#hes got the timeframe of a flare

[solardnp]

at literally any moment the sun could burp and in 7 minutes all life on earth would go up in a blazing ball of molten plasma - dan howell

[neopoliitan]

TEAM RAIN: ARC 4 CH6 - THE PATH LESS TRAVELED

A WRITE UP FOR THE REST OF TEAM RAIN: CHAPTER 6

We return to Zenith. Zelena Braith is still questioning Viorel Braith on what Kamala Braith’s final plans are. We are not told what Zelena was asking about as we open on her asking for a firm confirmation, which Viorel gives.

Zelena rests her head in her hand as she processes this. She says she wants justice as much as the next person, but is unclear what Kamala aims to achieve with her plans. Viorel cuts her off and says they have spent fourteen years trying to render “the machine” operational, and that Zelena should not make the mistake of wasting their time.

Zelena affirms that she appreciates Viorel’s work, and claims that Akane’s semblance has got inside her head. Viorel states that “fools will do as fools will do.”

They’re interrupted by Viola Braith, who skips into Zenith victorious after her “beta test” in Avon. She states global rollout will go off without a hitch. Viorel says there was no doubt it would work as they did the hard work, but are cut off by Sterling Braith, who enters the room and brings up Viorel’s failed plan to recruit the Crazy Bunch. Having not seen Sterling since the start of Arc 3, Viola expresses exaggerated shock at his haggard appearance.

Sterling confronts Viorel and says his new arms aren’t “good enough” and they need to “do better.” Viorel retorts he’ll have to wait till Tahlia and Gardner get home, as the former is the engineer/mechanic of the family - besides, Sterling “is lucky to get anything after such a pitiful display” at Unsei Ridge, and they did a “miraculous job” given the short timeframe they had to work with.

Sterling grabs Viorel by the chest and lifts them off the floor, stating they’ll find out how “miraculous” a job they did when he uses his new arms to break every bone in their body. Zelena looks worried, then glances at Viola, who is clearly getting a kick out of the drama.

There’s a decent-length fight scene between Otso Umber and Raleigh Radcliff. During the fight, Otso lands a direct hit on Raleigh whose aura flares and causes Otso to reel back in pain. 

Raleigh’s semblance is named “Return to Sender.” As the cost of aura, Raleigh will not take damage from enemy attacks - and instead deflect it back onto the enemy as they hit him. The more he focuses, the less damage he will take and the more his attacker will endure.

Raleigh mocks Otso for not recalling his semblance despite their forty-year feud. 

Raleigh: “Doesn’t matter how hard you hit me - you’re the one who feels it.”

Otso: “I’ll take it if it means killing you! You ruined my life!”

Raleigh: “You’re doing a damn good job of that yourself!”

Otso: “Just admit it! You stole everything from me!”

Raleigh swings at Otso and clips his cheek with his hatchet. Otso spins with the momentum, then turns and catches Raleigh off guard, knocking him to the ground with a right hook. Otso swings down with his greatsword, but Raleigh blocks it with his ax and sweeps Otso aside.

Raleigh: “You want the truth? FINE!”

Raleigh: “You would’ve lost us that tournament! You didn’t stack up! I was the only one who did anything about it!”

Raleigh: “I cracked your damn head open so that I could take your place. You would’ve lost anyway.”

Otso is stunned by this revelation, so much so that Raleigh closes the gap and swings his hatchet at him. Otso parries, then uses the opening to drive his greatsword through Raleigh’s gut. Impaled, Raleigh’s knees buckle.

Otso pushes forward, leaning in and forcing his sword out through Raleigh’s back. As the space between them closes with Otso’s push, he yells that they were like brothers once.

Raleigh raises his hatchet. He affirms “we were” and swings at Otso’s exposed neck. In delirium thanks to their shared mortal wounds, the two exchange glances and chuckle, almost seeing their 18-year-old selves again. Then Raleigh swings again and Otso falls.

Raleigh pulls Otso’s sword from his gut, fully aware the wound is fatal, and casts it aside before dragging himself to lean up against his ship. He winces in pain, closes his eyes, then tilts his head to the sky.

After a moment, he hears footsteps.

Gardner Braith enters the clearing. He ponders Otso’s corpse and weapon for a moment, before being distracted as Tahlia Braith calls to him. She warns him that Team RAIN is here and they need to leave. Recognising their task is complete, Gardner picks up Otso’s bloodied sword as proof of his death and the duo hop into the truck they used to get to Faraday.

Team RAIN pursues Tahlia into the clearing to see the truck pulling out. Wil marches forward, saying all he needs is a truck to close the gap - Irving adds that the tyre tracks will basically draw a map to Zenith.

Akane and Robin spot Raleigh and kneel at his side. Robin says they need to get him help, but he tells them not to waste the effort on a dead man. 

Raleigh pulls a photo out of his vest pocket and hands it to Akane, telling her he has a son, Cordovan. He adds he has a daughter, Rosie, by a different mother. He asks her to find them and tell them he’s sorry, and that he’s proud of them. Akane protests that he can tell them himself, but he scoffs that it’ll mean more coming from her - they’ll know she’s telling the truth.

Raleigh slumps. Robin stands up and places her hands behind her head as she takes it in as Akane studies the photo.

The roar of an engine brings them back to the present - Wil announces he’s found a truck that works. Everyone piles in as Akane pockets the photo for later. 

Wil: “Where’s Radcliff?”

Akane: “He didn’t make it.”

Wil: “How well d’you know him?”

Akane: “Barely.”

Wil: “Then we can worry about it later.”

The truck pulls out, in pursuit of the Braiths.

–

Things get much more nebulous from here, as very few scenes are fully scripted (all of the next chapter was written pretty early, though.)

The following would have been a vehicle fight between Gardner/Tahlia’s truck and Team RAIN/PALM’s truck, involving a lot of bumper bashing and side-swiping. 

By the end of the vehicular battle, Tahlia would have climbed out of the sun-roof of the Braith truck, ran along the roof to the back of the vehicle and jumped off, landing in front of the Team RAIN truck. Using her Repulsion Semblance, she would repel the truck off the road and down a bank where it would be trashed.

Tahlia stands at the top of the hill, looking down at the wreck with slight remorse. Gardner pulls up next to her and climbs out of their truck, brandishing his weapon and telling her to get in the truck as she doesn’t need to witness what comes next.

Gardner proceeds to march downhill as Tahlia stares blankly at the horizon. After a moment, she notices something and squints - a blurry figure appears in the distance. She calls out to Gardner, telling him that someone is coming.

Gardner spots the figure too. His eyes widen and he turns, gently pulling Tahlia towards the truck. 

Gardner: “We need to go.”

Tahlia: “But what about–”

Gardner: “Just get in the truck.”

Gardner looks over his shoulder at the stranger.

Tahlia: “Who are they?”

Gardner: “Don’t worry about it.”

The Stranger watches the two Braiths peel away from the scene of the crash as they approach the wreckage. Irving pulls himself out, groaning as his aura flickers. The Stranger’s boot lands in front of him as he looks up worriedly, but he is relieved as the stranger offers a hand to help him up. We see their face is obscured with a hood, with a neckerchief and goggles covering their eyes and mouth.

Stranger: “Here. Let me help.”

–

Hours after the crash, Robin wakes up in a cave, a blanket covering her. She reaches for her sword, but its scabbard is empty. After a brief scan she sees her sword lying against the cave wall, and quietly picks it up. 

She rounds a corner nervously, where we see an obscured close up of the Stranger warming their hands at a small fire, their back to her. Robin slowly creeps up with her weapon, but the Stranger interrupts without turning - telling her that if they wanted any harm to come to her, she’d be dead already.

Robin asks where her friends are, and the Stranger tells her they’re resting - as she should be. Ignoring this, Robin presses further, asking why and how a random stranger would come to rescue them in the wilderness.

The stranger ponders for a moment as they stand up, playing with their fingers. They tell her they’ve been watching the Braiths for a while now. Robin asks why - who are they?

We see over the Stranger’s shoulder as he turns around to face Robin, whose eyes widen.

It’s a man in his fifties, with untidy grey hair that was once black. His eyes are a piercing white - both sclera and iris - ringed with dark circles of age and sleeplessness. He has a streaked, unkept beard, but his expression shows an innate kindness.

Stranger: “Oh, you know… just their father.”

[thoughtfulfoxllama]

It would be a Succession Crisis 2.0 (and since there is no timeframe, and I've been seeing conspiracies about it lately, let's say it was a Solar Flare in July 2025 that caused it)

I honestly see Home-Church making a return. Not like Covid, but like First Century Christians. Fathers would become the de-facto Priesthood leaders, and are authorized by Stake Presidents to perform services and Ordinances such as Sacrament & Baptism in the Home. Bishops would be solely devoted to providing Physical & Financial Aid to the Community. Temples would need to be majorly reworked to perform Live Ordinances again, leading to a major increase in the need for Temple Workers (and possibly even the rise of Endowment Houses until Temples can be adapted to Live Ordinances again)

But that's in the Immediate Aftermath

In the following few years, the Churches will be vastly different

Salt Lake Saints

I can honestly see the Church going a bit Fundie. They would begin allowing Polygamy again, and may even reach out to the AUB to see about reuniting (which may or may not work, because although Rulon Allred was open to the Priesthood Ban being lifted, his Successors definitely weren't)

I say kinda because I doubt they're going to go full Fundamentalist. They'll bring back Polygamy, and probably the pre-1990 Endowment, but they won't bring back the Priesthood Ban or Blood Atonement (although if they got truly desperate for the Independence Temple, they might use that to justify a Crusade against the Adam-Ondi-Ahman Saints). But they'd also probably be liberal when it comes to many things as well (they've got Uchtdorf after all). They'd be fine with people dressing like everyone else (as long as it's modest), they'd be fine with secular entertainment & recreation, and I can see them accepting some of the Weird Mormon Stuff they've pushed down to seem normal (although I see the Nauvoo Saints being straight up Folk Magic Practitioners, the Salt Lake Saints will have all of the records)

They wouldn't police beliefs like Adam-God, or the types of Garments one uses (leading to people making the full arm & leg garments of the early 1900s, but also to people being way more liberal (maybe even people tattooing the symbols on themselves, so they don't need garments))

They wouldn't start the Monks in Granate Mountain. A bunch of artists & autistic people just showed up one day, and Christofferson (the Apostle over the Utah Area) isn't going to kick them out. But Uchtdorf thinks they're so beautiful, so he has some of the Monks make an Illuminated Book of Mormon, and they use that to attract Artistic Types to the Salt Lake Church. It would kinda work, drawing some Nauvoo Saints in, leading to a Mormon Renaissance of weird art

Adam-Ondi-Ahman Saints

The Nauvoo Saints, let's be honest, would probably fuse with the Community of Christ. This leads to interesting developments, such as a Female Priesthood and the Temple Endowment in the same Church. They'd probably think God the Father is a Spirit, Christ has a Resurrected Body, and the Holy Spirit is their Shared Mind (like in the LoF), which leads to interesting questions about Exaltation, Resurrection, Reincarnation, and Eternal Identity

They'd probably take the Temple Lot, and build the Independence Temple on it. One of their leaders would claim Jesus visited them, and gave them Authority to form a New Church (and that's how they'd justify the Female Priesthood to the more conservative Salt Lake Saints). I can honestly see them also assimilating the Cutlerites (who have 5 members as of 2024). The Cutlerites have been practicing the Nauvoo Endowment (the only non-Brighamite branch to accept it) & the United Order since it's founding in the 1850s. All of this together makes it the most popular of the three

Nauvoo Saints

Nauvoo is the Gathering Place for the Queer Mormons. Gay Marriage & Gender Transition are fully accepted here

But, like the Adam-Ondi-Ahman Saints, I think they'd also assimilate other Branches. Specifically, the Strangites & the Bickertonites

The Strangites have 2 Divisions, which have a combined 300 members. They'd probably go to either Nauvoo, Voree, or Beaver Island, and there be caught up with the Saints, possibly being inspired by stories of a new transition. The Priesthood would take on Monarchical Overtones (possibly even becoming a full Theocracy), Animal Sacrifice would occur side-by-side with Ordinances in Temples, Saturday Sabbath, Limited Polygamy (no taking excessive spouses, and the already married partner was not allowed to initiate), Evolved Priesthood Roles (women can be Ordained to most offices of the Aaronic Priesthood (all except Sacrificer Priest), anyone from Priest up can perform Sealings, Priesthood Cursings, and so on), and the list goes on

Admittedly, the Bickertonites are a stretch. They're closest to Nauvoo, but they're still in Pennsylvania. However, let's assume they went to Nauvoo as a gathering place. They are also critical of Church History (although Sydney was in the First Presidency when Joseph died, he later rejected his Nauvoo Era Teachings). But their Hymnal was received completely through Revelation

They would criticize the Salt Lake Saints for cozying up to the AUB (who believes in the Priesthood Ban), and the Adam-Ondi-Ahman Saints for allowing Women to have the Melchizedek Priesthood. They would also probably hold the Lectures on Faith version of the Godhead (but some would probably think that Jesus is the son of Joseph & Mary, like Strang did)

And they'd definitely be Mormon Witches, placing as much (if not more) stock into Folk Magic, Revelation, Miracles, and other supernatural occurrences as the Pre-schism Mormons (meaning before the Martyrdom). Although using malignant magic (for cases of non-defense) would be highly punished by shunning or even imprisonment. Even Priesthood Holders who curse people with the Priesthood would be looked down on (as they will be seen as failures for having to resort to such means). A form of Mezuzah would eventually emerge, as a home-protection Talisman. The Garments would also shift into the ultimate protection Talisman (although this means they are not worn often, but only when one feels they need it (such as performing their Priesthood Roles, with the fear Satan would do everything he can to stop them from doing their jobs. Or when traveling away from the Community of Saints, with the fear that Satan will have more power outside of the Community than inside))

If ye are not One...

How this would resolve, I am unsure. But it would probably be the Younger Apostles (Uchtdorf, Gong, ECT) coming together to bring everyone back together. They'd also split the Continents between the Churches (Salt Lake would cover Eurasia, Nauvoo would cover Africa & Australia, and Adam-Ondi-Ahman would cover the Americas & the Pacific Islands). The New First Presidency would be Uchtdorf (First Councilor, Salt Lake), Gong (Second Councilor, Nauvoo), and I'm unsure who would be the President

White Horse Prophecy, they're a Nomadic Sect. They have the idea that no prophecy is set in stone, and the reason that America fell is because the Mormons fell. They'd definitely be the type of people who would have stormed the Capitol

When things get scary globally and nationally (see right now-ish) I have this thing where I find post apocalyptic media comforting. Heck if I know why I'm like this, but I am.

Anyways, there's far too little post apocalyptic Mormon media for my liking so "be the change you want to see" and all that, I kinda want to make some post apocalyptic Mormon flavored short stories and I wanted to pick tumblrstake's brain.

