipher them, but that dream was probably the clearest I had. 

 Me being on the verge of death (wouldn’t be the first time), apparently being killed by some blue-eyed fuck. Giving Megumi away to the Zen’in Family? Like fucking hell. I would endure the shit they put me through every day for the rest of my life knowing it would keep my kid safe. I just don’t understand these dreams I’ve been having.

 Are they signs? Is my judgment day coming where I would have to atone to my sins? Some bad shit about to happen to me? Megumi? I don’t fucking know. 

 I don’t care for karma. I don’t care for faith, destiny, or any of that manifestation bullshit. But I do believe in purpose, and sometimes I feel like I don’t have any. That there isn’t any.

 I’m a dad. For what? To fail my son. I was a husband, had my flaws but shit, I tried. And for what? To lose her only after being parents together for eight years? It was unexpected. Nature calling, and at the moment, I never hated whatever fucking god above so much because they took her away from me. 

 From me and Megumi.

 Please take care of Megumi.

 It’s like I can hear her lecturing me about all the times I had our kid eating take out or having him walk home alone from school. 

 Take care of Megumi. . . Yeah, I’m trying.

 I have to do better.

 I need to.

 The little purpose I have is left for him.

 “If you can’t go anymore, can you at least give me the money so I can go by my-”

 “No,” I interrupted, clearing my throat. “No, let’s go. Sorry, kid. Your old man was dozing off.”

 Here’s another thing about being a parent. Being around other parents who force small talk while their kids go off and buy shit. Because we’re parents, that means we have to share funny stories and randomly show baby photos to people you don’t even fucking know. Why? I don’t know, but I bet the mom next to me that has been talking my ears out for the past fifteen minutes could tell you.

 Having Megumi as my kid means he’s going to have most, if not some, of my traits. One of them being how much of a loner I am that appreciates his space. After my failed attempt to walk around with the kid to maybe have some father-son bonding, I figured I just stand at a comfortable distance and let him do his own thing. 

 No pressure. I’m on his time. Not the other way around.

 Still, me standing alone was not a fucking invitation to talk to me.

 I respect women. I do, but I’m two seconds away from telling her to fuck off in the nicest way possible. 

 Though, I have a reason why she approached me to begin with. 

 How she’s invading my space, trying her hardest for me to look at her tits. The extra pout she gives her lips while talking to me. How she’s still asking me one off questions, despite my vague one word answers.

 She’s looking to get fucked, but she’s just too shy to say it. 

 Attractive for most part. Probably five-foot-ten, maybe in her late thirties. Strong perfume. Hair drops right below her jaw. 

 Hm, not my type. 

 “So, here’s another photo-”

 “Sorry, why are you showing me these again?” I abruptly asked. 

 “I—” she stumbles over her words, pushing her hair back while giving me a timid smile.

 “Seems like you had other reasons.”

 “Like?”

 I shrug. “To get fucked.” I can tell that my brute honesty throws her off a bit, but she gathers herself. 

 “Are you offering?”

 “No.”

 She’s probably taken back by my response. I wouldn’t know because I casually walked away to the next aisle. 

 Back in Tokyo, I gained attention, but in America? The women here look at me like I’m a fucking piece of meat. Not that I don’t mind, but shit. 

 What would help if they didn’t waste both our time with trivial chit chat and just cut straight to the chase. 

 Anyways. 

 Told the kid I’ll be walking around the store if he needs me, and of course he replies with whatever . Like I should be surprised. 

 He’s my son, after all. 

 Pretty packed for a Tuesday night at the store. Guess all the parents are out buying their kids shit, too. While Megumi is getting his supplies together, figured I could go to the meat section to make dinner tonight. Probably hot pot for the kid and offal for me. 

  Sometimes I wonder if I’m doing this parenting shit right. You know, letting Megumi be by himself to buy things while I roam around. Probably not because I see families throughout the store and they look happy, for the most part. 

 The look on their faces, the light conversations they’re having about who knows what. . . I can tell this is going to be one of those fucking nights for me. 

 Remember there was a point in my life where I was content with the small family I created. My wife. Megumi. Living in the shittiest apartment building back in Tokyo and barely making ends meet. 

 I came from a wealthy family. One of the wealthiest in Japan. I was supposed to be a silver spooned brat that was grateful to be born into money, only later to be beaten and emotionally abused, which eventually left me in the streets. 

 And you know after all the shit those Zen’in fucks put me through regardless of the amount of money I had access to, I’d always choose what I had with my wife and my strained relationship with Megumi. 

 But of course, any good that happens to me is only temporary. Can only imagine how long I have left with Megumi until he turns eighteen and moves far away from me if he decides to go to college. 

 Is it wrong for me to wish my kid would cut me some slack? Probably, but that’s not something I would ever ask him. Though, I can fucking admit that it stings how he addresses me has changed over time. 

 Daddy to Papa, now to Dad. Soon he’ll start being formal and shit by calling me father or even my first name. I guess I should be grateful he’s calling me anything at all. 

 Damn, if I liked alcohol, I would’ve said I need a drink right now. Maybe a few. Being in family settings makes me feel the emotion I hate feeling the most. Vulnerability . 

 It makes me feel weak, like I’m pitying myself. I don’t care for pity. I don't care to say I didn’t deserve to experience trauma. It happened. There’s shit I can do about it. No point for me to keep thinking about it. 

 It’s just hard when your son doesn’t even want to be seen with you in public to go school supply shopping. 

 I need to clear my head. 

 Already worked out twice today, and clearly that’s not working. Maybe some pussy. It’s been a while since I last had sex. Maybe I need…

 Y/N .

 Here I am again thinking about her at the most random fucking times. I said I need her. Would I ever tell her that?  Most likely not. 

 How can I tell a woman that I don’t know that I need her? To be around her and have her bubbly personality overshadow my grumpiness. To stare at her in dead silence and think how fucking pretty she is. How good she smells. How can I tell Y/N that? 

 She’s good company. 

 That’s all she is…

 Soon she’ll see I’m no good. 

  “Miss L /N told me you’ve been doing good in class, kid.”

 Been home with Megumi for about two hours now. School shopping is not fucking cheap, to say the least. My job pays well, but the cost of shit in America is still something I’m trying to adjust to, especially in comparison to Japan. 

 Megumi is the only reason why I haven’t gotten broke yet. 

 “Yeah,” he responds flatly.

 I stuff my mouth with a piece of meat. “Want to talk about it?”

 “Not really.”

 “Alright.”

 There goes that loud silence. 

 I continue, trying to keep conversation. “Food's good?” He nods. “Think you got everything you needed for school?”

 “Yes, Dad.” Annoyance fills his voice, making it very clear that I’m bothering him. 

 “Everything’s okay?” I asked. 

 “Can’t we just eat in silence? Why are you forcing conversation?”

 Oh.

 “Sorry, kid. Just trying-”

 Megumi pushes back his chair, standing up with his plate in his hand. “I’m going to my room. Thanks for dinner.”

 What the fuck am I doing wrong?

 I talk, he’s annoyed with me. I don’t talk, I feel like he’s being neglected again. Not sure if I’m giving Megumi too much space or just enough space, but it’s kind of fucking hard when I don’t how he feels. 

 When you come from an abusive family that doesn't know how to give or receive love, it passes onto you and potentially it’ll pass onto your child. 

 That’s what I’m trying to prevent. 

 I was scared as shit when my wife first told me she was pregnant. I mean, how the fuck was I supposed to be a dad? I don't know what it feels like to have one. But I knew I was going to be okay if I had her by my side.

  I’m a fucked up person. . . A fucked up father. 

 “Fuck, I need to take a walk,” I say to myself. 

 I get up to put the leftovers in the oven so I can finish later. Before I walk out the door, I tell Megumi I’m stepping out for a while and guess what he says? 

 Whatever. 

  Patience, Fushiguro. Patience.

  Be kind to yourself, Toji . That’s what Y/N told me the other day. I have messaged or contacted her at all since I got her number yesterday. Maybe I need to talk to her… see her… just for a little bit. 

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

discussion question #3 — the more we see toji and megumi's relationship, struggles are shown between them. more so, on toji's part. do you think he should continue making small talk or allow megumi to come around whenever he's ready? looks like toji is afraid to let that happen because he doesn't want megumi to feel neglected. thoughts?

[acourtofinkandpapyrus]

A Flower With Petals of Flame: Part seven (Eris x Reader)

Warnings: Mentions of death

Part six Part eight

Tag list: open

After reuniting with Y/N reunites with her family, things are... awkward.

I sit in a room in the dawn court, looking at my family along with the new additions, all of us sitting in silence.

More had already half strangled me with hugs, but now things were getting awkward, as none of us knew what to say.

“So, two out of three of you have found your mates, very lucky.”  I say, sipping the alcohol that had been passed around.

Rhys nodded, smiling a bit, but Cassian smirked, putting his arm around Nesta.  “Yeah, I’d say we’re lucky males indeed.”

Nesta rolled her eyes, her lips quirking upwards.  “Do you have anyone special Y/N?”  She asked, her voice that of a warrior queen.

I froze, paralyzed.

“I’ve been dead.”  I say simply in response, looking away quickly.

I can still feel her eyes on my, but I refuse to look at her, in case she wants to push the subject.

“I actually know a decent amount of what I missed out on, Tamlin and Lucain caught me up on some of it, though I’m still not clear on some parts, like how you three were turned into fae.”  I say, hoping to move the spotlight off of me.

Again the room falls silent, and I realize I’ve touched on a sensitive subject.

“It's alright, I don’t need to know.”  I say, shooting the three sisters smiles, Feyre and Elain smiling back at me, while Nesta eyes me with suspicion.