Here's just some loose ideas to start with:

End of the world happens with a massive cyber attack. Basically anything with an Internet connection gets fried, starts acting weird. Closed networks also get infected so nearly all digital storage is wiped out. It's a massive loss of knowledge and information globally. Military systems are also hit, causing missiles to launch at random targets or just detonate in their silos.

All this to set up that post apocalyptic society is low tech, slow communication, and not a whole lot of surplus weapons of mass destruction. Local groups that know how to take care of each other end up surviving the best.

Post Apocalyptic Mormonism gets some schisms. Something about where to gather. I figure there are three main groups: Salt Lake, Nauvoo, and Adam-ondi-ahman. I think it'd be cool if they split for a while, but eventually reconcile and reunify. Then the Quorum of the Twelve is made up of four apostles from each group and the First Presidency has a prophet from each group.

I figure there's some monk-y business going on at the Granite Mountain Vault. In the sense that it becomes a kind of monastery. Run by monks. Monk-y business. Get it? Whatever. Mormon Monks in making illuminated genealogy records.

There's some group of people obsessed with the White Horse Prophecy. You know, "the Constitution will hang by a thread," "the Elders of the Church will save the country" yadda yadda yadda. Problem is the Constitution (and the whole country for that matter) has already fallen, so either they're trying to bring it back or they're insisting that it didn't really fall. Maybe both.

Word of Wisdom gets tweaked to account for the fact that nobody can get coffee anymore. It becomes more about "eating fruit in the proper season" and "eat meat sparingly".

So that's just some loose thoughts I had that I might work into a short story or something. If anyone has more ideas, don't be shy, share with the class.

[amywritesthings]

Meet Me On The Other Side

PART TWO: THE UPSIDE-DOWN

gif credit to @ mcbride

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Word Count: 5K

Summary: The Hawkins crew only has eight people in their three-tier plan to take down Vecna. Eddie makes a Hail Mary of a phone call to even the odds.

Warnings: SPOILERS AHEAD, VOL2 FIX-IT, Language, Angst (with a Happy Ending), Intense action, Peril, Graphic Violence, The Upside Down, Demobat attacks, Kisses, Confessions of Feelings, Eddie is still the Hero, But YOU save the day

A/N: This is my version of how the Battle of Vecna went down. Only canon I accept from here on out. Alexa, play Running Up That Hill (Totem Remix).

                       PART ONE / PART TWO / PART THREE

( Read on AO3 )

PREVIEW:

 Eddie’s face turns, planting a gentle kiss to the center of your palm. “Most metal concert ever.”

“Most metal concert ever,” you repeat, and he opens his eyes to stare at you. “Play like a bat out of hell, Eddie Munson.”

Slowly, but surely, a grin of determination plays against his mouth. He nods and you step off to the side, readying your spiked bat.

Eddie stares into the billowing horizon of blood red clouds and rips the chain holding the guitar pick clear from his throat. His nostrils flare, a multitude of emotions rising to his face — grief, fear, betrayal, anger.

Above all else, there is anger.

“Chrissy, this is for you.”

MEET ME ON THE OTHER SIDE

PART TWO: THE UPSIDE DOWN

.

So this was why they were using Max Mayfield’s trailer as their provisional headquarters.

The Munson household is a mess. Upon entering the once-common hang out spot for the two of you, Eddie warned what would greet you on the other side — keep an open mind, alright? Whatever timeframe this shithole was made happened to also be a week I forgot to clean — but a gaping hole of vines and dirt in the middle of his ceiling leading to a gloomy, radioactive mirror of his living room?

Yeah, that's worse than some dirty laundry.

The glittering, dark portal is not what you pictured, but it isn’t any less terrifying to look at in the flesh.

Something ruffles at your side — on your left stands Dustin Henderson, all Spanish moss and camouflage and donning a light gray, polyester head protector. He looks like a tiny knight ready for battle, straight from a homebrew Dungeons and Dragons campaign.

And he’s beaming up at you like he's bursting to say something.

The rest of the party remains outside, counting weapons and supplies before the final bell tolls. Dustin doesn’t seem too interested in the commotion, not when he’s teetering on his sneakers and waiting for you to speak first. 

So you do. “Hey.”

“Hi,” he replies, stuck on a giggle. “So you’re the…”

“I’m the… what?”

"You're the... girl." Dustin’s brows furrow. “The girl. The one Eddie always talks about.”

“Oh?” You shift to turn towards him, ignoring the massive portal in the ceiling for a moment. “Eddie talks about me a lot?”

“You have no idea.” 

Yeah. Dustin’s been clambering to talk about this ever since you left your car. That much is obvious by how his shoulders droop, mouth taking off at lightning speed:

“We had to implement, like, an entire ten minutes at the end of each Hellfire debrief so he could update the party about this mystery girl he's been driving to see on weekends because we got sick of hearing about it over and over again — no offense.” 

"None taken." A warm glow spreads through your veins like wildfire. “But you’re, uh, Dustin, right? When he comes up to visit me at school, he talks about a Dustin Henderson a lot.” 

Dustin perks, curls ricocheting from the force as he gawks up at you. “Really?”

“All the time.”

“What does he say?”

It seems like Dustin admires Eddie just as much as Eddie admires him.

“That you’re really good at foiling all of his planned dungeon crawls and it’s annoying as hell.” That earns a wild, elated laugh from the freshman. “But that just means you’re learning from the best, and you’ve come really far in the game. He’s proud.”

Dustin’s chin drops to his chest to mask the smile bursting at his mouth, all too bashful of the compliments you have to give. The moss at his shoulders bristles as he shrugs.

“So if you’re that girl, then you’re… also the honorary Hellfire member?”

Your brows knit with amusement. “He told you guys about the one shot—”

“—where you killed Eddie’s mimic in one fell swoop? Hell yeah! Holy shit, that was so epic. ” 

You laugh at the energetic reaction, shifting the strap of your backpack. 

“Guess he does talk about me a lot.” 

“Told you. Munson’s totally obsessed with you.” As if he’s spilled a dire secret, Dustin’s eyes widen. “Don’t tell him I said that.” 

You shake your head, finger pressing to your lips. “Secret’s safe with me.”

“What are you two conspirators chatting about over here?” 

Eddie calls from his bedroom as he walks down the hallway, bandana wrapped tightly around his forehead and covering his bangs. In his palm rests two silver lighters.

“Nothing.” 

You don’t anticipate Dustin to answer at the exact same time as you, but it happens. Eddie pauses in his step, apprehension crawling to his expression, but it flutters away as he sucks in a sharp breath and claps his hands together.

“O-kay, weirdos. Keep your secrets. We’ve got the fun part of this whole fuckaroo plan, so I suggest we figure out our own plan of action before we all go, y’know, up that way.”

The three of you simultaneously look up at the gate in question where a dirty mattress takes up most of the living room floor.

“We draw the bats away when Lucas gives the signal that Max is in a… trance, right?” you repeat Nancy’s words. 

“Yep,” Dustin confirms. “It should give Nancy, Robin, and Steve enough time to get to the Creel house so they can royally screw over Vecna at his weakest state.” From your peripheral, you see him drop his chin from the ceiling to look at Eddie. “You don’t happen to own any flamethrowers in that trailer on the other side that we might’ve missed, right?”

“Nope, just the flaming chords of rock ‘n roll, my friend,” Eddie replies, clapping his hand down on his shoulder. “And a few lighters for the lady.”

“Lighters?”

“Makeshift flamethrowers,” you supply for Eddie, and he winks in your direction.

“With what?” Dustin asks with emphasis.

“Hairspray,” Eddie adds. “My girl’s got those college smarts working for us.”

My girl.

You don’t have time to react. The trailer door opens swiftly, revealing a weapon-ready Nancy Wheeler.

“We’re ready to go. Lucas and Erica have Max set up in the attic.”

So this was it.

Robin is the next to enter, holding a rope bound in sheets with Steve in tow. The two of them set up the alley-oop on the mattress in this realm, tossing the rope high in the air. The sheets billow perfectly on the other side, dropping with the gate's gravity.

(Trippy.)

Steve, of course, takes the first leap of faith into the dark abyss. Everyone takes a step back as he uses his arms and core strength to hoist up, up… until he falls to the other end, Eddie’s mattress cushioning his fall. 

From the other side of the world, Steve Harrington looks at you and grins, thumb raised high in the air.

Nancy’s the next to go, with Robin dropping to one knee to help her ascent. Nancy struggles for a moment, gritting her teeth until she falls gracefully to the other side on her back.

Dustin follows suit, then Robin, leaving you and Eddie still safe in Hawkins.

“C’mon, angel, time to fly,” he murmurs against your ear as he nears you, all too happy with himself for such a corny, B-movie catchphrase. 

“Guess P.E. finally comes in handy, huh?” you ask as he slowly drops to one knee, holding his hands out to help hoist you onto the makeshift rope. 

“A-yep, that’s why it’s the only class I’m skating by,” Eddie jokes, spotting you as you use what strength you can muster to climb towards the ceiling, refusing to look back.

Suddenly the world is airborne when your arms pass through the threshold of the Upside Down. Your back slams into the sheet-covered mattress, knocking the air clear from your lungs for a beat. Eddie Munson stares up with worry lining his features, face glowing orange from the hue of his living room lamp.

You take Steve’s lead, holding up a quiet confirmation with your thumb extended: I’m good.

He sighs heavily, cursing under his breath before taking the ascent as the final party member to cross the point of no return.

This place is insane. Somehow right under your feet lives a gnarly, horrifying version of Hawkins ready to suck the joy and hope out of anyone who enters. Robin places a small hand on your shoulder after helping you up — you okay? — and all you can do is nod.

Truth is? No, none of this okay, but Eddie needs you.

(They need a fucking third.)

By the time Eddie lands on his back, hair splayed across the orange sheet, you’re there to hold out a hand and help him up. Each person of A- and B-Team files out of Eddie’s warped and vine-filled trailer and into what you can only describe as a waking nightmare.

Lightning billows over red and blue clouds, threatening to near and swallow you hole. Vines suffocate every trailer in the park.

“Hey.”

Before you can step out of the warped Munson household, however, a force tugs you backwards by the hand. The warmth of Eddie’s silver rings encompasses your skin, a stark contrast to the freeze of the Upside Down.

He squeezes and runs his thumb along the back of it, saying nothing with his voice but everything with his eyes.

Are you good?

(As good as you can be.)

You nod once, and he gestures for you to move: ladies’ first.

Eddie’s fingers linger when you pull away to drop down the steps and into the dead grass.

Steve and Robin situate their weapons from their backpacks as Nancy checks the ammo on her modified shotgun. Dustin waits at the bottom of the steps, trashcan shield at the ready.

“Guys? If anything goes wrong?” Steve starts, asserting a leader-esque tone to the crew. “Then we abort the mission.” He pointedly stares at Eddie. “Don’t be a hero.”

“You don’t have to worry about us being heroes,” Dustin answers gleefully for the whole of you, but something is off in the way Eddie stares at Steve. 

“Yeah, absolutely,” Eddie answers with the same peppy tone, but his eyes don’t hold the same excitement as Dustin’s. 

Steve seems to accept that answer and blinks to you, but there’s something underneath his gaze, something uncertain.

(What are the odds, Harrington?)

He tells you right then and there:

He doesn’t know.

There’s no time to talk when Steve turns on a heel, leading the way for Nancy and Robin to follow. What remains of the party — you, Dustin, and Eddie — stands in a triangle formation, watching the brave soldiers of Hawkins disappear in the smoke and clouds of the Upside Down towards the Creel house.

“Well!”

After a minute, Eddie breaks the silence as he slaps both Dustin and yourself on the shoulder, turning you towards the trailer.

“Time to get to work, ladies and gentlemen. Let’s not die in this shithole.”

“A-men,” Dustin sing-songs, following him back into the vine-possessed trailer once more.

Securing the house feels like it takes ages to accomplish. The only way to keep track of how long you've been down (or up) here comes from Robin and Lucas's small check-ins from the walkie at Dustin’s hip — still no Vecna, still no trance — and the three of you manage to make the Munson trailer a decent fortress for what’s to come next.

As you’re barring one of the living room windows, Eddie sneaks into his bedroom with Dustin trailing close behind.

From the hallway you see him admiring his guitar, still clinging desperately to the mirror vanity where vines don’t touch the instrument.

“What do you say, Henderson?” Eddie begins, plucking the guitar gingerly from its display. “Are you ready for the most metal concert in the history of the world?”

“Is that a rhetorical question?” Dustin responds, feigning a blasé attitude.

“What about you, angel? Got one hell of a setlist in mind.” You see Eddie turn on a heel, peering over Dustin’s head to grin at you. “You know, Henderson, I remember the first time I played this chick Metallica.”

“Shut up,” you groan, latching a defense blockade to the floor. “He doesn’t want to hear about that.”

“She lost her mind,” Eddie continues, ignoring you. “Never heard any sick solo like that in her life. Kinda like you freaks when we first played them at Hellfire. She was hooked, weren’t you?”

“I was hooked because you were playing,” you correct.

“Yeah, then she converted to the religious house of metal,” he adds, snorting.

You offer a pointed look, trying not to smile. “We need the amps, Ed.”

“Right! Right. Amps. For the roof.” Eddie snaps his fingers. “Do you remember where those are?”

“It’s been, what, six months since my last Corroded Coffin show?” You near the corner of the living room, tapping the amps unaffected by the vines in the walls. “If they’re in the same place as they’ve been since the fifth grade, then I think I can manage.”

"You know me so well, princess."

Dustin finally groans, waving off Eddie. “Oh, Jesus, stop flirting in front of me. Less talking, more music-ing.”

Eddie chuckles, slinging the guitar over his shoulder with a waggle in his brow.

“Let’s do it.”

. . . . . . . .

He’s nervous.

He won’t say it, but Eddie’s nervous.

By some miracle of adrenaline strength, the amps are set up on the trailer roof. Dustin busies his hands with the wires to the right ports like he’s done this before, not bothering to ask you for help or Eddie for guidance. You hand him what’s left to plug in, distracted.

Eddie is on the other end of the trailer roof pacing, slow and deliberate. His head bobs with an invisible tune only he can hear while his fingers press into certain frets.

And he’s like that for most of the set-up: spaced out, keeping occupied.

“You good?” you ask Dustin, and the moss on his shoulders shuffle.

“Yep. Last plug and we’ll be good on Robin’s—”

As if it’s an omen in the flesh, her voice pings on Dustin’s hip.

.

Commence phase three! I repeat, commence phase three!

.

The three of you stop moving, stop speaking, and Eddie finally looks over.

Yeah. He’s petrified.

Standing at full height, you cross the roof with a forced smile. “Hey, rock star, how’s practice going?”

“Like shit,” he laughs softly, humorlessly. “Might fuck up on a solo or five.”

“You? Fuck up a solo?” You scoff. “Yeah, you’ll totally fuck it up.”

“Hey!” There it is. That smile of disbelief, wide and bright. “Damn, way to bring the criticism to my first Upside Down concert.”

“It got you out of your head, though, didn’t it?” You toy with a lock of hair. ��First and only, by the way. I’m not making it a habit to come back here.”

“Yeah, neither am I.”

His chin drops, curls shaking as his chest moves with laughter.

“Kind of feels like this is the time where we have our conversa—”

You drop the hand in his hand to grab the fabric of his Hellfire club shirt, pulling him in for an interruption of a kiss. Eddie stumbles, stuck between holding you and holding the guitar in place. He settles with one hand on your cheek, the other holding up the guitar neck.

Eddie leans into the palm of your hand, chasing your touch when you pull away.

“Not until we’re out of this,” you murmur against his lips. “We made a deal, and I got your back.”

“You always do,” he replies just as soft. His face turns, planting a gentle kiss to the center of your palm.

“Most metal concert ever.”

“Most metal concert ever,” you repeat, and he opens his eyes to stare at you. “Play like a bat out of hell, Eddie Munson.”

Slowly, but surely, a grin of determination plays against his mouth. He nods and you step off to the side, readying your spiked bat.

Eddie stares into the billowing horizon of blood red clouds and rips the chain holding the guitar pick clear from his throat. His nostrils flare, a multitude of emotions rising to his face — grief, fear, betrayal, anger.

Above all else, there is anger.

“Chrissy, this is for you.”

The first chord is struck, sending wavelengths of an electric guitar into the abyss of the Upside Down. Soon the melody of Master of Puppets by Metallica deafens you, filling you with an impossible hope that yeah, this could work.

Dustin’s ecstatic by the amp, pushing the limits of the device with every dial to maximum levels. He headbangs as Eddie sends the guitar strings into a frenzy, shouting to the sky.

And Eddie Munson plays like your lives depend on it.

Because they do.

In the distance, shrieks meet the guitar solos as silhouettes of seduced — and massively-sized — demobats start to appear in the lightning storms overhead.

“It’s working!” you shout to Dustin, although the exclamation is not of excitement. You twirl the baseball bat in your hands, swallowing the terror threatening to freeze all your muscles in place. 

The bats cover an unbelievable wingspan in the clouds, making them larger than life and equally as scary as Eddie originally claimed.

No going back now.

Phase three had finally commenced.

“C’mon, we gotta take cover!” Dustin shouts over the music.

Eddie abruptly stops playing the thirty seconds of the song when the two of you shout his name to get his attention.

Taking off into a sprint, you slide off the edge of the trailer to the dead grass, temporarily dropping the bat to the ground. Your hands rise to grab Dustin, catching him in his descent, before Eddie follows swiftly with his guitar strap still hanging off his shoulders.

Forcing Eddie and Dustin into the trailer first, you hold the baseball bat in one hand and look just beyond the clouds — the demobats arrive in droves, seemingly agitated by the music by the way they screech in the forever night sky.

It’s Eddie who takes your hand and pulls, locking the bats out of the Munson trailer.

He did it.

(He actually did it.)

A moment of silence passes — then Dustin screams at the top of his lungs:

“Most! Metal! Ever!”

Eddie finally breathes — no, shouts to the ceiling like a madman as Dustin takes into an Energizer bunny hop, clapping his hands.

The two embrace, jumping up and down together with glee.

You haven’t quite caught up on the celebration, so Eddie brings it to you. There is a look in his eye when he turns on his sneaker heel, lost in the haze of mania and bravery, when he crosses the living room. His hand finds the back of your head, palming it with the intent to bring you against him.

Except he doesn’t kiss you, not at first.

Because he speaks when he’s pulling you in.

Eddie doesn’t even realize, but you catch what he says as soon as his lips are on yours.

“I love you.”

You enthusiastically meet him in the kiss, but when those three simple words process in the back of your mind, you stop. Freeze.

Eddie pauses, too, when time catches up to the now.

Eye to eye and out of breath, the sweat on his brow dampens the bandana circling his forehead. His gaze softens, Adam’s apple bobbing with a swallow.

“I love you,” he repeats, resigned and relieved. 

No fanfare. No fireworks. 

No rousing speeches or Dungeons and Dragons monologues, but the truth in its rawest form.

(He loves you.)

“Oh, shit!”

Dustin’s high-pitched shriek startles you both, causing Eddie to pull you into his side for protection. Dustin runs into the hallway, tossing a spear to Eddie. The metalhead lets go of you to catch it.

“I heard something. Outside, guys, I heard something mov—”

A thud lands above your heads.

Fear begins to creep its way back into your chest.

“They’re on the roof,” you whisper, corralling Dustin behind you as you pick up the baseball bat from the floor. 

The noise travels, tinkering on small paws, and the C-Team follows it into the hallway towards Eddie’s bedroom.

The sound makes it way to the side of the trailer as if scaling the perimeter.

Then, with no warning, a demobat screeches and shoves its way through the vent at the juncture of the bedroom wall.

Dustin and Eddie scream simultaneously, going into fight mode with their spears. They stab relentlessly as the creature howls and writhes, trying to wriggle its way in.

“Get it, get it, get it!”

“I’m trying!” Eddie shouts over Dustin.

You cross the triangle into the middle of them, slamming the bat down with all your might on top of the demobat’s head.

It has one final cry, wings outstretched, before falling limp to the floor.

Dustin holds onto your arm, peering around it. “Is it…”

“Dead?” You finish. You feel him nod against your sleeve. “I… think so?”

Eddie rushes to place his makeshift Iron Maiden-esque shield over the vent as a cover, leaving him with just his spear — just in time for several shrieks to sound off outside the trailer.

The demobats swarm the windows, battering the trailer to rock back and forth from their intense assault.

They know something’s in there.

They want in.

“Ho-kay, I think it’s time to go,” Dustin sing-songs as he rushes to the mattress leading to the sheet rope still hanging idle for an escape.

Eddie swiftly closes the bedroom door behind you as all three of you run to the rope, preparing for departure.

“Junior Metalheads first,” Eddie implores, and Dustin doesn’t need to be told twice.

With the assistance of Eddie, you help the smaller freshman up the ladder, relishing in his relief when Dustin’s back hits the Hawkins mattress.

But when you grab the rope, something feels off.

Eddie isn’t helping you. Instead, he’s standing there motionless, staring at a window currently getting slammed by demobats.

“Munson.” 

His last name wakes him to a point where looks at you — really, really looks at you — then drops to his knees to take the shield Dustin Henderson dropped while climbing.

“They’re gonna bust through the windows,” he tells you.

Anguished, distant cries of demobats fills the dead air of the room.

Your stomach drops through the floor.

“Eddie, we have to go.”

Dustin yells from the ceiling, waving his arms wildly. “What are you doing? Let’s go, climb!”

“I can buy time.”

Eddie’s expression twists with the words he can’t say:

I’m not going with you.

“Watch after Henderson for me, alright?”

You swipe to grab his arm. “Eddie—!”

Too late.

He turns before it’s too late, bolting with a spear and shield towards the now-opened front door of the trailer.

Dustin screams from overhead — Eddie! Eddie! — and you’re left with a decision you already made the second you drove to Hawkins.

“Dustin!” you shout over the sound of the bats. His eyes are glossy, expression pained and frightened. “Stay there. We need someone to watch the rope. I’ll grab Eddie!”

“Get him back!” he calls back, voice hoarse and crackled.

“I will,” you tell him, but you’re not sure if he hears you. Your voice doesn’t feel like your own, scratchy and sudden and scared.

Your feet run across the living room and into the night air of the Upside Down before you realize what’s happening.

From a short distance, you see him: shield strapped to his back, Eddie Munson takes off down the dirt road on a bicycle as the swarm of demobats follow.

Shit.

A bike.

Abikeabikeabike— There. 

By Max Mayfield’s house sits a rusted, but doable bike. You sprint across the street to grab it, careful not to lose your backpack as you mount and pedal.

He’s fast. Stupidly fast, and stupidly taunting the bats as they swoop to attack him. You can hear him shouting up ahead, but the words are lost on you as the adrenaline pumps through your body and pushes your legs to move faster.

A demobat dive bombs from the left, knocking Eddie clear off his bike.

He skitters across the dirt, kicking up dust as he rolls, only to howl in pain when a bat latches onto his side.

A second flies down, attacking his shoulder.

No.

“Eddie!”

Pedaling with every ounce of energy in your body, the bicycle skids to a halt and to the ground when you breach the hurricane of bats circling overhead. Eddie’s writhing and screaming, pushing at the bat to get it away.

“Get the hell away from him!”

You open the backpack to rip out a full can of hairspray, fumbling in your pocket for the first of two silver lighters, and flick.

The flame catches its attention, causing one of the demobats to unlatch itself from Eddie’s side to lunge for you. When you press down on the aerosol spray, a billowing flame shoots directly into it.

The bat lights up the forever night in a brilliant, screaming glow of orange.

The creature flails, trying to fight off the fire as it surges into the sky. You swing the makeshift flamethrower to your right, covering the second demobat completely in fire.

It curls into itself with a whimper, dying on impact to the ground only a mere few feet from where you stand, clearing a path directly to Eddie.

Wasting not a single second more, you crawl against the dirt and kneel protectively in front of him with the hairspray can and lighter at the ready. The rest of the swarm seems to understand, and they collectively scream in anguish and back off.

Eddie Munson shifts at your side, moaning in pain before realizing what’s warded off his attackers. He follows the glow of the lighter to settle his attention on you, his pale hand covering his wounded and bleeding side.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Making a saving throw,” you answer, briefly glancing over your shoulder.

“With a—”

“Told you hairspray was a good idea,” you interrupt breathlessly, trying to crack a joke at impending doom.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he croaks, grimacing on the ground. “You were supposed to climb the rope.”

“And you weren’t supposed to be a hero.”

The swarm moves faster in the sky, nearing closer to the ground as a few dip to test the waters.

“How much of that hairspray stuff do you have?”

“Four bottles. Two lighters.”

Eddie growls as he forces himself to a seat, legs tucking under him to stand. You quickly duck your arm under his armpit to keep him from falling. He attempts to stand, but ultimately crumbles back to the ground. You follow, dropping the hairspray.

With the amount of cuts on his face and next, there must have been other bats who had gotten hits on him while biking that you hadn’t witnessed. Except he’s not worried about himself. Not with the way he’s toying with the ends of your hair, swallowing to coat his dry throat.

“You gotta go back for Henderson.”

“No.”

“You promised me—”

“I didn’t say shit, Eddie Munson. You don’t get to say you love me then run out the goddamn door thinking I’m okay with you dying without me,” you bite, looking up at a bat deviating from the circle to dip its claws into the center of the circle.

(You don’t have much time before they all attack.)

“Because I love you, too.”

When you drop your chin, Eddie stares with wide, glossy eyes and parted lips.

Shocked. Somehow, after everything, he’s still shocked.

“Of course I love you,” you murmur, softer this time. “It’s always been you.”

You gently let go of his back to pick up the aerosol can, readying the lighter.

“And I’m not leaving you. Not this time.”

Eddie’s expression shifts and he nods adamantly, catching a second wind despite the odds. He picks up his spear from the ground, coating his palm with dirt, congealed blood, and tiny pebbles. The swarm overhead shrieks in triumph — biding time for an attack.

Back to back you both rise, using each other for support as you take a final stand.

This is it.

This is how you go out.

You draw in a slow, steady inhale, waiting.

Watching.

The first demobat leaves the circle and drops, claws out, to attack. You ignite the air with fire and catch its wing as it curls away. Eddie must have stabbed a bat for himself, because the squelch of metal hitting a body fills the air.

A dozen fall out of formation, flying at full force.

You can’t take so many at once.

But as they fly, they fall.

Dozens grow quiet, silent, and fall together in an unceremonious harmony of whimpers and gasps at your feet. Eddie presses up against your back and you follow, staying impossibly close, as the bats… grow still.

As if they’ve all died at once.

“...what just happened?” Eddie whispers, too afraid to speak.

You wet your chapped lips, shaking your head. “I don’t… I don’t know. Are they dead?”

Eddie takes the literal plunge, poking a nearby demobat with the tip of his spear. It doesn’t move. It doesn’t breathe.

They’re all virtually gone.

The pressure against your back disappears, and a thud drops behind you.

When you turn, Eddie crumbles to the ground, gritting his teeth.

“Eddie?” You drop to your knees, cradling him with terrified urgency. “Hey, Eds — hey. Stay with me.”

He’s breathing, but his eyes flutter closed, hand dropping from his bloody side to the dirt road.

Something bright flashes against your forehead, hitting your eye and forcing you to look up. There are three people running — people, real live people — and you recognize the flopping hair of the person in the middle of the formation immediately.

“Steve!” 

With all your might, you scream his name across the way without a care for what monster might hear.

Robin reflects her flashlight to you, stops, then takes it into a sprint. 

“Man down!” Robin shouts. “Guys, man down!”

“He got attacked!” you shout, only then realizing your face is wet from an overflow of tears. “We have to help him across the portal, he—”

Steve skids like a baseball player to Eddie’s opposite side, yanking his limp arm over his shoulder.

“It’s okay,” he reassures, voice calm and collected. “It’s alright, we’ll get him back safe. It’s over.”

“Vecna?” you whimper as you help Steve push to his feet, bringing Eddie to a stand. The man’s head lulls, chin bent to his chest.

“Dead.” Nancy rushes to your side to spot Eddie from behind.

“In flames,” Robin describes with absolution laced in her voice.

It takes the effort of all four of you, but you manage to drag Eddie into the dilapidated Munson trailer. Robin flops to the other side, spotting Eddie’s unconscious descent to the other side with Dustin as you, Nancy, and Steve raise him across the finish line.

He’s safe.

Eddie’s injured, but he’s alive and safe.

Once he’s cleared from the mattress, you climb to the ceiling and return to the warmth of Hawkins.

And when Steve is the last to ascend, falling with a heavy breath of years’ awaited relief, the portal to the Upside Down in Eddie Munson’s trailer closes.

[themattress]

Pokeani Villainy Ranking

1. Gen I (The Beginning)

The Kanto series featured Team Rocket at their freshest, which included the Boss himself, Giovanni, as the Big Bad who took an active villainous role in the Mewtwo arc. While it took until Gen II and Johto for the arc to properly conclude, the OVA special itself is a sequel to the Kanto-based movie and is predominantly filled with Kanto Pokemon so I am including it here. We also had a number of memorable human side villains such as Damian, Nastina, Dario, Jessebelle, Keith, and of course Sabrina. Even some Pokemon aside from Meowth and Mewtwo got in on the villainy like the bizarre talking Gastly of Maiden’s Peak and the ancient demonic Gengar. And even the Orange Islands gave us some highlights beyond the TRio’s continuing antics, namely Butch and Cassidy with an even nastier scheme than before, the despicable Mayor of Trovitopolis, and the amoral yet charismatic collector Lawrence III.