“No, it’s fine.  I was… Killed.  The High Lords all joined together to bring me back since I broke Amarantha’s curse.”  Feyre said, and I nodded, giving her a comforting look.

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”  I say, knowing she’d probably already heard it a million times.

I knew what it was like to die and be thrown into a different world where you didn’t recognise yourself.

She nodded, and we all went back to being silent.

“I’m going to go look around a bit.”  I announce, standing abruptly.

“I’ll come with you.”  Azriel stands, and I suspect my brother had some influence on his decision.

“No thank you.”  I say with a smile, turning and walking out the door before he could respond.

All I really wanted to do right now was find Eris and talk to him.  I wanted to be able to talk about how awful this all was and just hang out with him like we used to.

Except I now had shadows following me.

They were very good at hiding, and an untrained eye wouldn’t notice them.  Too bad I am a trained eye, and have severe paranoia.

After maybe an hour of searching, I found a brightly lit room large enough that his shadows wouldn’t be able to tell what was happening.

So I sit down, smiling to myself.

A little while later I hear footsteps, and I smile to myself, surprised I can still recognise Eris’s solid, clipped gate.

As he opens the door, I grin at him, and he looks relieved as he rushes to me, letting the door close behind him.  “Are you alright?  They didn’t hurt you did they?”  He asks, his voice strained with worry

I shake my head, standing and going over to him, throwing my arms around him.  “Remind me why I wanted to find him again?”

He chuckled, hugging me back.  “Because he’s your brother and is the only one with any goddamned idea of what's happening.

I snorted, pulling back slightly.

“Thank you for standing up for me back in there.”  I knew what going against his fathers orders meant, what he did to his sons.

He smiled.  “Haven’t I already told you I would do anything for you, pet?”  He said a little too seriously.

I blush, looking away.  “Ah, you said you couldn’t say no to me, those are two very different things.”

He smirked, shrugging as he leaned against the wall.  “Then let me say it now. I would do anything for you.”

I nod, trying to smother the strange feeling in my chest.  “And I you Eris.”

Taking a small step back, the feeling in my chest lessened slightly as I regained my composure.  “So, do we have any idea who the other two who returned are?”

He shook his head, turning a bit more solemn as the subject changed.  “There’s been no word of them.  If it happened the same way your return did, then they should have shown up where they died.”

The worried twist of his lips unsettle me, and so instinctively I raise my hand, touching his lips with a featherlight touch.

He only moves slightly, to look at me with wide eyes.

I trace my fingers over the side of his mouth, and over his cheekbone, pushing a loose strand of his red hair out of the way.

“Everything is going to be alright.”  I half whisper, knowing he needed to hear it as much as I did.

He chuckled softly.  “You know, if anyone else said that to me, I wouldn’t believe them.”

I smiled, taking my hand back, “Well, I’m glad I’m not just anyone then.”

He stepped back, and I hated the coldness that enveloped me at the loss.  “I’ve got to go now, but if you need me, you know where to go.”

Of course I did, the tree between the autumn and spring court, where we used to meet before I had died.

I nodded, and he turned, leaving almost as quickly as he arrived.

I sighed when he was gone, letting my shoulders slump a bit.

It had been a long time since I didn’t know what to do, how to proceed.  All I knew was that I was going to have to question Elain about her visions.

About what exactly she had seen.

[undertheopensky]

We Are But Children 3

Whumptober Day 21: Restraints

Characters: Time, Legend, lil bit of Hyrule and Warriors

Trigger warnings: Violence to a child, mild body horror, minor character death, don’t worry it’s no one you care about, I was going to say it’s not graphic but SOMEONE had other ideas

Read on Ao3!

Late to the party? Read Part 1 and Part 2!

-----

Blinking, the newly-babyfied Time glances around. “Well this is inconvenient.”

Everyone’s tense, almost too afraid to breathe. Four had panicked and cried; Legend had panicked and grabbed a weapon. No one wants to know what Time will do - or accidentally scare him into doing it.

It’s Wars who approaches him. Calm, and smiling, and visibly praying he’ll be recognised. “Hey, bud. Nothing fazes you, huh?”

“Why would it? I’m used to portals and weird wizzrobes at this point.” Baby!Time squints at his own hands. “I admit it’s been a while, though.”

“Okay,” says Warriors. “What’s the last thing you remember, Mask?”

Baby-fine hairs glimmer in the firelight as the child raises one eyebrow. “Been a long time since you’ve called me that, Wars.”

Warriors’ face screws up, losing the steady gentleness that was making Legend’s hair stand on end. “What?”

“I’m fine, Wars, I didn’t lose anything. Weird wizzrobe, not the first time, I’m going to be very short for the next three days.” Adult!Time’s amusement at their bafflement looks creepy as fuck on Baby!Time’s face.

“Wait,” Legend demands, “why the hell does he get to retain his memories while I spent three days embarrassing myself?”

“I am the Hero of Time, you know,” says Baby!Time, with unbearable smugness for such a tiny child.

Legend makes an outraged noise. “Excuse you, I have definitely fucked around enough with the Harp of Ages to –”

Exactly what he was going to say is drowned out by Warriors squawking “LANGUAGE!” and clapping his hands over Baby!Time’s ears.

“He is thirty –”

“Ah-t-t-t! I don’t care! He is like seven and you will watch your language!”

Legend fumes silently but has to drop the argument.

Baby!Time wrestles Warriors’ hands away from his head. “I dunno why you bother, I already learned all the good curses from the soldiers.”

“I’m trying not to make that problem any worse, thank you.” Still, Warriors lets him go. “Now - you sure you’re okay? You’re not sore, or dizzy? You still remember everyone?”

“It’s strange.” Time spreads his arms like a bird. “I still have all my adult memories, and sensations, but they’re less… relevant, somehow. Not as close to the surface.” He takes a few steps, without so much as a wobble. “I don’t feel off balance, or anything.”

“That’s interesting, actually,” says Hyrule, wide-eyed. “When people go through growth spurts they’re often really clumsy until they get used to their new height or reach – I would have thought it would happen in reverse, too.”

Baby!Time nods thoughtfully. “It’s not, though. Maybe all the adult stuff is being held down by the magic too?”

“You’re taking this pretty well,” Sky observes.

Baby!Time shrugs. “I did say I’m used to it.”

“I’m not,” says Warriors. He keeps rubbing at his eyes like they’re bothering him. “My brain is not coping with Baby!Time.”

“You could just go back to calling me Mask.”

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“I mean, if it makes you feel better,” Baby!Time says. “A nickname’s a nickname. You all call me ‘old man’ half the time, anyway.”

“Ohhhh, that’s so weird,” Twilight mutters, looking vaguely horrified.

Legend snorts. “All in favour of calling him ‘Mask’ for the next three days?”

“Aye,” comes the chorus.

“Well if that’s settled, can we maybe make a plan on what to do next?” asks Wild. “Because I definitely saw some of the moblins making a run for it while we were distracted with the wizzrobe.”

“Can’t leave those running around,” Wars agrees with a sigh. “Twi, see if you can fetch Wolfie, we’ll need him for tracking - wait, fuck. Mask. Twilight can you introduce Mask to Wolfie while you’re at it? I know he’s great but he’s a wild animal and I do not want any mistakes.”

“Sure thing,” says Twilight, with an impressive lack of inflection. “C’mon, kiddo.”

Baby!Time - Mask - shrugs, and runs after him.

They don’t catch up with the monsters that day, despite Wolfie’s best efforts, and make camp deep in the woods when they lose the light. Wolfie could have kept leading them - he’s not following visible sign, after all - but no one wants to wander blindly into an ambush.

In the morning, Legend rouses to the not-unfamiliar dulcet tones of Warriors cursing. “Why are you allowed to swear and I’m not?” he says.

Warriors makes a strangled noise of surprise. Legend grins, still without opening his eyes. “Because until three seconds ago I thought I was the only one awake!” he hisses. “Goddess above, Ledge!”

“Not my fault you have shitty situational awareness,” says Legend, and sits up. “What’re you swearing at?”

Warriors gestures angrily with the flopping leather in his hand. “My boots don’t fit!”

“They can’t possibly have shrunk overnight, and I doubt your feet have swelled that much, they’re not your head.” Still, Legend leans over to take a look. They… definitely look too small. And too short, actually. Wars has fully fitted calf-length boots with buckles for plates to be strapped on; these would barely cover his ankles even if they were the right size. What the hell?

While they puzzle over this the rest of the camp has started to wake up. Twilight - always up with the sun - is gently shaking Wild, while the champion mumbles a constant litany of ‘five more minutes’. Sky is yawning and stretching. Hyrule, last on watch, is packing away all his gear and making sure Sky doesn’t fall asleep again.

“What are you guys doing?”

They both look up. Wind’s standing over them, trying to look stern and managing something closer to ‘delightedly baffled’. “Where’d you get those shoes, Wars? Why? They’re never gonna fit you! Do you have a kid we don’t know about?”

“What?! No!” Warriors makes a garbled noise, caught between embarrassment and indignance. “Why would you even -? No, they’re not mine! I don’t even know where they came from!”

Wind huffs. “Then whose are they?”

“I suspect they’re mine,” says Four, stumping over in boots that are clearly about six sizes too large.

“How the fuck did that happen?” says Wars. They’d been sleeping on opposite sides of camp, for Nayru’s sake. There’s no way their boots could have gotten mixed up in the dark.

“I don’t know and I don’t care, just gimme my shoes.” Four kicks off Wars’s boots and grabs his own, sitting down to put them on properly and adding, “You better not have split any of the stitching with your massive clodhoppers.”

“I stopped trying when I couldn’t even get my toes in!”

The bickering would probably have gone on a lot longer if Hyrule hadn’t started making anxious noises about getting a move on. It’s not safe to stay in one place for too long in this area, he tells them. And he is the expert, so they get a move on. Wild hands out rice balls. It’s not the first time they’ve had breakfast on the go.

It sends a bit of a jolt down Legend’s spine, every time he glances up the line of heroes and doesn’t see Time’s broad frame near the front. It’s disconcerting.

Mask doesn’t have the same movement patterns, either. Besides the obvious, not being Time, he also doesn’t lead the pack. He follows at Warriors’ heels, or sticks close behind Twilight, or walks so near to Hyrule it’s a miracle he doesn’t get stepped on.

Then Sky turns around to ask Wind a question, spots Mask, and nearly trips over himself with a shriek.

The whole party stumbles to a halt.

“I’m sorry, I thought you knew I was there!” Mask says, while Sky frantically tries to apologise for almost stepping on him. “I’ll be more careful, I’m sorry.”

The thing is, it keeps happening.

Legend wonders about that. Mask had said his adult memories were less relevant, somehow. Does he feel more vulnerable, as a child? Like he needs to be closer to the adults to be safe?

Whatever the case, it’s fucking annoying. Four startles badly whenever Mask’s shadow falls on him – towered over by even the literal child. Warriors jumps about a foot in the air when the wind briefly tangles his scarf around Mask and he feels it tug. Wind offers to give him a piggyback ride, since that’s clearly what he wants if he’s standing so close, which lasts a hilarious but short five minutes before Wind admits defeat. Mask is small, but there’s a lot of muscle under his tunic.

Finally, after Wild does an awkward somersault to keep from landing on the boy, Twilight comes up and plops him on Epona instead. Mask seems happy enough with this arrangement. Legend just breathes a sigh of relief that he doesn’t have to worry about the kid stepping on his shoes anymore.

They make good enough time that by evening, they don’t need Wolfie dropping in and out to keep them on the right track; the trail left by the fleeing monsters is enough for any Hylian eye to follow. At this point, though, they’re even more suspicious of an ambush.

“Everyone okay with stopping for the night?” Warriors calls, as the sky fades to duller shades of orange.

“I’m hardly going to complain,” Sky says, slumping almost on the spot. He’s nearly grey under the flush of exertion. Their pace has been a little much for him, though he hasn’t said a word of complaint. Legend marks that, and hopes they catch up tomorrow.

Wind also collapses more or less where he stands, and starts pulling his boots off. “I hate walking,” he complains, not for the first time. Unlike Sky, he will gleefully inform the world at large of every small discomfort. “Give me a boat any day. Ugh! I have blisters!”

“Were you wearing socks?”

“No! They’re itchy!”

“For the love of Nayru, sailor…”

While Wars patches him up and scolds him over foot care, the rest of them set up camp. “No fire tonight,” Wild tells them, “smoke’s too much of a risk.”

Legend makes a face - cold dinner tonight - but no one argues. It’s at least not cold cold out here. Their bedrolls will be warm enough without the need for a fire to keep from freezing to death.

As Twilight hauls his bedroll down from Epona, he staggers a bit under its weight. And it’s bulky, for sure, but not heavy, not to someone who slings goats around for a living. He must be tired from running back and forth all day long. Legend keeps an eye on him to make sure he doesn’t collapse or something, but Twilight’s just frowning as he lays out the thick padding, struggling with it more than usual. Then, he flips open the top layer.

His bedroll is full of rocks.

Twilight stares. So does everyone else. “What the hell?”

It’s not easy to read Adult!Time - he nearly always looks placidly amused.

Mask’s poker face isn’t nearly as good. Despite having all Time’s control and experience, the softness of his face gives him away. His eyes crinkle at the corners and his lips go tight trying not to smile.

Twilight spots it immediately. His eyes narrow. As he turns to flee, Mask starts laughing, which both gives him away and makes escaping impossible. Twilight catches him with ease.

“You little gremlin!” Twilight shouts over Mask’s laughter. He shakes him, gently, where he’s dangling him upside down by his ankles.

Mask seems unconcerned by this. He’s still laughing, gleeful and unrepentant in the face of Twilight’s brotherly wrath. “Your face! That was the best, I’m so glad I didn’t do it to Wars he’s so boring about people messing with his bed -”

“What gets me to sleep faster, freaking out about it or fixing the problem?” says Warriors, without looking up.

“See?” Mask complains, giggling as Twilight shakes him again.

“You little gremlin,” Twilight repeats. “I can’t believe you. Come on, then, you’re helping me get all the rocks out.” He flips Mask the right way up and scrubs a rough but friendly hand through his hair.

“‘Kay,” says Mask cheerfully.

It’s not a difficult task - all they really need to do is upend the bedroll and shake it out. Mask hadn’t used any stones smaller than a thumbnail so there was no worry about things getting caught in the corners, and they were all too smooth to damage the fabric. The bedroll is clean and ready to go in less than five minutes. Twilight sighs in relief. “Alright, menace, I’ll let you off the hook - but don’t do it again, y’hear?”

Mask blows a raspberry at him. “It’s no fun doing the same thing twice!”

Then he runs off, jumping on an unsuspecting Wind with a war cry.

Ignoring the wrestling match that breaks out, Twilight asks, “Was he always such a hellion?”

“I think he was actually worse,” says Wars.

-----

This time Legend comes to with a massive fucking headache. Also, the floor is moving, which he does not appreciate at all. It’s making his stomach feel so much worse. He groans in protest, and hears an answering groan from nearby. Fuck, that means he needs to wake up more and be functional.

What had happened? The expected ambush hadn’t been challenging. The moblins were black-blooded, yes, and smart enough to set up shop in the least defensible spot in the region so the Chain had no cover when they attacked, and wound up split off into smaller groups. But between his ice rod and Hyrule’s Thunder spell they’d cleared out the moblins, and the out-of-time lizalfos that showed up to investigate, and he, Hyrule, and Mask had been headed for the last place they’d seen the others when -

Nothing.

So something probably happened in that nothing.

Goddess, his head hurts.

Thinking about it isn’t getting him anywhere, so Legend braces himself to crack open his eyes.

Fortunately, it’s dark, so his head doesn’t do more than thump briefly about the new stimulus before settling down to sulk. Hyrule is the first thing his eyes catch on.

Even in the dark it looks bad. He’s an awkward tangle of limbs in unconsciousness, blood all through his hair and tunic torn over an untreated wound, stirring vaguely when Legend calls his name. Through the gloom, Legend can tell his eyes aren’t quite in focus. Damn. “C’mon, Rulie,” he coaxes, “talk to me.”

Hyrule groans again. “M’head…”

Yeah, that’s fair. Legend looks again at the blood, reminds himself that Hyrule’s at least mostly conscious, and tries to shake off the nausea. Though maybe that’s from the rocking floor. Hopefully Mask at least had gotten away -

“What hit me?” Mask grumbles from behind him, and there goes that hope.

“Fuck this shit,” Legend says, or slurs, rather, and fuck, Rulie’s not the only one with a concussion. No wonder his head is killing him. He tries to roll over - and realises his hands are trapped behind his back, hard-cold-biting-edges pinning his wrists together. His blood goes to ice.

The darkness – the moving floor – the restraints –

It all adds up to captured.

Hyrule’s in the middle of the same realisation – foggy eyes going wide with panic. He thrashes, fighting whatever has his arms pinned, booted feet thumping against the wooden wall.

It’s instinct to lunge forward. Legend discovers too late that his manacles are actually hooked to something, brought up short by the yank in his shoulders. He curses instead, and tries to calm him with words alone. “Easy, easy Rulie, it’ll be okay, we’ll get out of this -”

Hyrule kicks the wall again.

“Please Rulie you’ll hurt yourself -”

The floor jolts to a stop.

Hyrule gasps. Legend’s stomach lurches – partly from the rolling motion ceasing, partly from anxiety at whatever was about to happen. The manacles dig in painfully as he leans back on his arms to roll into a sit. (And ignores the way his vision goes white, then black, then slow, spotty grey, as the pain crests and fades back.)

Footsteps, muffled; crunching on gravel, coming around to the door of the carriage. There’s a long moment of rattling metal. Keys in a lock. Then the door swings wide.

Legend doesn’t let the blinding, nauseating light stop him from barking, “What the fuck d’you think you’re doing?”

Shackled to a wall, concussed and listing, he doesn’t make for a very threatening picture. He only gets laughter in response.

“Whad’you even want with us?” he demands, all too aware of the two behind him. Just as trapped, just as helpless. He’s the oldest, here, the veteran hero; it’s up to him to find a way out.

The bandit grins at him, silhouetted in the doorway.

“Knew we’d get a good haul outta you, didn’t we? At first we was just gonna take your magic stuff. One good quality fire rod can go for thousands to the right buyer. Then we saw ya throwin’ lightnin’ around, an’ realised - just how much more would we get, for real live magical creatures? Ones pretendin’ t’be Hylian, walkin’ among civilised folks? We ain’t dealt in live cargo in a while, but we still got the stuff for it.”

Legend’s only half-listening. As he adjusts to the glare outside he’s scanning and assessing, and does not like what he sees.

A least eight people visible, all in the same sort of hard wearing, mismatched clothing. More surrounding the cart; he can hear muttering and laughter from out of view. Everyone’s hard-eyed and alert, and everyone’s armed. Not with the usual rusty shit bandits tend to scrounge up, either. There’s quality steel on some of those backs. Not good.

“You should let Mask go, then,” Legend argues. “He’s just a kid - he’s got no talent for magic.”