2. Gen V (Black and White)

Giovanni gets to be the Big Bad and take direct action yet again, and even when he isn’t present Dr. Zager and a uniquely serious and competent incarnation of the TRio are pursuing his agenda to conquer Unova. Team Plasma, especially Dr. Colress, is a formidable threat when they show up as well. There’s also Dirk from the OVA, the Genesect Army from the third movie, and side antagonists such as Leon the Dream Thief, Dr. Ferrara / Cryoganl Man and Team Vanilite, Seamus the sociopathic trainer, and the evil Chandelure and Litwick.

3. Gen VI (XY)

This series gets as high as it is primarily due to Team Flare. Lysandre, Alain, Xerosic, Aliana, Bryony, Celosia and Mable, along with all the Team Flare grunts and Lysandre Lab scientists are such wonderful villains in the anime. The TRio are pretty hit-or-miss, sometimes credible and other times not, but this is alleviated due to the presence of other enjoyable evildoers across the series such as the evil Malamar, Dolan the smuggler, the haughy Princess Allie of Parfum Palace, Ninja Riot and Merilyn Flame, father/daughter crime duo Argus and Millis Steel, and the young Prince Raleigh of Azoth Kingdom who is manipulated by the cruel Prime Minister Alva. Gens V and VI, back to back, was really a good time for villains in the anime.

4. Gen VIII (Journeys)

The TRio may have had the least screentime in this series and ran out of fresh material by the end, but for the most part they were solid as efficient but comical criminals. We also got Matori Matrix, as well as an alternate reality version of the TRio who were still under their serious Gen V characterizations. Team Galactic was far more efficient and interesting under Saturn than it was under Cyrus, the Macro Cosmos corporation headed by Chairman Rose made a solid arc villain, Ash’s Gengar had a delightfully villainous start, and Dr. Zed from the movie released in this series’ timeframe is one of the most horrifying and loathsome villains in any Pokemon media. Points off for that weaksauce, no-name Pokemon Hunter guy, though.

5. Gen VII (Sun and Moon)

While the TRio ended up being far more like good guys than bad guys by the final year of this series, they had a great villainous run beforehand, with the creepy and hate-filled Mimikyu being a standout Pokemon for them. And Matori Matrix, under direct orders from Giovanni, were great human antagonists to close out the Poipole arc. The rest or more hit-and-miss, with Team Skull being great but not appearing nearly as often as they should have, Viren appearing too much and not really amounting to anything beyond broad comedy, Faba becoming more well known as a mainstay hero than as the arc villain he started out as, and Nihilego, Guzzlord and Necrozma being frightening, monstrous adversaries but not truly evil.

6. Gen II (Gold and Silver)

The longer this series went on, the goofier and more harmless the TRio became, which was the start of their already dubious villain cred becoming a long-running joke. The worst part about this is that we get a lot of cool new Team Rocket members, plus Butch and Cassidy again, but seldom anything impactful is done with them, and they feel severely undercooked as a result. This is especially true in the case of Professor Sebastian and the silver-uniformed Team Rocket agents under his command. It feels like a story arc was begging to be told with these guys, yet it never is. Honestly, discounting the aforementioned Mewtwo arc sequel OVA that got packaged as three episodes of this series, the villainy in Johto peaked early with the triad of Molly Hale, Entei, and the Unown, none of whom are strictly even “villains” at all!

7. Gen IV (Diamond and Pearl)

Team Rocket sucks in this series, and what’s worse is most of the other villains suck as well, including Team Galactic whose membership and motivations are so flat and uninteresting compared to their game counterpart and whose arc ends on a huge anti-climax. The best villains here are the loathsome Pokemon Hunter J and Grings Kodai (although some ironic enjoyment can be had with Zero and the evil Togepi), but Hunter J gets wasted by only appearing five times in a four-year series and dying in a situation unrelated to the main heroes, and Kodai ends up taking his monstrosity way too far to the point of discomfort.

8. Gen III (Ruby and Sapphire)

Similar to Gen IV, Team Rocket sucks and so does everyone else. Teams Aqua and Magma are the most boring villainous team the anime has ever had; with the series’ movies being book-ended by associates of theirs who are honestly slightly better than them. And then who else, um....Rico the poacher? Colonel Hansen? That “Crimson Lightning” brat? Ugh, I guess that the Mirage Master or Mr. Mirage or whatever is the best villain we had this whole series.

[terrence-silver]

Hi, hello. I'm OP of the SAW post. Your tags said someone can request a prompt for that post? So I'm holding my hands out. I'd love to see it so much. If no ones asked already of course.

@terrysilvershusband (Oh, god, please read this hand in hand with this here.)

―

-"You've got exactly ten minutes,"-

Terry circles you fastened to a chair, time stamp running thin on his phone as he goes 'round and round, stuffing it back into his pocket and focusing all his attention back to you, taking in your shape, your restrained hands, legs, thighs, chest. He could keep you like this forever, he figured and he'd feel happy. Truly, genuinely happy. How little an old man needed to be content? A dark basement and you for company --- I wanna be loved by you from Some like it Hot playing on the old radio he deliberately carted out for flare. He could have you like a hostage bound to a seat and he'd feel more fulfilled than he felt in the last thirty years of his life so far. -"and in that timeframe, if you don't make up your mind,"- He continues with ease, wagging his finger with a warning and raised brows like he would’ve to his students while holding class, pointing at the contraption situated against your torso most tactically. A special handicraft of his he’s been holding, maintaining, perfecting and building in the dojo cellar. Terry Silver wouldn't torture you of all people, with anything he didn't personally make and design. With his own hands. His own knowledge. His own dedication and loyalty.

It felt far too intimate, to use someone else’s design.

Terry envied you being grazed by anything not fundamentally his.

If a man wanted to do something right, he had to do it himself, an old proverb claimed.

-"The blade will pierce right through your abdominal and pectoral region,"- He stops behind the device, one hand on its iron hull, the other on his own chest for special emphasis, tracing the fear the settles in your eyes as you frantically shake your head and whimper under your muzzle as the jazzy, energized tune sung by Marilyn Monroe hits the overture. Oh, you poor thing. He felt so much pride for this piece of machinery. Every nail. Screw. Bit of engine. This whole set up. The atmosphere of it. He has pondered it ever since he’s met you. It was a masterpiece. He’s learned how to build bullshit like this in the army. -"and your heart, effectively killing you."- His voice is like a caress, low and sultry, to the point he feels his own tone vibrate in his throat. Truth of the matter is, he could easily get off on this. You looked so beautiful in this state, the sweat of anxiety and dried tears moistening your pretty face twisted in complete and utter dread. -"And it'll hurt like a mother. Nice and slow."- He adds with a purr, pulling a lever and the stainless steel implement starts moving forward. You wiggle. Your gaze glazed over in anguish.

The sound his friend makes is precise and cold. Like a hum.

-"Have you ever seen an impalement? No, figured not! I've witnessed it though, back in 'Nam."- Terry remarks with a chuckle, immediately answering his own question and shaking his head in amusement. Where on earth would a little muffincake like you see a living man being impaled? There's places, on the Internet, he confirms in his mind, for those who haven't heard the screams and shrieks from the darkness of the jungle, with soldiers pleading from sharpened wooden pikes, like sacks of meat at the height of summer when the flies bite. Terry could still hear their voices sometimes as acutely as daylight, even half a century later. Half a lifetime ago.Therapy, remission and medication couldn’t erase that shit. If he was less selfish and greedy, he'd record this session, but nobody was allowed to see you. You were only for him. Him, him, him. Your pleasure, your pain, your terror, your everything. It belonged to him. The music from the rather practically dances and he dances along with it, nearly jumping as he approaches you once again. This could be your wedding track, in any other situation. His pa’ used to adore this tune. He’d dance with ma’ to it in the study. -"I think it is only symbolically fair, you see."-

The knife keeps moving and he does another circle.

Stopping behind your chair, enjoying the struggle of your wrists.

He leans down, whispering his words into your ears, kissing your lobe.

Knot against knot, you couldn’t move. It was only fair, yes, yes.

You took his heart and now, he’ll take yours too --- tit for tat.

Pierce through it, like the mythical Cupid with his arrow.

He wouldn’t do this to you if didn’t matter to him.

-"Catch is, of course, this whole entire contraption is null and void, under one condition."- He nuzzles even closer to your ear and then lower, against your neck as he feels the goosebumps erupt on your skin, following the progress of the knife as it inches ever closer to your heaving chest, hyperventilating. Even you drawing in breath was mesmerizing. This could all end. this could all end. All end. -"Love me. Is that so much to ask?"- Terry kisses your neck as he shares his ultimatum, again and again and again and again, until he spots the light, pink trace of his mouth etched into your skin. You knew, he imagined. This was no novelty what he wanted. Love and eternal devotion. He spent so long in the company of puppet string token people that he was starved for something true and real and genuine. Raw. Terry had everything and that’s why he envisioned that when a man craves nothing but to merely look and stare and admire the one they love and wish for nothing else, that shit is real. And Terry could live off of looking at you strapped to this torture chair. 

-"I can be so good. So, so very good. Don’t you believe I can be good?"-

Terry embraces you then whistling to the romantic, swooning merriment of the doo-wop track from 1959 muffling out your sobbing, unable to help himself, control long since slipped and that’s why you had to be punished at least a little for inducing that in him --- at least through some well-placed terror, the same terror you were witnessing right now murmuring, pleading, sniffling and desperately groaning for mercy against your gag. But, there was no mercy, no. Terry doesn’t even particularly care the blade could effectively slash through his own hands as he holds you and the back leaner of your chair, notwithstanding the fact that he catches the dripping sound of you effectively pissing yourself in fear and leaking all over the bare concrete floor. Perfect. You deserved that. You deserved that for making him care for you and get attached as much as he did. You deserved far, far worse still. -”I don’t have to be good for anyone else, but I can be good for you.”- Terry remarks, grabbing your chin forcibly, ripping off the muzzle, turning your neck as much as he can his direction and catching a singular tear rolling down your face with his tongue, a trail of spit left behind. You bawl.

The blade keeps moving.

Moving and moving.

The song does too, with the words of  Boop-boop-a-doop.

Terry has to laugh in mirth, like he hasn’t laugh in longer than he can recall.

Say yes, say yes, say yes, his mind chants, say you love me, say you love me.

[kandadze]

Oh, I have a lot of feels about these two as well XD

30,000-something years is honestly a timeframe that I cannot comprehend, but there are a few things that stand out to me as potential turning points.

First off, I think that at least in the beginning, ZYZ and LL's connection was that of forces of nature - the whole sequence of them moving together as streaks of light, then running while still half carried by their respective energies - the sheer power of that, the freedom they must've felt, the exhilaration; how they made each other feel then, no one else could match that. This was them at their most visceral and uncomplicated. (And I agree that LL, as a being equally powerful to ZYZ, might have helped with the malicious energy flare ups.)

Then there's the lore about how long it takes for demons to cultivate emotions. I believe the show gives us enough proof that ZYZ and LL's emotions did not develop in harmony; they don't seem to have developed the same emotions, or to the same degree, or at the same time, either. I believe that as they kept developing and cultivating different emotions, the discrepancy created a point of disconnect, but it was still not enough to break them up-

Until human world and their laws came into the picture. In my mind, their biggest difference was their views on and attitude towards humans, as well as their ideas on how to co-exist (if at all) with them. LL losing his head and killing the guards in WZY's dungeon was not a dealbreaker. Killing unrelated humans just because they were humans ZYZ had more issue with, and even then it wasn't what broke them up.

Again, that's my interpretation, but the accidental injury that ZYZ caused LL (I'm not sure if we were told at that point that it would turn fatal) was the final straw. Since it happened as ZYZ tried to prevent LL from killing the last person who was still alive in that blasted clinic, in LL's eyes it equaled a betrayal of their thousands of years old, demonic bond, in favor of species he barely tolerated before, and now actively hated. So he left, and even if there was a hope for reconciliation of sorts (which I'm sure they both wanted), we're told it never happened.

(I have many thoughts and feelings as to why, but this is already way too long, so I'll stop now. Thank you for indulging me if you got this far lol)

Ep 4 opening sequence is fucking insane.

[keikakudori]

(KICKS YOUR DOOR DOWN) HEY LU, talk about how aizen felt when gin first got his bankai back in the day and became a captain, with a focus on how -- at the time -- gin has achieved bankai when aizen couldn't/didn't. we know this timeframe for them was rather rough due to the fact that gin was essentially now fully capable of murdering aizen, their reiatsu essentially equaling out, but we also need to talk about aizen coming to terms with the fact that gin just did something he cannot do.

out.

One of these days I'm going to make you replace my door, Cas-- but seriously, this is such a good question. After all, this is one of those very significant moments that passed between Aizen and Gin. I mean, after all, this is the moment where their dynamic shifted because, as you said, Aizen realizing that Gin reaching his Bankai meant that there was every chance he could be killed --- but it goes deeper than that with them, as it always, always does. And, boy, this is one of those ... I want to say defining moments in their relationship where nothing changed and yet everything changed.

So let's get into the meta, shall we?

First, to cover how Aizen felt the first time he saw Gin's Bankai.

The word that comes to mind always when I think about it is excited. The pride is a very close second, but those are the two emotions that come forth the most when I think on it. Aizen is excited over what Gin's done. He's proud that Gin's accomplished what is arguably the pinnacle of a Shinigami's power. He's achieved Bankai. He's grown skilled enough and kept it secret enough from Aizen that it's honestly this openly delightful surprise for him. He can't help but feel that and he wanted to celebrate it. Forget for the moment the way Gin can seethe at him. For the moment, forget about the flashes of sheer murderous intent that have flared from time to time. Forget all of that. That's not what's on Aizen's mind when this happens.

He's proud of Gin. He's proud and he's not shy about showing it. He's excited and it's almost boyish.

The roughness comes later, after Gin's achieved the haori, but on that particular day? Yeah, it was nothing but the glowing pride and delight as the initial reaction, an excitement, even a downright exuberance that was what Gin was given.

Realization came second, however, in the period of time after Gin's display ( and after that pair of Aizen's glasses was cut off his face ) and that's probably the moment when Aizen realized that things had changed. Captains are not exactly required to have a Bankai to be a captain, yet it is a qualifier for it and Aizen realized that too. He understood that Gin had taken a step that put him much closer to Aizen's own level and it was something that was both thrilling to him and while I won't say terrifying ... it left him ... anticipatory.

All because he understood that things between them had changed.

I won't say that Aizen didn't have some kind of darker excitement because it meant that the line in the sand, that one line that he refused to step over for years ( because someone was a little shit who enjoyed teasing the hell out of his captain to the point where there were broken armrests and brush handles from said captain restraining himself. ) was suddenly much less deeply embedded now.

That was one of the largest changes between them because Aizen had been firmly insistent on keeping things from progressing too far in their flirtation and attraction; kisses, touches, but nothing too far beyond that. Of course, that was always plenty of room to play around in. And that was probably the change that had the largest impact between them. After all, there was that silent demand from Aizen that he wanted Gin to be his equal before they ever did progress to being completely intimate and that demand was fulfilled in that instant that Gin displayed his power to his captain. It was more than fulfilled and thus the excitement, the joy, the pride.

But the other major change was that awareness, that thought: Gin is capable of killing me. At some point, we'll have to sit and nail down exactly when those discussions took place, the ones where it gave Gin that oh so wonderful line of "you're going to die with a hole in your heart, just like you always wanted." because literally what the fuck did Aizen and Gin talk about that led to him saying that? And that's the change that I would argue won out above all the other changes. The awareness. The danger that Gin carried now with a Bankai named the way it was, but Aizen didn't see that it was aimed at himself. Yet that was a new lethal edge that Gin had to him and it thrilled Aizen.

What might surprise people is that Aizen didn't resent the fact that he didn't have a Bankai; Aizen had consciously and consistently made the choice to refuse learning Bankai himself every time that Kyoka Suigetsu offered it to him, after all. He repeatedly turned away from learning the power of his Bankai because Aizen never wanted that power for himself. Plenty of his life was dictated by how much power he had, how much he refused it.

After all, Aizen admits that he has at least twice the power of a regular Shinigami captain; while we don't know what the baseline is for a captain's strength, he is one of the most powerful characters in the entire series, if not the most powerful after the Blood War. Yet, that's still years off from the time when Gin displayed his Bankai for the first time. At that point, Aizen understood that there were changes in what happened. No matter that he had no Bankai of his own, no matter what he thought about himself, this change thrilled him. It thrilled him because Gin was becoming, finally, what it was that Aizen wanted in someone: Gin was becoming his equal. Or rather, he was rising as an equal openly, visibly; the Bankai only proved that.

Add that upon the realization that he felt this thrill over the understanding the danger that was presented by Gin's new level of power and, honestly, Aizen found it rather erotic.

The truth of the matter is that Gin's Bankai changed things between them in the best and, perhaps, the worst of ways. There was the dawning realization in those minutes after his exuberance that one day, Gin really would try to kill him. There was the understanding that he outright expected it from the young man who had become his lieutenant in the wake of what he'd done; after all, it was something that they had both understood for years, since nearly from the start of their lives blending together, even before then when Gin witnessed what it was that he had been doing on a cool night when men knelt before him. But there was also a brighter side to that moment, no matter the darker undertone in that few minutes. That brighter side? Aizen was realizing that he had found what he'd searched so long for in Gin and Gin had gained the power, the ability, to be able to kill him. The consequence came later in the evolution of their relationship with one another, yet that remained years off in the future.

In the first moments? It was the pride in Gin's power that touched Aizen first. It was the understanding, the wanting, the excitement that Gin had progressed so far with his power that filled him with delight and joy. Tying everything else together was the realization, the understanding, that Gin was no longer the boy he'd met underneath that moonlight with blood gleaming slick and black on his face. In that moment, in that instance, Aizen realized something else; Ichimaru Gin had become a man and that stirred a fresh new hunger in him that took a little longer to pay out.

Truthfully, Aizen hadn't expected such a strong response in himself for feeling that way, but he didn't try to hide it either from the younger man. He saw no reason to hide it. He wanted to show that to Gin. He wanted to show him that he was, indeed, proud of what it was that he witnessed on that day. I think that's what Aizen holds onto the most -- his pride in what he witnessed. His pride in how far that the younger man had come. For such a young Shinigami, he had come quite far; Aizen knew that Gin could go farther still. But yes; it's the pride he enjoys holding onto, more than the darker realization.

He's proud of Gin.

He always will be.

[figs-and-cigs]

So I started talking to this guy, we hit things off pretty well, went on a couple dates. It became very clear that he was pretty infatuated with me. He began asking about a relationship, labels, a kink dynamic. I mostly shrugged on the red flags: "sure I'd like and am interested in those things - we'll see how it goes!"

So my entire household got sick, kiddo, spouse, myself. My chronic fatigue kicked in and I wasn't interacting with anyone. I'm very honest about my health issues whenever I start taking to people. I go through phases of intense self care/isolation. I have mental and physical health issues, but I manage them. I get sick or have chronic pain/fatigue flares often. "If you don't hear from me, I'm usually fine, busy, sleeping."

But, very often, when people (who don't know me very well) don't hear from me for a bit they seem to jump to 2 conclusions.

I'm dying or at least suffering greatly!

OMG I must hate you and don't want anything to do with you!

Neither of which are ever really true - and if they are I'll say something (I know how to ask for help, and I know how to communicate if our relationship isn't working.)

So this guy I'd been talking to didn't hear from me for a day - because I was sick and slept all day. He sent tons of messages (1. accurately assuming I was "suffering".) I responded as I could and moved on with my life (parenting, being sick with a sick spouse).

Eventually we were feeling better and I went to a Polyam friends' for game night. Well Mr. Guy called, I didn't answer (because I was kicking butt at Quelf), and he sent messages about how worried he was because he hadn't heard from me, for a day...

Anyways after another 2 weeks of me literally just living my life (parenting, self care, my support groups, therapy, cfs day, projects, time with spouse, social engagements) and being bombarded by texts about how worried he was about my being sick all the time (1), or how worried he was that I lost interest in him (2). (Note: I wasn't ignoring him, just not able to have hour long conversations with him every damn day!)

I finally spoke up, eventually ending in this message:

"I really wanted to explore this, but it seems really apparent to me that while a lot of our interests are aligned you're wanting and hoping for a lot more than I can offer - and the timeframe of things aren't aligning well, and my health issues and inability to be more involved in your life is causing you immense distress. It doesn't feel right for me to continue this."

He offered to change (yikes!) insisted he wanted to understand and "navigate this with me" (I don't come with a manual!) There were other red flags I didn't mention, but I'm glad I kept my boundaries and handled this pretty gracefully.

Did I mention I'd only talked to this guy for 2 months, went on 2 dates, didn't establish any type of dynamic? He's also married and been Polyam for 10 years? Also during those 2 months he had 3 other partners breaks up with him... (my understanding is these relationships weren't very long either...)

I hope he talks to his therapist and sorts his stuff out. Trying not to be judgey mcjudgerson but damn dude....

Meanwhile, this isn't my first rodeo and I'm kind of frustratingly wondering -

Do I need to find a better way to clarify my disabilities, my schedules, the way I communicate to new people? It hasn't seemed to be an issue for most of my relationships - but their communication style seem to align with mine (i.e. we don't need to talk every day.) My conclusion is NO, I can't control when people take it personally or become worried about me - and I can only use so many spoons to continually validate and reassure them that 1. I'm ok. I manage my health issues. 2. It's not about them.

WTF is it about "Polam" Cishet MEN wanting to jump into a relationship/dynamic within the first month of talking!?!? This isn't the first time, and I'm sure I won't be the last. (I'm reminded of the man, who on our first date, tried to link our Google calendars together! Ughhh. NO!) I've not had this problem with non Cishet Men - (and not with the Cishet Men I currently have relationships with lol). But even monogamous people date for a while before starting a relationship, right? RIGHT?

[animatedminds]

Star Wars: Visions - Episode 7: The Elder

Onward into the last trio of Visions episodes! This has been nothing but enjoyable thus far, and I’ve heard good things about these last three. Episode 7: The Elder Produced By: Trigger Inc. Directed By: Masahiko Otsuka After six episodes, we finally have one that definitively takes place in the Republic era. I’ve been regarding these shorts’ indeterminate time periods as I see them, but with a bit of misfiring: the one I thought worked perfectly in the post-ROTJ era turned out to take place far in the past (and in an alternate take on the series), and the one I thought would have worked well as an Old Republic piece turned out to be intended as a far-flung sequel. But this time, we’ve got a relatively solid timeframe established in the short itself. Some time during the time of the Galactic Republic, two Jedi - a master and his padawan - patrol the Outer Rim when they are suddenly distracted by a sudden flare-up in the Force: a call to something dark and unknown. Arriving on a backwater planet, they track this disturbance to a mysterious old man who traveled into the mountains recently. But something seems wrong, and the more they investigate the more it they find ties from this old man to the thought long-dead Sith, as well as hints that the whole encounter might just be a trap...

This is another “Jedi arrives at a simple village, and is forced into a battle with a darksider“ story - unsurprising, when narratives like that are so popular, and each of the short films were made independently of one another. This time, much more attention is placed on the darksider themselves. The setting of this one illustrates its tension: this is a time period before The Phantom Menace where the Sith were believed extinct, so sudden clues to imply they may still be around are unbelievable and deeply unnerving to the main characters - and this slow unsettled atmosphere composes the center of the short. In the end, the heroes defeat the villain, but obtain no answers - as they must not, for the Sith won’t reveal themselves for some time - and the story ends with them moving on, unsure.

The master and apprentice are fun characters. Not quite as developed as some of the other characters we’ve seen thus far, but they do have a fairly fun banter to them. It’s a trend that masters and apprentices end up countering each other in personality to a degree in Star Wars - wilder masters beget more serious padawans, and vice versa - and it continues here: the master being a dour, cautious and somewhat paranoid sort, whereas the padawan is emotionally expressive, lacking in worry and ever-direct in his words and actions. You can tell that they are wildly unprepared for what they are about to walk into - even the master, who is knowledgeable and powerful enough to face it regardless - and that endears them to the audience as the story goes on.

The antagonist is is the biggest draw, however. A murderous swordsman type: obsessed with nothing but the fight and proving his skills in battle by luring hapless opponents into battles to the death. It’s a character type that’s fairly common in samurai narratives, and thus one which I’ve always been surprised to see so little off in Star Wars media. Eschewing most of the Sith ideology, the Elder only cares about bigger and bigger challenges, deadlier and deadlier stakes. He is introduced having massacred a giant monster, and ends gleefully throwing himself into a fight with someone he knows may be his better, murdering and manipulating all the way to ensure that the fight happens. And the fight itself reminded me somewhat of the fights from the Filoni series, particularly the Obi-Wan and Maul fight in Rebels where the visual direction was all about getting more out of less. The motions are less elaborate, but are instead quick and deadly, which ups the impact. The Sith having a pair of light-shortswords made espeiclaly for an interesting fight - digressing again, but I’ve always felt branching out into different kinds of lightsaber weaponry would allow the series to evolve the swordsmanship aspect of the Jedi and other force users a bit more. The idea of giving Rey a light-pike, for instance, was one that got a lot of traction for a while and one I wish the films had adopted. There’s a degree of baby steps in regards to how versatile the Jedi can be that the main series tends to adhere to whereas these short films in general have not felt constrained by - whereas the light-weedwhacker of The Duel is obviously a bit excessive, the idea of shortswords or longswords for Jedi, or other varieties of bladed weapons, is something imo the series could well look into. If there was one thing that felt off about his one, on the other hand, it was the animation as a whole. It isn’t something I’m unfamiliar with, watching anime as much as I do you’re sure to find a few series that do the same thing, but it may be a bit jarring to go from the previous short films - which were very fluid and expressive in animation - to this one, which is a lot more stiff. Everything is very intricately and elaborately drawn - with deeply etched character designs and vivid backgrounds - but very limited in animation, with less physical emotion and range. A curious choice, given how Trigger’s other film - The Twins - in this set was the complete opposite: extremely animated in all respects. Characters mostly just move their lips and incline their heads, until the fight starts - and the fight itself is, again, an example of getting more out of less. There are thus times in the short where the shot almost appears to be static for long periods of time. This is, once more, a stylistic choice which I am not unfamiliar with, but I’m not as sure that it affords well to the film’s story. But it does have the effect of also drawing attention to the antagonist - The Elder himself is by far the most vividly animated character in the story, and it makes him and his menace fly off the screen in comparison. All in all, a good episode. But that’s not the only thing we’re here to look at. As you’ve probably cottoned onto by now if you’ve been reading all of these, the Visions shorts are all currently non-canon. However, in a franchise like Star Wars it is not uncommon for installments like this to get examined for official continuance if they have a lot of support from us, the fans, and - importantly - if they fit well into the universe. So here, we’re also looking at whether each short fits into the universe, and how well. And what are the chances of this one fitting into the universe? Pretty Good Odds. This short was careful to design itself such that it could easily fit into the time period it takes place in: another backwater planet with a sheltered culture, making it unlikely to contradict anything, two remote Jedi with a far flung assignment also unlikely to contradict anything, and the characteristics of the setting are actually baked into the plot: the Jedi of this time have no idea extant Sith still exist, and thus are left stymied by the mystery this Elder presents. In the end, they obtain no answers, either: only smoke and ambiguity of a lost lead. So I could easily see this being popped right into the continuity with no hassle to anyone. And it would definitely be interesting to see: did the Elder really leave the Sith to pursue his own bloodlust. If so... that was his history? If this short accomplishes one thing, it’s delivering on the mystique surrounding the SIth. Not to mention giving the world a few more nightmare faces to dream about - nobody in the Star Wars universe is scarier than a Sith on the prowl...

[ressyfaerie]

Fic request; (sorry if this isn't a personal headcanon of yours) Kai comes out as nonbinary & the team are largely accepting. Tyson takes longer than the rest to understand and pesters Kai with all his questions & general Tyson-ness. Doesn't have to be shippy but would be a nice bonus!

Oh I love this! I’ve read about someone's headcanon being Kai as nonbinary! As someone who also struggles with their gender identity this will be fun to write! I’m excited! But I understand this can be a sensitive topic for some people, so I’ll throw it into a readmore. It’s not my personal headcanon but writing this will be interesting and fun! I’m adding some Ressyfaerie flare so I apologize if it’s not exactly what you imagined! <3

The team had noticed Kai’s subtle attempts to experiment lately.

Wearing clothes that weren’t his normal style, the most surprising was the almost crop top Tyson immediately pointed out. Ray noticed the extra makeup he occasionally wore under his blue shark fins. His dark coloured clothes would occasionally be more pastel. He went to a school across town, so they didn’t see him most of the day; regardless they still noticed a change in his attitude. With each passing day, he became more comfortable with himself.

Today started off as any ordinary training day in the dojo. The team showed up after school and huddled waiting for Tyson who generally showed up late. Kenny opened his laptop in the corner, Hilary showed up with snacks attempting to bribe the team into showing her new blading techniques. Max and Ray stayed close, talking strategy or gossiping about what happened at school. Today Max wore a frilly green skirt overtop of white leggings.

“Hey! I was wondering where that went!” Hilary gasped when she saw it.

“Sorry Hil!” Max shrugged with a smirk.

“When I said you could borrow my clothes I didn’t mean keep them in your closet for a rainy day!”

“Hehe, sorry. I’ll buy my own, I’ll give your stuff back.” She glared at Max, “promise…”

They heard the door open. As good teammates they had all memorized the way their friends did everyday things, opening doors, walking, you name it.

“Here comes grouch of the year.” Max groaned.

“He’s been a lot better lately, give him a break…” Ray patted Max’s shoulder.

The door to the dojo slid open, Kenny looked up from his computer for a moment, “hey Kai!”

“Hey Kenny.”

Kai gave him a look that might have been a smile… or a judging glare… Who could tell at this point.

“Oh! Kenny smiled while pointing at Kai’s hand, “pretty colours!”