The bandit snorts. “Anyone who can keep up with things like you two’ll be worth somethin’. And those marks? If ‘e ain’t fae-touched, then I’m a chuchu.

“We’ve got a long ways to go yet, so just sit back an’ enjoy the ride. An’ quit kickin’ the walls – ain’t no one out here to hear you, an’ I don’t want you damagin’ the merchandise.”

With one last black grin, the door to the carriage slams closed.

“Well that sounds like bullshit.” Mask sits up, and Legend sees that he’d been bound in rope rather than iron. He hopes, vaguely, that that means these fuckers don’t usually capture children-sized people, and so had to improvise. Whatever the case, it meant a flexible, squirmy child was able to wriggle free, before the carriage even lurches back into motion. “Obviously we’re not gonna stick around here, so what’s the plan?”

“I want my shit back,” says Legend, doing his best not to slur the words. “An’ I’d rather not go through the black market for it.”

“We probably shouldn’t leave these guys to steal things and sell people, either.” Mask makes a face. “No offence, though, you two look like shit. You’re in no condition for a fight.”

Legend growls, but can’t really argue. His headache has not been improved by the rising stress of the situation. If he tried to stand up right now, he’d probably fall, and maybe pass out into the bargain. Hyrule has blood running down his face from the blow that knocked him out, and Legend suspects his successor feels even worse than he does right now. The kid’s barely even following the conversation. “So, what? Think you can jump out of here and find the others in time? Don’t even know where we are.”

“Nah, I’ve got a better idea.” Mask frowns, then, chewing his lip in a way that Warriors would definitely have scolded him for, before saying, “Don’t freak out, okay? Wars always does, but it’s not as bad as it sounds.”

“That is the most concerning thing you could possibly have said,” says Legend, but no one can reach to stop him as he shoves a hand down his own tunic to reveal –

A carved wooden mask.

That’s hardly surprising - Adult!Time has quite the collection, after all. Though why Baby!Time had opted to stash one in his tunic is anyone’s guess. It’s also not one Legend’s seen before. Shaggy white hair, the angles of a Hylian face marked with bright colour, and dark voids where the eyes should be.

A chill runs over him. “Mask - what is that thing?”

Mask hesitates. “Don’t freak out,” he repeats, lifting the wood to his face.

“Mask stop!”

Too late. Mask curls in on himself and keens, high and strangled. There’s a crunching sound like bones underfoot, the squelch of raw meat tearing.

Legend’s shouting. Hyrule’s struggling against the shackles to come and help. But they can’t reach him. Mask is alone, as the sickening noises stop, and his stifled cries go quiet.

“Mask?” Legend calls, suddenly and terribly afraid. “Time?”

Slowly, he turns, and Legend tries not to be visibly alarmed. He’s – too tall to be Mask, and too short to be Adult!Time; he looks Legend’s age, despite the shock white hair. But it’s not that, or the hair, or even the newly-mirrored markings on his face that make his stomach turn. It’s the eyes – pure white, and strangely reflective, like polished porcelain.

They’re empty.

The – being – Legend’s not confident calling them ‘Time’ anymore – glances around the carriage as if taking it in. Their head tilts. Considering. Then, they put one hand over their shoulder to grasp at the air like they’re grasping for a sword. And suddenly there is a sword, nearly as long as he is tall, with two blades intertwined in a strange spiral pattern.

Legend breaks out in a cold sweat.

Fortunately, the being’s not even looking at him. All the intensity of their focus is on the door, contemplating it like a complex dungeon puzzle. Legend’s almost too afraid to breathe, lest it draw the looming mountain of their attention.

Their other hand goes up to the hilt, and they draw.

Legend can’t help it - he scrabbles back, feet slipping on the cool wood. The being doesn’t so much as glance his way. They lift the blade, studying its smooth curves, with no sign of the effort it should take to lift its bulk, and their head tilts again.

Then the sword flashes, and wood explodes outward.

Bandits scream in surprise. Legend can’t see; between the blinding light and the splintered remains of the door his view’s restricted to a sliver, but the being is no longer in the carriage with them and there’s all the sounds of a fight outside. He curses and struggles with his manacles again. Legend hates feeling useless, but here and now, all he can do is listen to the screech of metal on metal, the shouts and curses of the gang, and strange, wet-sounding thumps as heavy things hit the ground and don’t get back up.

Something strikes the cart with enough force to set it rocking. It’s followed by the distinctive sound of a blade thrust into flesh, a boot sucking free of deep mud. Hyrule jolts at the noise, and squints across the wagon at Legend to check him for injury. Legend would laugh if he wasn’t wound so tight.

Eventually, things go quiet, except for the nervous stomping of the carthorse. Legend’s heart is thundering in his ears. He feels like he was the one fighting, the way his breath comes in short, trembling huffs. And with the shouting gone there’s no way to tell what’s happening -

There’s a noise of irritation. Then there’s a crunch, and what’s left of the door wrenches free, letting sunlight stream in unimpeded. Legend squints, but doesn’t turn away. (Hyrule does, burying his face in the floor. Kid must have one hell of a headache.)

The being with Time’s face appears. They are, not unexpectedly, doused in blood. More unexpectedly, the flat expression has relaxed into something not quite like a smile.

It is not reassuring.

The being hauls themselves up into the wagon. Hyrule grunts at the vibration of their boots hitting the floor - now that Legend’s looking, they’re wearing half armour, plates over the chest and legs and heavy armoured boots, completely unlike the child’s tunic Mask had changed into.

“Time?” he tests, deliberately rocking up onto his knees.

As planned, the being’s eyes shift from Hyrule to his movement. “I am not the Hero of Time.” Their head tilts, identical to the way they’d looked at the door, seconds before it turned to matchsticks. Somehow, though, Legend’s not afraid. The sense of constrained energy that had set his teeth on edge just… isn’t there, anymore. “You are bound. I will release you.”

Using the massive sword as a cutting tool seems like overkill, but it gets the job done. There’s a shriek and a crack, and some of the pressure on Legend’s hands releases. When he pulls them around, the band of metal holding the manacles together is cut through.

“If you’re not Time, or - Mask, then - where is he? He better be okay.” The last part comes out forlorn instead of aggressive, which pisses him off.

“The Hero of Time is asleep, young one,” the being tells him. Hyrule’s restraints get the same treatment, letting the dazed hero sit up properly without the chains caught up around their mooring pole. “He will not wake until my task is done.”

“And what is your task, exactly?” Legend moves to check on Hyrule - he’s been way too quiet, even after riding out a panic attack.

“To fight until the fighting is done. That is always my task: to fight the battles the Hero of Time cannot win.”

“Wait, so if he’s had you in reserve this whole time, why hasn’t he ever used you before now?”

The thing wearing Time’s face smiles, slow and cruel.

“He knows better than to call on me for such paltry matters. The cost would be far too high.”

Legend’s heart freezes. “Cost?”

“I am a god of war. And war always takes its price. Where it gets it is of no concern.”

“What kind of cost? If you’ve hurt him -”

“The Hero of Time has always been very aware of the price some things demand. For that reason alone, he would have been one of my favoured.” The being sighs, still smiling that terrifying smile. “But… my work is done, and the penance is paid. Farewell for now, heroes.” They lift one hand to their familiar-alien face.

The change back is quicker, somehow. A rush of air and magic power draining away, and suddenly it’s Mask’s hands holding the carved wooden face, smiling up at Legend. He looks tired, but not wrecked, as Legend had feared when he’d heard the enchantment boiling to life through his bones. “So, was he nice to you? He better have been. I yelled at him the last time he scared Wars.”

“I don’t think ‘nice’ is the right word to use,” says Legend, still a little stunned.

Mask groans. “Did he at least solve our bandit problem?” He hops back out of the wagon to check. Legend, after taking a moment to collect the still-unsteady Hyrule, follows.

Outside is sheer carnage. It’s less ‘bodies’ than ‘pieces’, and Legend has to look away and swallow hard. He’s not used to this kind of aftermath - doesn’t usually fight people, just manifestations of hatred that can’t hold corporeal form once killed.

There’s so much blood.

Mask ignores it with an ease that Legend’s going to find upsetting later. He leads them around to the front of the cart, where the carnage is less; the bandits had all rushed to the main source of the fight, not hung around waiting for it to come to them. The bay mare hooked up to the wagon snorts at them, eyes and nostrils wide.

“He left the horse alive,” Legend says blankly. He’d heard it, even after the sounds of battle faded, but somehow hadn’t quite conceptualised it.

“Well sure. It’s not her fault she was owned by assholes.” Mask steadies the mare with a few gentle words and a firm hand on the bridle. “Besides - she can carry us a lot further and a lot faster than we can go on foot. Now c’mon, help me search this thing for our bags, ‘cause if they dumped them somewhere it’s gonna make our lives so much harder.”

Legend does in fact find their packs, in a poorly-hidden compartment under the driver’s bench. Which is great, because now he doesn’t have to go hunting his gear down. It’s even better because there’s still half a red potion in here somewhere with Hyrule’s name on it.

Hyrule’s eyes clear as the potion does its work, though there’s still a visible knot above his ear. “Legend, what - you okay?”

“He’s fine, I’m fine, we’re all fine except the bad guys,” Mask interrupts. “More importantly: how are we gonna get back to the others?”

“I say we head back the way we came and make a decision when there’s a split in the road,” says Legend. He really just wants to be done with this day. Sleep sounds fantastic right now, so it’s a pity he’s got long hours piecing together the bandits’ route ahead of him. He hates backtracking. Backtracking on other people’s bullshit is even worse.