“Kai, I love them!” Max bounced over and grasped one of his hands inspecting the nailpolish. “Did you do them yourself?”

“Y—yeah… thanks.” Kai gulped.

Ray looked at them over Max’s shoulder. “Blue and red, good choice, any special occasion?”

“No. I just like doing them sometimes. It… makes me feel good.”

“Hey that happens to me too!” Max’s eyes shimmered.

“I haven’t worn nailpolish in public yet…” Kai looked to the ceiling and looked back down to the group. “I know it’s not normal.”

Ray chuckled, “it’s normal Kai.”

“What is normal anyways?” Max let go of his hand.

“You make a good point.” Kai nodded his head in response while looking at his hand.

The door to the house flung open, they could hear someone kick their shoes off and groan.

Tyson…

They all knew it was Tyson, but Kai worried about him. He was painfully aware that Tyson would have something to say about his new look, even though Tyson enjoyed doing much the same things, he always had to point it out!

The door to the dojo was thrown open, Tyson burst through, “hey guys!” Tyson grew a huge smile while looking at his friends. Then he looked at Kai and his mouth grew into a gasp.

Kai rolled his eyes.

“Look at you, Kai! Someone has been working way too hard to be a pretty boy lately!”

Kai sighed, and Max knit his eyebrows.

Max whispered in Ray’s direction, “I think I get it...”

After a while they drifted into their work. Kenny and Tyson analyzed something on his computer. Hilary badgered Tyson to show her a new move. Kai fiddled with Dranzer in the corner, Max nudged Ray, and they made their way to Kai.

The two of them sat in front of Kai, the hardwood creaked under them. Kai knew they wanted something, but remembered he was trying to be… nicer lately.

“What’s up?” Kai lowered the tiny screwdriver he was working with.

Max smiled at him.

“What is it?” Kai asked again, this time with a bit more attitude.

“You know you can tell us anything right, Kai?” Ray was pressuring him.

“Ray!” Max swatted his shoulder gently.

“Look, I’ve been uh…” Max folded their hands together fiddling with individual fingers. “For lack of better words, gender hopping for a while now. So I guess… What I’m trying to say is… I get what you're laying down.”

Kai blinked a few times, surprised Max picked it up so fast. He wasn’t sure if he was ready… but he knew his friends, he could trust them.

“I uh.” Kai started, then laughed a bit, “wow.” He fiddled with the small screwdriver on the floor, “you just… right on the money, Max.”

Max dropped his hand on Kai’s thigh. Kai wasn’t huge on touching yet, but Max wanted to give him some form of comfort.

“I’ve been thinking for… quite some time.” Kai started, he rubbed the back of his neck before continuing. “About my um… gender identity.”

The room grew quieter. Both Kai, Max, and Ray were aware the rest of the room picked up on the serious vibe and were listening in.

Max went to say something, but Kai continued.

“I know it’s more than what I want to wear, or makeup or nailpolish. Anyone can do that stuff... It’s more than that. That’s why I’ve been thinking so much.”

Max put both hands on Kai’s leg. Kai grinned.

“I think… I might be non-binary—” the room was quiet, “I’m not one-hundred percent sure but—”

Max cut him off, “it’s fine Kai.” Their face practically glowed from how proud Max was of Kai. “You don’t need to give us a list of reasons, we trust you.”

“Thanks.” Kai let a grin slip out.

“Wait, Kai, you’re gay!?” Kenny gasped.

“No...” Kai now worried that it was too soon.

“Kenny! Non-bnary is a gender thing not a sexuality thing!” Max educated his friend as best as possible in the short timeframe.

“Ooohhh , sorry.” Kenny blushed. “I’m not quite… on the gender train yet, but I’m trying.”

Kai gave Kenny a soft expression, “Thanks, Kenny. I appreciate it.”

Tyson turned around, Kai’s heart fell in his chest, “wait… So you’re not a boy, Kai?”

“What are your pronouns!” Max squealed over Tyson’s remark.

“Um.” Kai hadn’t really thought much about it, “like, anything really. He or them? I know you like them Max but I guess…”

“You don’t mind if we call you a boy?”

Kai shrugged, “I don’t feel like… dysphoric about it. Just that you guys know how I feel when you think about me… I think… that’s all I want.”

The room grew quiet for a moment. Max didn’t want to press the situation, but everyone had more questions.

“Do you experience a lot of gender dysphoria?” Max felt the sweat form in their palms, and relieved some of the pressure from Kai’s leg.

“Sometimes.” When Kai admitted it, he felt his shoulders become light. “But I think it really lines up with my trauma. That’s why… I’m still unsure. But I wanted you guys to know.”

“Thanks for telling us.” Ray patted his shoulder.

“I’m glad I did.”

Kai’s words rang through the dojo.

It was Tyson who got up first.

“Anyone want anything to drink? I’m going to go get a soda. Kai, you want anything?”

Kai was unsure what to think, he stared at Tyson, lost for an answer to a basic question.

“It’s not complicated. I’m not asking you to pick a gender or anything, just what to drink.” Tyson’s words seemed almost... angry.

Max ripped their hands away from Kai and spat towards Kai’s rival, “Tyson!”

“Whatever. I’ll get water I guess.” Tyson threw his hands in the air and left through the door outside.

“What is his fucking problem?” Max grimaced.

“He was never this upset when you came out.” Ray side eyed Max.

Ray and Max pushed themselves off the floor ready to go confront him. Kai got up, placing his arm in front of them.

“No, I think I should talk to him.”

Are you sure, Kai?” Ray wore a worried look.

“Yeah. It’s about time we talked.” Kai made his way to the door, opening it and sliding it shut behind him gently.

Outside the sun had just set. The backyard was veiled in twilight. The other side of the wooden deck across the gravel Tyson shut a door behind him, carrying a can and a bottle of water. Kai hopped off the dojo’s floorboards and felt the gravel crunch under his feet. He made his way to Tyson.

Tyson saw him, and sat on the edge. Letting his feet dangle while he looked over the yard as Kai approached him.

“What’s up?” Tyson raised his eyebrows and smiled sarcastically, then went back to a neutral expression.

“Are you okay?” Kai looked him up and down trying to find out what the problem was.

Tyson handed him the bottle of water with a friendly gesture. Kai took it, and unscrewed the cap, he chugged it.

Tyson opened the can, the only noise other than bugs and the slight splashing of fish in the pond.

“You know…” Tyson took a sip, “I like makeup, dresses, and nailpolish as much as the next guy. But I’m not like you guys.”

“That’s okay.” Kai sat beside him a few feet away. He leaned against one of the wooden beams, “we never said you had to be.”

Tyson scoffed slightly, “I get Max, I do. But you’re such a manly guy. Why?”

“It’s hard to explain if you haven’t felt it yourself but… It’s not just about wearing more… feminine things. There’s a mental aspect to it. And besides…”

Kai used his water bottle to gently bash it against Tyson’s leg, “I’m not that manly.”

“I’ve seen you in a suit…” Tyson shook his head while grinning.

Kai took a breath, “why does this upset you so much? You never had a problem when Max announced his gender reveal—”

“A thousand times.” Tyson finished his sentence.

They both laughed.

A few insects jumped off the pond and reflected the setting sun in their fluttering wings.

“Why does this upset you so much?”

“First of all, I’m not upset. You can do anything you need to do, Kai.”

“If you’re not upset, then what are you?”

Tyson gave him his full attention, the eye contact made Kai’s hair stand on end.

Tyson wasn’t answering, so Kai continued, “I’m still the same person I’ve always been. Nothing has changed, but now I can be more comfortable, and true to who I am.”

“I know that, and I’m proud of you.” Tyson shook the can in circles with one hand.

Kai was starting to lose patience now, “so what the hell is up?!”

“Nothing.” Tyson avoided the question while staring into the distance.

“There’s got to be something if you’re acting like this—so what the hell?”

“It’s fine, Kai. Let’s just forget about it—”

“No.”

Kai was stern, making sure to stay true to his emotional truth.

“Excuse me?” Tyson layed down the can with a loud thud.

Kai threw the water bottle beside him, still holding on to it, his whole body stood still in a white anger.

“You’ve been picking on everything I’ve been doing lately, pointing out every change, in my personality or appearance. You’ve been hypersensitive to me changing, now you have to tell me why!”

Kai’s intense words made Tyson raise his voice louder.

“Because! It’s so annoying! I was so confident in my sexuality but now—if you’re not a boy then I guess that doesn’t make me fully gay like I thought and now I have more soul searching to do! And that pisses me off!”

They challenged each other for a moment, until… Tyson noticed what he said, he could feel his face going red, and he drank out of the can while turning away trying to hide his expression.

Kai wasn’t sure if he heard him right, but what else could he have meant?

“Tyson…”

“Shut up.”

Kai let go of the bottle, it fell and rolled away from them, ignoring it he pulled himself closer to Tyson.

Tyson leaned away, his body felt like it was on fire out of embarrassment, he just wanted to turn and run.

“You don’t have to put yourself in a box. Just live. Figure it out as you go. That’s what I’m doing.”

Kai’s voice was—as always, honey to Tyson’s ears. Tyson shivered, unsure what to do or say.

“It’s alright, Tyson.” Kai wore no expression, but Tyson knew everything he wanted to express.

Tyson stared down at his blue and red nails, smiling at the colour choice.

“I’m proud of you for telling us about your gender Kai… and I’ll support you anyway I can.”

“Thanks, Tyson. That means everything to me.”

[pi-cat000]

MSA: Take Back The Future (part 3)

Summary: Vivi and Arthur travel back in time to the beginning of Hellbent. Neither of them are okay. 

(Part 1) (Part 2)

.

Mystery, instead of answering Vivi’s questions, leaps over the seat dividing the front and back areas of the van, exiting out the back doors.

“Wait, ” Vivi yells after Mystery, “get to back here and explain what happened to my memories.”

/It is not a tale that can be simply told. Not right now when we may be in danger/

Arthur thinks kitsune turned dog sounds slightly strained but it’s hard to really tell with Mystery’s weird telepathy. When the meaning of words are projected right into your brain some of the nuance is lost.

“Who is Shiromori? Why is she attacking us?” Vivi tries, following to glare at Mystery who circles the van, barely paying attention to the two of them. “Just answer one question!”

His mechanical arm twitches of its own accord and he eyes it nervously.  To hell with it. Arthur frees his hand and begins to feel about for the quick release lever hidden under a panel on his upper arm. After the van crash and almost getting thrown to his death, the arm had been too banged up to safely remove, jamming in place.  Best to be rid of it now, before everything when to shit all over again.

The sound of his heavy metal arm hitting the ashfelt draws Vivi’s attention and she turns to give him a quizzical expression.

“Better off then on,” He explains, “Wasn’t really working that well anyway. Hopefully, that’ll get rid of the curse as well.” Honestly, this cruse is the least of his worries.

Vivi exhales and Arthur can see the stress pinching her mouth, pulling it down into an uncharacteristic frown, “If the curse is specifically attached to your arm then removing it might work. On the other hand, if it’s anything like the one that got my memories then who the hell knows what will work. I certainly don’t. Apparently, I don’t know a lot of things.”

The last sentence is louder, directed at Mystery. There is no response from the dog who is staring off into the middle distance, head to one side like he is listening intently for something.  Arthur offers Vivj an uneasy shrug. He has his own questions for Mystery regarding Vivi’s memories, his arm, and the night they both went missing. However, his most recent run-in with dead-Lewis has him quickly reordering his priorities. None of the answers are going to mean much if he’s dead. Again…

Speaking of which… On the horizon, a purple light flares, glowing brightly against the dark backdrop. Arthur’s mouth goes suddenly dry and limbs feel very cold. Yeah, that seamed about right…

/You called this spirit Lewis?/ Mystery turns his head to examine him, expression troubled. /Are you sure?/  

He gives a short nod, eyes darting from Mystery then back to the road. It looks like Mystery is planning something based on how his fur is glowing red. He’d seen a similar red glow on the night of Lewis’s disappearance and during the confrontation outside his Uncle’s workshop. How much did Mystery know about Lewis? The question sticks in his mind, painfully heavy.

“Lewis? You mean the purple fire ghost? The one that caused the van crash?” Vivi steps up next to him, eyes locked onto the truck which grows quickly larger, “How are we going to stop it from running us all over?”

It’s too late to try a drive or run away now. Even if he decides to run there is a steep rocky slope on one side and a sharp climb on the other. If he did make it down by some miracle there was just flat desert and no cover for miles. Arthur doesn’t voice this observation instead commenting in a voice several octaves higher than normal, “I don’t think you need to worry about the ghost running you over. I’m pretty sure he’s only after me. So…ah…maybe don’t stand near me?”

Why? Why was Lewis trying to hurt him? In his mind’s eye, Lewis and Mystery meld together into a nightmare inferno of fire, teeth and death.

“I don’t want you to get run over either.” Vivi’s voice sounds faint, coming to him like it has travelled a great distance. Too much fear packed into too short a timeframe is making it harder and harder to concentrate. The ice at her feet thickens into long sheets, which creep out over the road, freezing it solid. He is probably lucky his remaining arm hasn’t frozen off with how tight Vivi had been holding it. Maybe if he turns into a giant Arthur icicle and he can sit this whole thing out. The hysterical thought momentarily breaks through his mounting panic.  

/Wait./

Arthur can almost hear the crackle of fire and the hum of the truck's engine.

/ You should not be drawing on so much of this power at once! You’ll damage the seal further!/

“I’m not letting Arthur die again. Anything comes near us and I’ll make whoever it is, regret it… that includes you.”

Vivi steps out so she is positioned in the centre of the road.

/I can handle this confrontation. There are still many aspects to the situation that you remain unaware of./

“And how am I supposed to fix that if you won’t tell me anything.”

/ I swear I will explain when there is more time. I only ever wanted to protect you./

“I don’t believe you.”

Vivi snaps the final sentence and punctuates it with a sharp hand gesture aimed at the oncoming truck. Several lines of ice stretch out and down the road, racing away from Vivi to meet the oncoming vehicle. Shining an ethereal blue, the frost coats the road’s surface, smoothing it over. Arthur catches the briefest glimpse of skeletal Lewis before the truck hits the ice sheets and the wheels suddenly lose traction.  The sound of metal crunching is deafening, accompanied by the hiss of water abruptly vaporising. Heat and cold collide in a cacophony cracking ice and explosion of steam.

A flash of bright purple fire. Mystery disappears, obscured by the thick columns of steam. He finds himself being yanked to the side by Vivi just in time to watch the purple truck careen past in a shower of sparks and groaning metal. At such high speeds, it rams straight into and through the guardrails separating the road from the rocky slope. Stunned, Arthur watches it disappear over the edge. If Lewis hadn’t already been dead then Arthur might have been worried. The sound of banging and crashing, as the truck presumably roles several times, has him physically wincing. Scratch that, he was worried. Very worried. Worried enough that it overtakes his mental panic and replaces it with deep concern. How durable were ghosts? He doesn’t know and that scares him. 

“Vivi! What the hell,” He finally manages to spit out, breaking his panic-induced stupor. He tries to rush past her, intent on checking for any signs of Lewis. He promptly slips. The combination of ice and his lack of a second arm throws off his balance and he ends up falling backward. He is saved from a collision with the ground by Vivi who seemed to now have supernatural levels of balance and was unaffected by the slippery surface.

“I …wow. That was… something.” Vivi breaths, examining the road still covered in planes of ice as if not quite believing it.

“Help me to the edge,” He interrupts, trying and failing to stand straight collapsing back on her, “I need to see if he’s okay,”

“Who’s okay? The ghost?"

“Yes.”

"You want to see if the ghost is okay? You said it was trying to hurt you?”

Arthur can practically see the concern and confusion now hanging over Vivi as she looks down from where she's holding him up by his one good arm.

“It’s just…a misunderstanding or something. I…we…might know this ghost.”

“What?”

“Just help me check.” He motions with his remaining arm. Visible through the plums of steam are thicker lines of darkened smoke coming from the space where the truck had disappeared.

....

Note: I’m Sorry to everyone who’s showed interest in this AU but i’m not sure if i’ll continue this since i’ve lost motivation.  Here are some of the more coherent plot notes if people are interested in this AU. Feel free to ask questions if u have any :) . 

...

-   Shiromori shows up directly after Lewis’s crash, distracting Mystery. With all the steam obscuring their vision Arthur and Vivi don’t realise that Shiromori has arrived immediately, and there is enough time to briefly look for Lewis. 

- Lewis makes it out of the truck crash only slightly worse for wear and tries to attack Arthur. Vivi moves to defend Arthur, then Arthur has to defend Lewis and it’s all very awkward for everyone. 

- Lewis sees how scared Arthur is a reconsiders his revenge plot, hesitating long enough to get some dialogue in. 

 - Arthur finally gives Vivi a brief Lewis overview (sans the whole ‘he almost threw me off a fake cliff thing’). Vivi is suspicious and somewhat unconvinced. Lewis is slightly confused when Vivi starts referring to the alternate time line. 

- Not time for further discussion because Mystery is fighting Shiromori and, since he had warning this time, he’s winning. 

(fight scene stuff. Vivi rushes in to do something idk this part is not planned.) 

Vivi overused ice abilities. 

Lewis and Arthur have a moment alone. 

Vivi, slightly untrusting of Mystery, ends up stepping to stop the two from fighting. (Vivi ends up saving  Shiromori maybe??? a parallel  to the original timeline). A dramatic moment where Vivi rushes in ( maybe takes a blow for Shiromori idk would depend on Shiromori’s backstory) and ends up injured. 

- ??? makes an appearance, takes over Vivi instead of Mystery. 

Some background world building stuff

- Vivi’s ice powers might become unsealed and she is vulnerable to ??? (spiritual energy is damaging to humans if too much is used at once or if is not used correctly)

- Yukino family are spiritual channels making them both more powerful and more vulnerable. Mystery holds a seal to the ability and it eats up a tails worth of power to maintain. Same deal with Shiromori, Mystery holds a seal to keep her fully realised abilities in check which also eats up a lot of power.

- The seal is damaged when Mystery is hurt

- Arthur is unaffected by the ice because he’s got some odd time based supernatural power which has bonded to vivi spiritual signtaure as well. This is the reason ??? want to possess Arthur. One possible resolution was for Arthur to figure out how to rewind time to the seconds before Vivi gets possessed, giving her a chance to defeat ???. It takes a lot of power which Lewis ends up giving to him. 

[lurkingwhump]

Fic Time!

Hey! This fic has been another long project, short as it may be. But I finished it :) . Timeframe is s5, probably canon divergent sometime before 5x05. I don’t know where this came from, probably in part from my anger at Jane’s miracle recovery in 5x05 (it’s a pet peeve of mine, I know.) Thanks to @unorthodox-oblivion for helping me out with a major point in this fic, and also to my dear beta @take2intotheshower​ again. You’re awesome.

This fic also fills one of my @badthingshappenbingo squares, namely Hair matted with blood, requested by anon.

If you’d rather read this on FFN, the link is here.

Let me know what you think!

 Trap

Jane squeezed her eyes shut briefly, a quiet whimper escaping her lips. “Pull yourself together.” Exhaling through her nose, she glanced behind her to check that no one was following her. Seeing that the coast was clear, she made her way to the bunker’s entrance as quickly as the pounding in her head would allow.

She grimaced as she pulled the scissor door of the elevator closed.  A sharp pain flared in her torso, and she could feel the cold wetness of her black shirt, knowing she was bleeding. As the elevator descended, she tried to gather her thoughts as she haphazardly attempted to wipe off the soot and dust from her face. “How could you be so careless? You’re slipping.” She gingerly touched her temple, hissing at the stinging sensation as she felt the dried blood under her fingers, matting a few strands of her hair.

“Jane!”

Barely having stepped out, she heard Kurt’s alarmed voice as he rushed to her.

“You’re hurt.” His eyes clouded with concern as he brought his hand to her bloody cheek.

Jane fought the urge to just close her eyes and wrap her arms around her husband, letting his touch chase away the pain pulsing around her body. But she couldn’t, not yet at least.

“What happened?” Patterson asked, her eyes wide as she took in Jane’s appearance.

Jane gave Kurt a strained smile, hoping to reassure him. “I’m okay, Kurt.”

She slowly made her way to the desk and sat down, unable to hide a wince. She swallowed thickly, beating back the rising feeling of nausea as she organized her thoughts. Turning to Patterson and Rich, she continued. “They knew we were coming. The information was a decoy to lure us there. The house was rigged with explosives, I managed to get out just before it exploded.

Glancing at Kurt, who was standing a few feet from her by one of the beams, she saw a brief flash of panic in his look.

“But you got caught in the blast.” He stated the obvious quietly.

She could sense the concern radiating off him.

Patterson said something about trying to dig for more information about the alternate locations, but Jane didn’t register half of that. She felt nauseous and she wanted to wash the residue of the explosion off her skin and change her clothes.

“I’m going to be fine. I just need to get cleaned up,” she told him gently, while battling the vertigo she felt creeping up. She just needed to get to their room, and she’d be fine.

But it seemed like her beat-up body had other ideas. Getting up, her vision grayed around the edges after a couple of steps, and she faltered, managing to support herself against the wall instead of ending up on the floor.

“JANE!” A moment later, Kurt’s arms wrapped around her, anchoring her in his embrace. It felt as if at that moment her body decided that it had had enough. The last of her adrenalin reserves gone, she sagged against him, leaning her cheek into the warm comfort of his shoulder.

Now, as she leaned against him, he ran his other hand over her torso, eliciting a whimper from her as his hand touched the ragged gash slicing across her abdomen. He let out a pained gasp as he realized she was bleeding and hurt much worse than she had tried to let on.

“Why didn’t you say something?” Kurt murmured sadly at her as he nuzzled her, tightening his hold on her.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” she mumbled against him.

His reply was a resigned sigh. “Come on, let me help you to bed. We need to stop that bleeding. Can you walk?”

Jane gave a tiny nod, leaning into his side, as he slipped his arm around her waist and grabbed her hand to anchor her against him.

“Rich, can you bring us the medikit?” She heard Kurt call out, as she focused on channeling her energy to put one foot in front of the other. She heard her heartbeat in her ears, the pain intensifying with every step as her body slowly realized the immediate danger was over.

“Almost there,” Kurt murmured into her ear as she slumped heavily into his side.

He guided her to sit on the bunk, kneeling next to her as he gingerly helped her out of her jacket. Despite the care he took, she couldn’t help a groan as the jacket touched the gash.

He wordlessly passed her a bottle of water from the night stand, before rummaging in his go-bag and passing her a couple of painkillers.

“Here...here’s the medikit.” Rich entered, momentarily frazzled about what to do with the backpack before Kurt reached for it.

“Thanks, Rich.”

Jane saw Rich look at her with concern, his face blanching. She understood that despite his façade, Rich was not used to the sight of blood. He was shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Do you, uhm, need anything else? I should probably go help Patterson.”

Jane closed her eyes against another flash of pain in her skull, and heard Kurt answering their friend, telling him they were fine.

With Rich gone, Kurt’s attention was firmly on her again. He ran his hand through her hair, gazing at her tenderly, and she saw the worry in his eyes. She hated that look on him, especially when she knew she was the cause of it.

” Lie down,” he urged her, helping her as she moved. “I’m gonna wash my hands and then I’ll take a look at that gash.”

Jane breathed hard through her nose, grunting in acknowledgement as she closed her eyes. As she waited for him to return, she tamped down on the agony in her head, waiting for the painkillers to kick in but she knew it would probably be closer to half an hour before that happened

Next thing she noticed was Kurt’s caressing touch on her cheek. She turned into it, hoping to distract herself from the fiery sensation of the gash and the jackhammer in her head. She must have really hit her head hard to be feeling like this.  

“Oh, Jane.”

She heard him opening the backpack and dig out what she assumed were medical supplies but she didn’t want to open her eyes.

He took a moment to stroke her hair, gently removing matted strands from the cut in her hairline.

Careful as always when it came to her, he spoke softly. “I’m gonna have to cut the shirt away, okay?”  

Jane couldn’t help a pained gasp as he removed the shirt, the fabric sticking to the wound.

“Sorry.”

Jane shuddered at the cool sensation against her skin, as he went on to clean the area around the gash.

Kurt seemed more distressed as he cleaned away the blood, but as he glanced at her the warmth and affection in his look made her heart constrict.

She gave him a wavering smile, trying to reassure him. “It’s okay.”

He gave a slight shake of his head, his voice subdued. “No, it isn’t. You got hurt and I wasn’t there.”

The guilt was gnawing at him, she could see it.

Pushing past the queasiness, she reached for his arm, squeezing it gently. “Kurt, this wasn’t your fault.”

His only reply was a sad nod before he focused his attention back to her injuries.

The pain flared again, causing Jane to exhale hard through her nose.

She could almost see him grimace, even behind her closed eyelids. “Dammit, Jane! ” He scolded her softly, before his tone became more pleading. “Why didn’t you say something sooner…this isn’t a small cut.”

The gash was a jagged line of maybe seven inches long and an inch across at its widest. Luckily, it was shallow close to her side, but deeper near her abdomen. Jane couldn’t suppress a groan when he inspected the wound.

“I think we have to put stitches in it.”

She squeezed her eyes shut harder against the pain, as Kurt went on to numb the laceration.

“What happened out there?” He asked quietly as the waited for the drug to take effect.

“The office was unlocked when I searched the house. Something didn’t feel right. “

“Why didn’t you leave?”

She gave him a sad smile. “We need the evidence on Madeline if we want our lives back. Then, in the office, when I saw the papers had just been left there, I knew something was off. I ran out the patio door right before the house exploded. The blast knocked me over and I felt a blow to my side. When I recovered enough to get moving, I saw this jagged piece of metal close to me. It’s probably what hit me.”

She saw a flash of anguish in Kurt’s eyes as he took in the information. She was about to speak, try to reassure him, but he broke eye contact and directed his attention to her wound and her wellbeing.

She tried to focus on his murmured assurances and the light touch of his fingers as he cleaned and stitched it.

“It’s okay. Just breathe, Jane.”

She hadn’t noticed she was holding her breath until he reminded her to breathe. She did not know why she was holding it. Maybe her body thought the pulsing pain of the wound and of her head would not feel so bad if she didn’t breathe.

“That’s the last one,” he explained, smiling at her lovingly as she opened her eyes again, glancing up at him.

“Thank you.” She wished she could express how grateful she was to him, but it seemed that words failed her when she tried. “Kurt, I…”

“Shh…” he shushed her, the love in his gaze feeling almost overwhelming. “What matters is that you’re here.”

Turning his attention back to her injury, he gingerly placed a gauze pad on the stitches and secured it with tape.

He smiled and took her hand in his, his thumb brushing the back of her hand, the touch like a soothing balm on her skin. He didn’t need to speak and neither did she: they knew. She felt a small smile form on her lips, despite her exhaustion and achiness.

“Let me see that cut on your head.” Kurt carefully tried to move Jane’s hair out of the way and she gave an involuntary hiss as the blood-matted hair tugged her skin around the wound.

“Sorry,” he murmured before reaching into his go-bag again, digging out a washcloth, and pouring a bit of water on it from the water bottle. Jane gave him a quizzical look, her sluggish mind not comprehending his reasoning.

“I need to wipe some of the blood away before I can put the steri-strips on.”

“Yeah,” she replied, somewhat sheepishly.

He dabbed her temple below the cut with the washcloth before stopping and watching her silently.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Kurt chuckled, going back to work and taking the washcloth to her cheek. “I just found some clean skin, so I guess we need to clean all of it.” He grinned.

She couldn’t help but laugh at his comment, and his tone. Despite the situation, he still managed to make her laugh.

Having cleaned the blood away, he carefully applied the butterfly strips to the cut in her hairline.

She sighed in relief, squeezing the bridge of her nose.

Kurt tilted his head, observing Jane silently for a moment.

“How’s the headache?” He queried, the previous levity of his voice replaced by soft concern.

She turned slightly, meeting his eyes as she reached for his hand. She hoped she could assuage the worry she felt in him. “It’s better. I think the painkillers are slowly kicking in.”

Kurt murmured in reply, the sound telling her he wasn’t completely convinced by her words as he sat on the edge of the bed.

He squeezed her hand, his other hand caressing her cheek. “Try to get some sleep. You’ll feel better after some rest.”

She closed her eyes, taking in his loving touch before drifting off to sleep.

**************************************************************************************

As Jane came back to wakefulness, the first thing she registered was the pounding in her head and ache around her body, but that sensation was quickly replaced by a softer one: she felt Kurt’s warm hand holding hers, his thumb stroking the back of her hand gently.

She tried cracking open her eyes, a small grunt escaping as her brain telegraphed her it did not like the light. “Ugh, concussions.”

Attuned to her as always, Kurt understood what her problem was and in a couple of seconds the bright fluorescent ceiling light went off, leaving the old lamp on the nearby table as the only source of light.

Jane tried again, the piercing pain easing now, and was met by the loving but concerned gaze of her husband.

“Hey,” he smiled at her as he brought his hand up to stroke her cheek. “How’re you feeling?”

She closed her eyes for a few seconds, taking in the warmth of his hand on her cheek. For a second, she thought of downplaying it, but seeing the worry covering his features, she couldn’t hide the truth from him.

“My head is pounding and my side is throbbing.” Seeing the frown deepen on Kurt’s face, she continued, hoping to redirect the conversation. “How long was I out?”  

His thumb traced her cheekbone tenderly as he spoke. His voice was low, its timbre carrying a soothing tone and a rhythm she found comforting. “A little over three hours.”

Something about the way he looked at her created a familiar warm feeling in her chest. It was as if nothing else in the world mattered to him at that moment, except her.