The horse doesn’t care about backtracking; the horse is all too eager to leave the blood-soaked stretch of road behind them, once they get her turned around. In hindsight, Legend’s really glad she didn’t take off when people started dying loudly and messily nearby. He wouldn’t have blamed her, but he also doesn’t fancy being chained up in the back of a runaway cart.

Miracle of miracles, they’ve been on the road less than half an hour when they start seeing flashes of colour through the trees. Hyrule squints. “Is that Four?”

“Aaand Wolfie,” says Mask with a sigh, as frantic barking becomes audible.

“Thank Nayru, Din and Farore,” says Four, flinging himself off Wolfie when the canine skids to a halt. “We were so worried, are you all alright, are those manacles - fuck, Ledge, you’re bleeding -”

“What, still?” says Legend blankly, touching fingers to scalp.

Wolfie glances up from where he’d been sniffing noses with the carthorse and gives a disapproving ‘boof’.

“Shut up, there was more important shit to deal with,” Legend tells him.

Four makes short work of the manacles - someday Legend’s going to ask just how he manages to keep a mini-forge on his person at all times - and he’s just pulling off the last one when the rest of the group comes jogging up.

“Goddesses, Mask, what happened?!” Wild exclaims. “You’ve got -” he gestures to his face - “all over!”

“Oh yeah, I forgot he does that when I’m little.” Mask runs an absent-minded finger over one blood-marked cheek. “The markings are protective. In places where they’re known, bad guys won’t risk touching me. Even Ghirahim thought twice, and he was a grade-A creeper. Sorry, Sky.”

“Why are you apologising, you’re right,” Sky protests. “Also what’s this about you dealing with Ghirahim, oh my god-”

Honestly, Legend hadn’t even noticed that when the being faded away to leave Mask in their place, the facial markings had stayed, instead of the half-version he was used to seeing on Time. He touches his head again with a frown.

“Legend needs a potion!” Hyrule calls.

“Hyrule needs another one!” Legend shoots back.

Warriors rolls his eyes and hands them both a bottle. “Things must have been pretty dire if he had to use the Fierce Deity, and to be honest you both look like hell.”

“Fuck you too,” Legend grumbles. In truth, the potion is working wonders on the stabbing pain behind his eyes. He hadn’t even realised how sore his neck and back were until it all starts to fade, leaving him wrung-out and tired. It’s almost worth the horrible bitter taste, not at all hidden by the wildberries Wild had tried adding.

While they were getting medic-ed the conversation had gone on without them, which means Legend is treated to the hilarious and context-free picture of ten-year-old Mask being toted around on Sky’s hip like a four-year-old. Mask is clearly resigned to this, if not exactly pleased.

He’s even less pleased when Warriors starts questioning him. “So what’s this I hear about letting Fierce Deity out to play without a minder?”

“Oh come on, he’s fine!”

Legend thinks back to waiting chained up in near-darkness, wet gurgles and the choked cries of the dying outside with no way to know if they would be next, and has to hold back a shudder.

-----

Inspired by this amazing piece of art!

[antisocialgaycat]

me??? procrastinating by writing a really shitty story???? no fuckin way

@elemelom

I don’t know why I climbed the tree. More importantly, I don’t know how I’m going to get down. I’m quite high off the ground and the wind is really starting to pick up. I can see the sun setting over the horizon, and if I wasn’t so stressed right now, this would really be quite peaceful.

It’s been 15 minutes and I’m still sitting here. I’m not sure I’ll ever have the courage to climb down. The wind has matted my hair and my eyes are watering, but my hands are frozen to the branch I’m sitting on and I really don’t want to look down.

It’s been 16 minutes and I looked down and now I’m shaking, both out of fear and because the wind is getting stronger and stronger. What if I fall? I don’t have my phone up here, and even if I did I wouldn’t be able to call for help because I’m holding on to this branch like that’s somehow going to do anything. I wish I were able to do anything right now.

It’s been half an hour and it’s fully dark out now. The wind is stronger than ever and I think this tree might just blow over. At least I can’t see the ground anymore. That’s a win right?

It’s been 45 minutes and I’m so so tired. I would probably fall asleep right here if I wasn’t trying so hard to not get blown out of this goddamned tree. The only thing that’s keeping me going right now is the thought of going home and having the hottest shower of my life. This wind is going to be the death of me.

It’s been an hour and a half and I don’t want to be alive anymore. I can’t feel my face and I think my hands might be permanently frozen to this branch. My ass hurts from sitting for so long but I don’t dare move because what if I fall?

It’s been 2 hours and I really do hate being alone with my thoughts. There’s nothing worse, I think, than having nothing to do but think. It really plays tricks on your mind.

It’s been 3 hours and I’m just about ready to jump out of this tree. I don’t care if I die. You know how I said that having nothing to do but think plays tricks on your mind? Yeah I’m feeling that now. The wind is howling even louder but I swear I can hear the voices of people chanting which honestly scares me a little. I hope it’s just my mind playing tricks on me. Well, even if it weren’t it’s not like these people would find me, sitting half frozen at the top of a tree. Good lord I’m an idiot.

It’s been who knows how long and I know I’m not going to make it out of here alive. I think I’m crying, but I can’t feel my face so I’m not really sure. I don’t think I can move a single muscle and my mind is going to all kinds of places that it shouldn’t. There are much better things to be thinking about than your old best friend who ghosted you or how the person you like has a crush on your best friend. But you know, when you’re stuck in a tree and you can’t move you have to do something to keep yourself occupied.

It’s been far too long and maybe I could climb down. Maybe I could be like the hero of a story and get myself out of here. Maybe I was exaggerating earlier and I’m not even that far off the ground. Maybe I will see tomorrow. Unlikely, though.

At least the wind has stopped a little.

It’s been maybe 6 hours, maybe more and I don’t even know if I’m alive. The wind picked back up and the branch I’m on is swaying more than before. What if it breaks? I don’t want to die. It sounds so trivial but I’m scared. I really am. What if I don’t see another sunrise?

It’s been at least 8 hours and I’m so hungry. Why did I climb this tree? What was I even trying to achieve? If I get through tonight I’m never going near a tree again.

It’s been maybe 9 hours, maybe 10 and I’ve started counting out loud. I can’t hear the sound of my voice over the roaring of the wind in my ears, but at least I have something to do and I know that I’m alive for now.

I’ve counted up to 10 million and back now. I swear the wind keeps getting stronger. The tree I’m in is swaying in the wind and it’s creaking so loudly I can hear it. I think the chanting’s come back too, but it’s more of a whisper than it was last time. I’m losing it.

It’s getting lighter, I think. The wind is still as strong as ever, but at least I can see.

The sunrise is beautiful from up here. Almost as soon as the sun arrived, the wind stopped entirely. I can feel myself thawing out but I’m not quite ready to move yet.

I’ve been sitting in the sun for about half an hour when I feel the wind start again. Seriously? I think to myself, letting out a weary sigh.

Almost as quickly as it started, the wind stops. The branch creaks to my right and when I look over I see what looks like a teenage girl of about 16 sitting there, rapidly flickering in and out of sight. “Who are you?” I demand, but she only smiles in response, extending her hand out to me. Slowly I reach out to take it, and when I do, I feel the warmth practically radiating from her incorporeal body. I ask the question again, this time filled with curiosity, not anger, and she answers.

“I’m the wind. And I do apologise sincerely. I had a bad day yesterday and I took it out on you. Would you like to get down from here?” I nod, slightly stunned, but at this point I’ll believe anything. She shuts her eyes for a brief moment and just like that, I’m slowly drifting to the ground. Once my feet touch solid earth I collapse and lie there for a moment, taking in the feeling until I roll over onto my back and look up. I see Wind wave a small goodbye and then disappear. I don’t know why I climbed that tree. I don’t know how I survived. I don’t know what just happened, but I do know that I’m going to go home and eat some soup and have a hot shower then sleep until tomorrow. I don’t think I ever want to see a tree again.

[nhstadler]

M A G I C

I don’t know why, but these keep coming. I’m in a writing slump but this just works and I wanted to share it with you guys in case some of you might enjoy it. I’ve been writing a sort of post-Hogwarts episodic piece about Seth and James and the gang that includes scenes from the past and their present and I think I will continue this when the OG story is finished (there are only two more chapters and they are all planned out, so it’s happening :) ).

The whole thing is called A CATALOGUE OF US and this would be the very first installment (it's too short to call it a chapter, I guess).

Any feedback is greatly appreciated. Or questions, or hopes, dreams, fears… anything, really. I’d love to hear from you.

The end of summer is always a tragedy. 

Because it feels like a small death. Every time. There is a palpable chill that creeps back into the warm, endless nights - slowly, gradually - and then, in the blink of an eye, it’s over.

But when it starts, it’s magic.

I lean my forehead against the window, watching the world pass by as the train speeds through the landscape, lush greens bleeding into purple and blue as we get closer to the coast. There is an older lady across from me, knitting a neon green pair of socks. She sometimes looks up and gives me a smile and I smile back.

Tiredness is creeping back in. I’ve had three-and-a-half coffees already, but I’ve been awake for fifteen hours. Fifteen hours I spent mostly on aeroplanes and trains, trying to get back home. And maybe it’s the caffeine overdose, but it feels strange, somehow. Because it’s been almost a year and everything should look different, but it doesn’t. It all still looks the same; the soft hills and the harsh cliffs and the wild heather that crawls along the edges, barely swaying in the wind. 

I sometimes wish I wouldn’t remember it all so well.

… 

...

...

Rain is drumming on the window, blurring the view of the platform. There’s a sea of umbrellas that are nothing more than colourful smudges behind the glass and I let myself sink back into the seat, my hair chafing against the velvet backrest. 

The whistle blows once - a warning for those who still haven’t boarded the train - and I feel a strange sort of wistfulness at hearing the familiar sound. Like I’m mourning something that hasn’t happened yet. But this was always going to be difficult. Even without him.

“Oi!” There’s a sharp knock on the window and Katie yells out in shock, her elbow knocking into my side as she spills half of her magazines on the compartment floor. 

“Open the window, Woodley!” James’s voice is muffled through the glass. He’s trying to prise open the metal ledge from the outside and I stumble over Sam’s legs as I pull down the top part as far as it will go.

The smell of rain floods the compartment and the air feels heavy. He’s completely drenched, smiling his most adorable dimpled smile, and I wonder if I will ever get used to this; to James Potter looking at me like this. We had all summer. We had midnight talks and sun-drenched mornings and slow, salty kisses. And yet, when he smiles at me, my knees feel too soft and my heartbeat too fast.

“What are you doing?”

“He’s breaking my back!” Freddie shouts from somewhere below the window and I lean out a little to see him standing next to the train. His hair is plastered to his head and his hands are wrapped around James who is sitting on his shoulders.

“Did you think I’d let you go without saying goodbye?” James is still grinning as he dips his head, bracing his arms on the window frame. Strands of wet hair are sticking to his forehead, looking almost black, but the gold in his eyes gleams and my stomach swoops.

“But, we already said goodbye.”

He laughs - a small, secret, dirty laugh that makes my blush crawl to the tip of my nose. “Yeah, but your parents were watching.” 

He’s so much trouble. 

And so charming.

The whistle blows again, longer, more urgently, and I want to climb out through the window and into his arms. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“I’m going to hurt myself,” Freddie mutters, loud enough for us to hear, but James ignores him and leans in more, across the gap.

“I’m going to miss you, Woodley.” His voice is low and rough, like it was that night at his grandparents’ house when he snuck into my room. His hand slides to the back of my neck and I can feel the press of each finger against my skin. “A lot.” 

He kisses me between the train and the platform. He kisses me like the whistle isn’t blowing, like it isn’t pouring, like no one is watching. Like we have forever.

“I’ll see you soon, OK?” He whispers the words against my lips and I nod because my throat feels tight and sore. 

Water is dripping from my nose.

I think I’m crying. 

The train is pulling away and James lets go as Freddie stumbles backwards. We’re picking up speed too fast, too suddenly, and there’s so much I didn’t say.

Like ‘I will miss you too’.

Like ‘please don’t fall in love with someone else’.

“Seth!” Katie gasps as I recklessly lean out the window like she thinks I might jump. I can feel her hand fisting in the hem of my jumper, pulling me back. Hard rain is pelting my face as I watch James follow the train to the edge of the platform. I watch him until he is nothing but a small, blurry dot in the distance and I think about the way he looked at me that night in the Burrow; when it was also raining and we were lying next to each other in that tiny bed, whispering underneath the blanket so no one would hear us.

…

...

...

The train rattles and I wake with a start. My mouth feels fuzzy and tastes like old coffee and I’m so disoriented that it takes me a moment to realise that we aren’t moving anymore. We have pulled into a station and the conductor is standing on the platform, having a smoke.

Across from me, the old lady is gone and her neon green socks are lying in my lap. I look at them for a moment and my throat closes off. I’m tearing up at a pair of slightly lumpy socks and I don’t know why.

It’s a hassle to collect all of the bits and pieces of my luggage. I’ve accumulated three random plastic bags since I left Boston, filled equal parts with food and rubbish, and I cram the socks into one of them. My backpack has a weird shape from all the airport impulse purchases and my suitcase is too big, but I fight my way through the narrow exit, consequences be damned. And then, I see her.

Katie’s hair looks brighter in the pale evening glow - more red than brown - and my heart feels heavy and light at the same time. There are sequins on her headband and they sparkle, even though the sky is cloudy. She’s pure light. 

I drop everything at once - the plastic bags and the backpack and the suitcase that is definitely dented now. We’re both screaming, our voices hollering across the empty platform as we fall into each other’s arms, swaying back and forth like a pair of drunk idiots.  

“Oh my god!” Katie shouts into my ear and her hands grab my arms, pushing me away and pulling me into her all at once. Her nose is pierced, which I knew, but I’ve never seen it in person. I wasn’t there when she got it. I didn’t hold her hand and grimace when the needle went through. “You look like hell. Still gorgeous but also like hell.”

She’s grinning. I am too.

“Trust me,” I push my hair back behind my ears in an attempt to tame the greasy frizz halo that I’ve involuntarily cultivated over the past hours, “hell has nothing on overseas air travel.”

“Why didn’t you apply for a portkey?”

“I did,” I say, bending down to pick up my backpack again, feeling the weight of it. “Unfortunately, I’m not famous or rich enough.”

“Excuse me?” Katie has grabbed all of my sad plastic bags like they are serious pieces of luggage, her eyebrows raised as she looks at me. “You’re a fucking Woodley.”

“That’s what I said!” I sling my arm around her shoulder and she wraps hers around my back, pulling me into her despite the fact that I probably smell like lemongrass armpit sweat, and I can feel it sink in. That feeling you get around certain people, no matter how long you are apart. 

Like coming home.

[boots-with-the-fur-club]

Inverted Confrontation chapter 6! Next is the last one!

@daboyau

“You already know I wanted to end humanity! Is this really such a surprise!? I made you all for war and experimented on dozens of animals. Obviously I was going to make sure you were suited for it.” Draxum crosses his arms.

“This is so not helping your case! How are we supposed to convince these guys to stop being villains when you basically made it impossible for them to be anything else!?” Leo grips his own face and pulls on it in frustration.

“Maybe we can talk to them now that the situation is reversed? They might be willing to listen!” Mikey suggests.

“No way they ever would. Reasoning doesn’t work!“ Other April insists.

“What do you say we do with them then?” April questions.

“Let me take them back and we’ll deal with it. The people in my universe deserve justice.”

“Are you going to kill them!?”

“It’s up to everyone who’s lives they ruined! This is the only chance I’m ever going to get!“

“Woah woah woah, heroes don’t send people to their deaths!” Raph gets between them.

“They’re murderers themselves if you need reminding.” Draxum comments.

“Yeah, because of you!” Leo points his finger in his face accusatorially.

“We can’t give up on them. Villains and other universes or not they are my sons.” Splinter chimes in.

“They also tried to brainwash your real sons though.” Donnie casually adds.

Everyone begins arguing with each other, allowing Mikey to slip away to the room they’re holding them in.

He’s surprised to see that Champion is awake, but not exactly…..present. It reminds him a little of Leo with a concussion but this seems much worse.

“Are….are you okay?” He hesitantly reaches out to him.

When there’s no reaction, so he quickly touches his neck to make sure there’s a pulse. Luckily there was. Unluckily, it means he has no idea what’s going on with him.

His head was drooped slightly, his eyes were….gray, half lidded, sort of empty.

“This is bad….I have to get help-“

“Stop! There’s only one thing that can help him, you’d just make it worse!”

Mikey jumps a bit at the voice coming from behind him. Dr. Rude apparently has woken up.

“What will help?”

“Me! He needs me.”

“I can’t just let you out, you just tried brainwash me and my brothers! Tell me what to do, I won’t mess it up.”

“You can’t be the one to do it.” He breaks the mystic bindings fairly easily.

Mikey panics, quickly holding onto Champion. He’s not sure why, but something feels wrong.

“How did you break it!? You shouldn’t have had your powers!”

“Just because I can’t use them doesn’t mean I wasn’t strong already. Let go of my brother.”

“What are you going to do to him?”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you!” He starts coming at him.

Mikey holds Champion closer and jumps out of the way.

“You do if you actually want to be able to do it!”

“If I don’t help him he’s just going to get worse! Do you want him to die because you’re being stupid!?”

“I’m not being stupid! I’m trying to make sure you’re not doing anything weird!”

Champion begins to shift in his arms. Mikey immediately notices the panic on Dr. Rude’s face.

“P-Please! I have to do it now!”

Mikey frowns, trying to figure out what the right thing to do is. His unease was brought on by something but it was just a feeling. They loved each other, he wouldn’t hurt his brother right?

He hesitantly moves Champion closer to him. There’s immediate relief on his villain counterpart’s face. Maybe this was the better option.

Dr. Rude mystic powers start surging through his arms which makes Mikey confused.

“You’re going to be okay again….just like before….”

“What are you doing!?”

Both Mikeys snap their heads towards Hyde who .

“I-I was just….it’s….” Dr. Rude is at a loss for words.

Hyde breaks his bonds and rushes over, scanning Champion with a device he materializes.

“…..Mikey.”

Dr. Rude freezes. Mikey knows that reaction. He gets the same way when Splinter calls him Michelangelo instead of Orange.

“Hyde, it’s not what-“

“Why are there traces of your power in his system?”

“You don’t understand-“

“Then make me understand! What were you about to do? What have you been doing to him!?”

Dr. Rude shrinks in on himself a bit, glancing at Champion. Hyde moves into his line of sight, blocking the view.

“Tell me I’m wrong! Tell me that you haven’t been puppeteering our brother!”

Dr. Rude begins breathing heavily.

“….You did it….didn’t you? For how long!?”

Dr. Rude tears up, holding his arm and looking away.

“Mikey! If I’m going to fix him, you need to tell me everything!” He grips him by the shoulders.

Dr. Rude looks back at him with anger before tackling him away from Champion.

Mikey takes several steps back at seeing this, then rushes out of the room.

“You think you can fix him!? What I did was the fix! He was failing! You weren’t there! You don’t know what it was like! Draxum was going to get rid of him if I didn’t do something!” Dr. Rude holds Hyde down, his arms still full of mystic energy.

“Mikey! Be careful!” He fearfully glances at them.

“I-I swear I didn’t do it on purpose at first! I was just trying to help! And it worked! I-I didn’t even know I could do that! I thought it was just helping his abilities!” The energy begins to seep into Hyde’s arms.

“Stop it! Please!” He looks at Red to see if he’s awake.

He’s only slowly beginning to stir.

“I was trying to keep him alive….and then….h-he and I were so in sync….we worked so well together….we were perfect. Too perfect….”

Hyde struggles against him as the energy spreads more. He glances around next to get help from regular Mikey but couldn’t find him.

“I couldn’t have known what I was doing….but something was wrong. He never questioned me about anything. You remember those things dad made us, right? Leo’s stuffed unicorn was the only one Draxum never found. You remember how angry he was when he found ours, what he did to us….Leo was so good at hiding his, but I just knew it was a matter of time, so I told him to tear it up. He loved it so much, so I didn’t think he’d actually do it! He was going to do it without a second thought if I hadn’t stopped him!”

“You could have stopped after we were free!”

“I tried stopping! I-I got scared after the unicorn, but it was so much worse when I didn’t do it….Draxum got even angrier. Leo couldn’t handle what he was feeling anymore, Donnie! And that was only after a week! After how long it took to get out of there!? It would break him!”

“But now you’re doing it to me!?”

Dr. Rude’s tears drip onto Hyde’s face.

“I have to. It’s the only way. I’m taking care of us! You’ll feel better, he always does…..”

Hyde shouts in pain.

Red blearily wakes up at the screaming, immediately breaking his bonds and instinctively grabbing Dr. Rude as soon as he sees him.

He looks around in confusion for the actual attacker, only assuming Dr. Rude was trying to help Hyde.

Only when he notices the orange spreading through his veins does he fully understand what’s happened. His attention turns back towards his youngest brother.

“You….did this?”

Dr. Rude breaks down in tears as he looks back up at him.

“I-I didn’t know what else to do. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” He hides his face in Red’s shoulder.

Red hugs him closer, his shock turning completely to understanding.

“Oh Orange…..”

Dr. Rude hiccups in response to the nickname he hadn’t heard in a long time.

“I-I’m a monster…..I’m just like he was…!”

Red rubs his shell.

“No. Never, ever like him.”

“But I-“

“It’s not his DNA we’ve got. You messed up….and it’s bad. Real bad. We’ve all done bad things. We did it for a reason. How would ya even know what was crossin the line? We sure didn’t teach you. We sure didn’t really have anyone to teach us. The real monster….he never cared about being a monster. His reasons never were for anybody else. You’re different. I know you are.”

Dr. Rude further bursts into tears.

That’s when everyone who was previously fighting rushes into the room. Original Mikey had managed to get them to listen long enough to tell them what was happening.

“Why did I even bother making those bonds when they broke out immediately?” Draxum crosses his arms.

“Not the time, Barry!”

Both Aprils rush over to Hyde.

“What do we do!? How do we stop this!?” April panics.

“I don’t know! I’ve never seen it stopped before!” Other April answers.

“I-Ignore me, Champion needs help!” Hyde winces, holding his arms in pain.

Splinter quickly goes over to Champion.

“Blue, can you hear me?”

Light starts returning into his eyes. His gaze meets with Splinter’s.

“D-Dad….? You can’t be….you’re….” His eyes widen in a split second.

He screams out in a wail, gripping his own head in what seems like a lot of pain.

“No! I-I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! He killed you because of me! And I-!….Oh my god….I killed him….I actually did it, how could I have-?” He sees Draxum behind Splinter.

His screams change from pain to absolute fear. He curls up into a tight ball, shaking like he’s about to fall completely apart.

“Blue!” Splinter tries to touch him but Champion only flinches.

“Okay, since Champion is down for the count, Leon is taking over! Whoever can help fix Hyde stays in a room with Draxum. That includes the Aprils to watch over him. Whoever can calm Champion down stays here. Having Draxum around is only going to freak him out more. All good?”

Nobody seems to have any problems with his solution. They all split off into the designated groups. Red, Raph, Donnie, Mikey and Splinter stay with Champion. Draxum, Dr. Rude, and the Aprils go with Hyde. Leo leaves the room with them but pauses, not sure if he could really help either.

“P-Please, don’t leave.” Hyde pleads.

Leo is surprised but quickly catches up with them and goes to his side. They all get to the med bay and lay Hyde down on the bed. Everyone else takes a step away from him in order to talk about what the next course of action would be. Leo stays next to him.

“That looks like it hurts….”

“O-Only because I’m fighting it. It’s….trying to spread but I’m not letting it. H-Humans can’t really fight against this, their mystic powers are nonexistent.”

“Are you sure you want to keep talking if it hurts this much?”

“I….I miss when you were like this.”

“Like what?”

“All the dumb jokes, the way you were unsure, when you let yourself be scared….”

“Well now you just make me sound like a loser. I thought it was cool how you believed in him, called him Champion, how he could actually be leader, but that was all kinda a big lie because of all that puppeteering.” He crosses his arms.

“You were you. Not….fake. Not a mix of something else. If you were a loser that way, we were losers together. Y-You’re my twin and it felt like I lost whatever we had. Now I know….it was replaced by what Dr. Rude created…..”

“What….we had?”

“Y-You and I both know what it was. The way you can tell if he’s in pain. If he’s in a bad mood. Wh-When he needs you.”

“I knew that wasn’t just in my head! I caught him watching scary movies at 3am because him being scared wouldn’t let me sleep.”

Hyde smiles softly.

“I’d give anything to have that happen. Th-That’s why I agreed to this. I don’t just miss you….I-I miss Mikey too. Hyde and Champion….they became like we were the same person. I-I guess they sort of were. It felt like it was just me and Red at times….I just wanted to spend time with my little brothers.”

“Hey, I’m not letting you say that just because you’re not feeling well.”

Hyde’s smile changes to a smirk.

“I tested us. I’m older.”

“What!? If you weren’t such a bad liar I’d be calling pants on fire!”

Hyde chuckles before he grits his teeth in pain.

Leo frowns and looks at his arms.

“There has to be something I can do.”

“D-Dr. Rude himself doesn’t know how to stop it. I-It’s not your fault.”

Leo looks at his hands, then back to Hyde.

“Here goes nothing.”

“Wait, wait-!”

Leo recalls the surge of energy that Champion had forced them to dip into. He thinks hard about how he wants to help Hyde, putting aside the fact that he isn’t from this universe, ignoring what he attempted to do.

Right now, he was family.

Hyde’s shouting drew the attention of the others in the room. He can sort of hear Draxum and both Aprils yell at him to stop. They’re all ignored.

They can lecture him after it works. Or take pity on him if it doesn’t.

Energy prickles in the palm of his hands. He grabs Hyde’s arms and does his best to will the energy that wasn’t supposed to be there away, somewhere, anywhere that wasn’t in Hyde.

The energy fights him, not wanting to leave. He fights back, insisting that it was not going to get any further. He can feel something in Hyde helping his own energy kick out the harmful one.

Eventually, finally, Dr. Rude’s energy changes into his own. He pulls it all back, out of Hyde.

He’s pulled away just as he finishes, getting yelled at a lot more.

He doesn’t really pay attention.

Hyde’s arms are back to normal. He’s not in pain anymore.

He looks at him in complete shock.

“Ha, there was something I could do!”

[londonhalcyon]

Writing has not been happening the past few weeks (the non-academic kind at least), so here’s an unedited snippet of Chapter 42 to tide you guys over. Enjoy the little sneak peek.

* * * *

On the afternoon of the 27th, Penny came with me to prep the thestrals. I hadn’t asked her to. She had volunteered, even after I had told her how long the flight would be. Each further attempt to deter her earned me a glare, but I still had to try one last time as we walked into the forest.

“We don’t both have to fly,” I said. “I can have Tenebrous follow me. We can meet you and Kingsley there.”

“It’ll be faster if I take him,” Penny said tersely.

“By a few minutes, maybe. It’s a two-hour flight, bareback. It’s not going to be fun.”

“I want to help. But since it’s obvious you don’t want me there—”

“I never said that.”

“Then stop arguing with me. I’m coming with you. That’s final.”

“I just don’t want you to put yourself under any unnecessary stress,” I said. She was afraid of heights for Merlin’s sake.

Penny tapped a finger to her chin. “Hmm, where have I heard that before?”

I rolled my eyes. “Point taken.”

We stopped a few meters into the trees, near where I had first taken the trio hunting for potion ingredients. A flat, grassy field stretched out at our backs. The perfect takeoff point.

Bringing my fingers to my lips, I gave a loud three-note whistle. The bushes rustled, and Nyx promptly trotted out of the shadows, her identifying scar visible on her flank. A younger male thestral trotted after her. Good, Hagrid had already sent them our way.

I levitated two dead birds out of my bag, which I flicked towards them. Each thestral caught the offering in its beak-like mouth with a disturbing crunch.

“Are you afraid I’ll freeze?” Penny asked. “When it matters, I mean.”

“I watched you stare down a werewolf last year,” I said. “You know it’s not that. I’m going to worry no matter what.”

“Tough luck, love.” But she said it with a smile.

I gave an exaggerated sigh. “I know.”

She lightly elbowed me. “Do we have everything we need?”

“I think so. Here, one second…”

I handed her half the gear in my bag: gloves, flight goggles, and a full face balaclava. No hoods. Certain things like “peripheral vision” and “not being mistaken for a Death Eater” seemed important.

I donned the same items myself, pulling the balaclava over my head until only my eyes and the bridge of my nose were exposed—then only the bridge of my nose after I added the goggles. We looked like we were on our way to rob a store, but anonymity was key. Plus, it was going to be frigid and dry in the air at that altitude, and I had no interest in going blind if my contacts dried out in the next two hours.

Penny held out her arms. “How do I look?”

Unrecognizable, if I hadn’t been close enough to see her eyes through her goggles. With her face covered and her hair completely tucked away, it would be impossible to tell who she was at a distance.

“Gray,” I said.

“How boring.”

“Like a shadow,” I amended.

“Better.”

We wore dark gray dueling robes, which were form-fitting enough that they wouldn’t get in the way, but just fluttery enough to make a more difficult target. The idea was that, in moments when there was at least a little light, the gray would blend in with the shadows better than pitch black. That was perhaps the paranoia talking by this point, especially when we had Disillusionment Charms at our disposal, but overkill was better than the alternative.

It would be fine. With luck, everything would go according to plan, and we wouldn’t even have to fight. The Death Eaters wouldn’t realize we had moved the date until it was too late, and by then, everyone would already be safe at the Burrow.

I tangled my hands in Nyx’s mane to hold them steady. I ignored the distant roaring in my ears. “Ready?”

Penny grabbed hold of Tenebrous. “Mind giving me a leg up?”

I gave her a boost. In the next minute, we were both on our thestrals, ready at the edge of the field.

[gay-dorito-dust]

But that's why it's so fun though. There's definitely the surface level canon story.

It's fun to think, what if? Especially with easter eggs or vague elements showing the tiniest connection to another. Someone had to create that, so maybe they had an idea the viewer would too. If so, then what would the story look like if this connection is canon. Bonus points if it is canon and theres tiny nuggets all over the place. Im looking at you, eldren ring 😘👅. Overall, it expands the story and adds depth, and who doesn't like that. (Trick question: NO ONE)

Lmao YOU KNOW he was waiting!! The pan away shot was so the audience couldn't see the filthy smirk on his face after saying that. Leon is totally a "fun guy" at heart *snaps finger guns*. Definitely loves to crack jokes. It's just given his surroundings and the situation he usually in, it's totally not called for. Especially his type of...humor, which already isn't that funny in a normal environment. Then when he says it, it's a double "Oh hell no." for me, dawg.

AHHHHH lmaooo you like his jokes! You're more whipped me than! 🤣 I'm shriveling up. A chocolate eclair 💀 we gotta build that up! (I can't talk mine is as tough as extra firm tofu)

Fr I totally understand. I'd feel bad especially since he's trying to lighten the environment, plus I know he hates this more than I do. Replace me with Ashley and all I hear are gunshots, goreish noises, and foreign yelling 24/7...👁👄👁 I'm listening to "Leon's jokes on a 10 hour loop" (some of them). I'd have to scrape up the courage to think of jokes and not hyper fixating on my environment and future death or Leon's back 😉.

I'd either beg Leon for a mercy kill or do it myself. I'm not built for that world. Also if Leon actually said that, he'd get 1 good noodle star, cuz that actually made me laugh.🤡

I'm hollering!! I was thinking the same thing but couldn't find the meme!!! Thank you!!🥹

Leon is a frat party and a Bang energy drink (the only option) with a plate of hooters wings away from being the "you're not that guy pal". Maybe the trauma was worth it.

(Again sorry for any grammar mistake. I can't read or write)

I love a game with little nuggets that subtly connect to one another to weave an story beneath the common storyline. It just gives you more insight to…well everything! It’s one of my favourites that the game developers are like ‘we’re gonna give long time players a treat and new time players a fun thing to unravel.’

Ngl, Leon would single-handedly give me brain rot so bad that I start doing crappy, half asses one liners.

It’s a disease and he’s the cause.

It ain’t my fault that Leon is so unbelievably pretty! My kryptonite is pretty boys and unfortunately Leon is on-top of the list for prettiest boys!

All he’d have to do if flash me a smile and I’d be like; 😩 😳😖🥵🤤🫠

The trauma Leon has been through had altered him so much so that his coping mechanisms are to make shitty one liners to EVERYTHING.

He thinks he’s a cool kid at heart, we know that ain’t true. He’s a dorky dork that thinks his humour is the shit.

Me: Leon go to therapy, you’re obviously not okay.

Leon: Therapy is for losers and I am no loser😎

Me: you’ve missed 6 appointments, the jokes got to stop-

In all fairness he probs doesn’t think therapy would work out for him at all and also over works himself to the bone. I remember someone saying that the reasons for Leon being jacked as all hell in re4 is so he doesn’t get taken by surprise anymore.

My baby needs a hug but he’d probably be so on edge and alert that I wouldn’t be able to without triggering his fight or flight responses.

I’d get too distracted by Leon’s ass and have a deep debate within myself whether or not it’s be inappropriate to slap it. Also Leon doesn’t skip leg day. He’s got nice thighs, and arms…and back…nice tits…

Leon probably would drink bang energy in means of staying up at night. How he finds out about bang is anyones guess.

[gxrlcinema]

dear maria count me in

Bucky + all your expectations of my love are impossible/ surely you know I'm not easy to hold (adele)

hand in unloveable hand

tw: graphic injury, non-graphic depictions of violence, bucky being the biggest fucking asshole (but like, in a way i think i could justify as in-character)

Bucky had done a number of things to piss you off recently. Ever since the breakup he’d fluctuated between ignoring you, openly criticizing you. But almost getting you killed on a mission because he couldn’t care enough to provide backup? Really takes the fucking cake. 

Not since your time being pheremone brainwashed in the Red Room had you been so fucking angry. 

You enter the conference room fuming, slamming the door open and making a beeline for Bucky. He stands with his arms crossed, his face schooled into hard lines.

“What the hell was that?!” you shout. 

Bucky has the audacity to look affronted. His eyes linger on the bloody shell of your right ear. You had asked him multiple times to cover you in the base you guys took down today. You were incredibly lucky that the agent you'd faced alone had been a terrible shot and had barely skimmed your ear before Sam swooped down to pull you out. The asshole had been aiming for your heart.

"Should've been more careful, doll face." His smile is condescending and downright mean.

“Agent Y/l/n,” Steve gives you a pointed look from his seat at the head of the conference table. “Please try not to kill Sergeant Barnes.”

Bucky’s wide eyes are turned on Steve. Steve’s look towards him is pointed too; you deserved that one, pal. You smirk.

“If you could both please take a seat, we have a lot to discuss.”

You huff, but pull back one of the rolling chairs and throw yourself down into it. Bucky sulks next to you. You both cross your arms over your chest. 

“Whatever is going on between you needs to stop, now. Your conduct on missions has been reckless and it has endangered the entire team.”

Bucky scoffs, looks at you. Steve thumps a hand against the glass conference table.

“Agent Y/l/n came very close to losing her life today so I have no idea what’s funny to you right now, Sergeant.”

Bucky scoffs. “If you’re so worried that Agent Y/l/n is going to get hurt, maybe she shouldn’t be on this team.”

You nearly flinch. It’s an insecurity that runs deep in you and Bucky knows that, knows you think you’re not good enough for the team. You turn to look at Bucky.

“There’s not a single other member of this team that you wouldn’t have backed up today. It’s almost like you want me dead.”

You wish he would just say sorry. You can see it clear as day, the anguish that flashes through his eyes. But he rolls them anyways, says, “I mean, I would make things easier.”

“Barnes,” Steve warns. Neither of you listen to him.

You can recall nightmares, tears rolling down his face and “they took you” “I’m so scared that you’ll get hurt and I won’t be fast enough” said between sobs. Had you really hurt Bucky so badly, that he didn’t care for you at all?

Your mind reels from the hurt. Externally, your nostrils flare and your voice goes cold. 

“If you’re so unprepared to prevent a teammate’s death then maybe you’re the one who’s not qualified for this team.”

Bucky’s neck turns red, a familiar sign of his anger. His face remains Winter Soldier blank.  

“I trained you myself. If you can’t keep up during missions it’s because you’re getting sloppy. Besides, it’s not my responsibility to look after you. I’m a tactical master, I’m not here to babysit.”

“Are you?!” rage and hurt overwhelm all your senses, turning your lips loose for half-though words. “Or are you just a scared little boy who acts all tough because he’s terrified he’s an unloveable fucking killing machine!”

“Agent Y/l/n!” Steve roars. It cuts through some of the anger pounding in your ears. 

Bucky’s breath comes in short gasps, his muscled chest heaving although you haven’t touched him. His eyes are wide, face contorted in a pain that’s usually reserved for his nightmares. The victory is savory on your tongue. 

It’s a dirty satisfaction, knowing the truth of Bucky Barnes. Knowing that, no matter how practiced his blank stare is or how beyond human capacity they’ve enhanced his cells, James Barnes is just a broken man who did not have the luxury of mourning his life after it was taken from him. 

You look towards Bucky, ready to see the hurt he so casually dishes out to you written all over his face. But when your eyes meet his, all you see is a dreadful, gut wrenching recognition. 

“Takes one to know one,” Barnes mutters, more to himself than to you. 

You feel like you’ve been doused with cold water and at the exact same time, slapped in the face. Your mouth falls open, perhaps to save yourself the embarrassment of such a staggering defeat, but Steve cuts you off. 

“Y/l/n, you’re dismissed.” 

Your Captain’s voice leaves no room for argument. Not that you have much motivation to stay, the tears pressing against your eyelids threatening to burst through at any moment. 

You nod and storm out without another glance at Bucky.