Jane smiled, unable to put into words how much his love and support meant to her. He had literally gone to the ends of the world for her, and would do it again, no questions asked.

“Have you been sitting here the whole time?” She asked with a small smile, grabbing the hand that had been tracing her face.

Kurt gave her a smile that was almost bashful, glancing down at his feet. “Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Patterson and Rich are digging for information and Tasha is out, and I’m not exactly a hacker so…” he trailed off. ”And you’re here, so there’s no place I’d rather be.”

She brought his hand to her lips, kissing his fingers, hoping to convey how much she loved him.

He squeezed her hand back, slightly tilting his head as he observed her. “How do you feel, do you think you could try and eat something?”

Jane wasn’t nauseous anymore, and it had been almost half a day since she last ate anything. “I guess I should try.”

Kurt stood up, kissing her forehead. “Okay. You wait here, I’ll bring you something.”

“Kurt, I can get up.” She tried to assure him, but her obvious wince was met with a raised eyebrow and a gentle admonishment.

“Jane...”

She sighed, conceding this round to her husband and lay back down. “Okay, you win.”

His reply was the crooked smile she loved so much. “Thank you. I’ll be right back.”

[undertalethingems]

Bark at the Moon, Chapter 2: Reconnections, Recollections

<Previous / Next>

Or read on my Ao3>

Rating, Setting: Gen, Pre-canon

Chapter Warnings: None

Chapter Summary: Sans is at a loss for what to do. He's lucky his brother isn't the only one who looks out for him, and that he's not the only one looking out for Papyrus... But they both have a lot of work ahead of them.

It had been two weeks. Two long, empty, lonely weeks. Sans hadn’t given up on his brother, per se, but he had given up on looking for him. A check on the numbers revealed nothing out of the ordinary; as far as he could tell, Papyrus was definitely still alive, and there was nothing funky with the timeline. More mundane sources of information continued to come up dry, and the few times Sans had gone out, there was a subtle unease in town. If only Papyrus knew his neighbors missed him... not to mention his own brother. It was like he'd vanished into thin air, and Sans knew that was one thing his brother couldn't do. So he was just... gone.

Sans was starting to feel he'd messed up somehow. He knew he was far from being a perfect or even a really good brother, but he didn’t think he’d done anything to make Papyrus feel running away was necessary…. No, Papyrus would have aired his grievances long before that, he was sure.... But then again, would he? It's not like Sans ever did anything about all the things he nagged him for. Maybe after feeling unheard for so long, he'd left. A cruel voice in his mind liked to whisper as much and worse, and without Papyrus to motivate him, he wasn't doing much to combat it.

He rolled over on the couch and ignored the empty chip bag that crinkled under him, the remains of lunch. Going to Grillby’s had become too taxing sometime last week, and most other foods were similarly inconvenient if they sounded good at all. He wanted nothing more than for Papyrus to burst in and scold him for being so lazy, but dreams of exactly that and the knowledge none of this mattered anyway had spoiled his hopes. He’d just wait, like he always did. He heaved a sigh, and was letting his eyelids drift down when a knock on his door startled him.

He waited, and it came again--much harder.

“Sans?” Undyne called, her voice only slightly muffled by the door. “Sans, you better be in there. I'm gonna bust this down if you don't answer now!”

Oh boy. He hauled himself up, brushed off the worst of the crumbs, and answered the door. Undyne grimaced as she studied him.

“Oh thank god, but dude, you look awful. I was here to see if you were okay, but, I think I just got my answer. C’mon, you’re not staying inside anymore.”

“eh, i’m not really feeling up to going out,” Sans mumbled, wondering if he looked as tired as he felt. “was kinda hoping you had info on my bro, to be honest, but…”

“Sans, no one’s seen you in three weeks,” Undyne stated.

Sans looked up at her with brows furrowed, questioning.

“i was just at grillby’s like… five days ago,” he protested, but Undyne shook her head.

“Grillby himself called me in on a wellness check. It’s been three. Weeks. Two since Papyrus… disappeared. I… guess you lost track of time, huh?”

Sans wilted--he was missing a whole week. “… it really flies when you’re having fun. sorry you went through all this trouble. tell grillby…. i dunno. tell him i’m ok, i guess.”

“You’re not okay,” Undyne growled, snatching the shoulder of his hoodie. “What if Papyrus came home to find you like this? Or—or worse!? Come on! We’re getting you cleaned up, making you eat some real food, and then we’re going out to look for Papyrus because if this keeps going we’ll lose BOTH of you.”

Sans didn’t have it in him to protest. She... she was right. He let her strongarm him into his own house and into the shower—though she gave him his privacy once she’d turned the water on, and the warmth felt so nice he considered staying in for a few days. But that would mean missing out on food he probably wouldn't be paying for, and he was actually hungry now. He washed up and put on the change of clothes Undyne had left him, and when he did finally emerge he found she’d thrown most of the trash away and there was an open spot on the couch. It was fated to remain empty though as she hooked her arm around his shoulders and marched him out the door.

Grillby’s exploded in shock when the two walked in, and they were swarmed by the regulars trying to greet them. Undyne howled, ordering everyone to give Sans some space, and they were finally able to make their way to the bar. If Sans was honest, part of him didn’t really want to be here, but more of him could admit he’d missed it. His friends were quick to fill him in on the latest gossip and jokes, and he realized they were doing for him what he'd done for them so many times before. They were trying to cheer him up.

After enjoying good company and a meal Grillby had assured him was on the house, at Undyne's urging they headed out to begin the search anew. Sans dreaded reaching the tile puzzle now, knowing it was the last place with any evidence of his brother and yet be such a glaring dead end. He sighed, and nudged some of the freshly accumulated snow with his slipper as Undyne talked on her phone behind him.

“Wait a minute, I’ll ask. Hey Sans,” she spoke, tapping his shoulder. “You remember what day it was that all this started?”

“yeah. it was… tuesday, exactly two—well, three weeks ago,” he answered.

“Thanks! Okay, um… as far as I know, he starts at 6 AM, sharp. Yeah. It would’ve taken him a little while to… okay, gotcha. I’ll hang on.”

There was a long pause. Sans wondered if he really could fall asleep standing up. Odds were looking pretty good. He let his eyelids slip down...

“So… you do see something? Uh-huh… that’s too bad about the lens, but you can confirm there was movement here during our timeframe? Awesome. Well, not awesome, but, you know. Thanks Alphys, you’re the best. Talk to you later.”

“well?”

“Dr. Alphys set up these cameras all over to watch for humans, and as it happens, they caught Papyrus walking over here, but not getting any farther than that. Thanks to that snowstorm, this area’s camera got iced over--of course--but she could see enough to make out… something,” Undyne explained. “Hold on, she’s gonna text me a couple pictures.”

There was a ping, and she studied the images with a frown before holding it out for Sans.

“I dunno. I definitely see something, but, can you make any sense of this?”

Sans took her phone and studied the blurry pictures. He could barely make out the trees in the background, but at least the division between them and the snow-covered ground was clear enough. There wasn’t anything that looked particularly like his brother, but there was a whitish arch of something and a smudge of orange that seemed to dart across the frame. It was a better hint than anything they’d had before, but what was it?

Sans squinted at the pictures—wait, was the arch a spine? And his tired mind dredged up memories he hadn't known he had. A lab. A scientist. Two living weapons, the pinnacle of magical engineering--and an accident that erased nearly all evidence it had ever happened. A hand on his shoulder steadied him, and he looked up to see Undyne giving him a worried look. He handed her phone back wordlessly and shoved his hands into his pockets, magic racing.

“Are you okay? You got kinda… unsteady there for a moment.”

“’m fine,” he answered, well aware his eye lights had blinked out.

“Sans, dude, you’re freaking me out,” Undyne called as he walked away, inspecting the edges of the clearing and peering into the trees.

“can i ask you a favor?”

“Uh… yeah?”

“go pick up the least greasy thing from grillby’s you can and wait here. i know what happened to papyrus,” Sans stated, staring into the depths of the forest. The indents were distant and faint from layers of fresh snowfall, but he could see the pattern now and wondered how he hadn’t noticed them before. No points for him, that was sure.

“Uh, sure thing. See you… both? Soon,” Undyne said, and in a blink he was gone.

The forests outside Snowdin were thick and ancient, and most monsters avoided their depths. It was largely the threat of frostbite and getting lost that kept them away, but save for a few exceptions monsters generally preferred company and civilization to untamed forest anyway. If this was where he’d run, it made sense Papyrus hadn’t been found by anyone.

Sans followed his brother’s tracks—long, bounding marks that only increased in distance from one another as he’d picked up speed—and called his name, hoping the trees and snow wouldn’t simply swallow his muted voice altogether. It got darker, and quieter, and there was a growing sense he was trespassing. If he didn’t have his shortcuts Sans might’ve been afraid of losing his way, but it didn’t matter. Shortcuts or not, he would have kept searching now that he had a lead. Considering what the last four weeks had done to him, who knew what state Papyrus would be in.

He eventually found himself in a wide clearing where fresh snow and gusting winds had swept the tracks clean, and sighed. His trail had gone cold again, and he gave a halfhearted laugh at the pun. Papyrus would have hated it…. What he wouldn’t give to hear his exasperated groans again. He called his brother’s name, and listened to it echo faintly until silence laid heavily over him once more. That was the worst of all—the utter silence of an empty world.

Wood cracked behind him, and Sans whirled, magic flaring in his left socket. A pair of orange rings that almost matched met his gaze, and for a moment it was all he saw before he made out the rest of the entity’s face and body from the surrounding gloom. His magic faded, and he sank to the ground. He wasn’t sure how much time passed as they simply stared at one another, but it had to have been at least five minutes before he found his voice and finally addressed the being watching him.

“papyrus?”

A raspy whine answered, and Sans winced. It was his brother’s voice, but weaker, and wordless. Papyrus had always been so proud to learn new words, but now he wouldn’t say even one. This was bad.

“c’mere bro, let’s get you home, huh?”

Papyrus stared for a while, and Sans tried not to listen to the rising panic in his soul. He'd come when he'd called, he had to remember, had to recognize him, right? Why was he still standing so far away...?

"... bro?"

Finally, Papyrus shook himself out, inhaled, then staunchly shook his head with a huff. He hesitated, but did walk over, head held low as he slowly approached. He paused again, only a few feet away and studying him warily—then sat and curled around himself. Sans eyed him sadly, not liking how faint his eye lights were or that he didn’t want to come home. He thought for a while, then leaned back on his hands with a sigh.

“look… i get it. you don’t want to show off your cool bod, it’d be too awesome for anyone to handle and you can’t bear to do that to someone.”

Something that sounded loosely like “nyeh heh heh” chuffed from Papyrus’ jaws.

“but… it’s been three weeks, bro, goin' on a month. everyone wants to know where you went. uh… i’ve been… even lazier than usual without you. i’ll warn ya now, you’re gonna have some major vacuuming to do.”

An exasperated groan rose from his brother.

“i know, i know. but… bro… you can’t be okay with living like an animal out here. I’M not okay with you living like an animal out here. c'mon, undyne’s waiting for us with food, somethin’ hot from grillby’s, and i specifically asked her to get the least greasy thing she could order 'cause i know how you feel about it. there’s a whole month of mtt shows to catch up on. there’s… bedtime stories, and i can’t afford to slack on those, heh…”

Papyrus gave a shuddering sigh. Sans watched as he stretched out his long forelimbs and turned his palms up, contemplating the digits tipped with slender, deadly claws. Then, he buried his face in the snow and laid his hands across his skull, a picture of despair.

“bro, papyrus, it’s ok. you’re smart, you’ll figure out how to change back,” Sans comforted, reaching out to pat his brother’s head. "you're not gonna let something like this get you down, are ya? c'mon. let's go home.”

Papyrus finally raised his head. He looked so tired as he fixed him with a weary look, and Sans’ soul ached. He could only begin to imagine how his brother had felt out here, by himself in a body that must have stirred up old memories—too many of which were unpleasant. But the light shone in Papyrus’ sockets just a little brighter, and he stood up swiftly, head held high.

And then he fainted.

Sans did his best to appear at his side to catch him, but even if skeletons weren’t heavy monsters Sans was decidedly not in shape and the impact made him stumble. He took a moment to regain his footing, but with his brother limp but in his grasp at last, he removed them from that part of reality and placed them back in the tile puzzle room. Undyne jumped at their sudden appearance and would have probably summoned a spear or two if she weren't already holding a takeout bag. Her eye darted over them, and Sans might’ve laughed at her dumbfounded expression if his brother hadn’t still been unconscious.

“What. The HELL. IS THAT?!” she finally shouted as he laid Papyrus down gently, and he bristled at her harsh words.

“excuse you. THAT happens to be my brother.”

Undyne gestured wildly before finding words to express herself again. “BUT? HOW?? WHAT??!”

Papyrus finally moved, his eyes blinking open, though it took a moment for his irises to reignite. Sans ignored Undyne’s flailing and snatched the takeout from her, sitting near his brother’s head and digging around for whatever awaited in the small paper bag. A few days without food wouldn’t affect a monster’s health much, and certainly not someone with high stats like Papyrus, but nearly a month was another story and he was more than a little worried. He withdrew what turned out to be a toasted turkey club sandwich, mentally thanked both Grillby and Undyne for listening, and helped his brother sit up to finally eat something. It wouldn’t be enough to bring Papyrus’ energy back all the way, but he’d be better off than where he was now by a long shot.

The sandwich was snapped up upon being offered, and after a moment Papyrus felt strong enough to stand on his own. Undyne had settled into just staring at them both skeptically, jaw slack and hands clenching and unclenching as if to summon a spear at any moment. Sans crumpled up the bag and stuck it in his pocket, and looked from his brother to the guard captain with amusement. Papyrus looked nervous—or maybe embarrassed, and his first attempt to speak came out as a gusty hiss. But he stepped back, took a moment, and coughed into his fist to clear his throat.

“Hello, Undyne.”

If Undyne had been dumbfounded before, she was well and truly stunned now. She sank to her knees staring, and Sans couldn’t help but laugh at her. A scream started to croak from her, and he decided it’d be best they all headed back to their house before her yelling attracted attention from the other patrols. He beckoned his brother over, and took Undyne’s wrist as he laid a hand on Papyrus’ shoulder, and in an instant they were in the living room... not a moment too soon.

Undyne screeched at the top of her lungs, reaching a truly impressive volume even Papyrus winced at. Her next instinct was apparently to fight, lunging for her friend as if to throw him over her head. Sans darted out of the way as she sped past, and a soft ping sounded before she was flung sideways into the couch. Papyrus gave his brother a disapproving look, but he gave it right back.

“no fighting in my house,” he said, wagging a teasing finger. “sorry to burst your bubble, undyne, but until papyrus is back at full strength i’m not letting you beat him up.”

“I’M NOT GONNA BEAT HIM UP! I’M JUST GONNA PUNCH HIM FOR BEING DUMB!!!” Undyne roared, leaping from the couch and promptly hauled flat on her face. She growled and pushed herself up, only to fly to the ceiling and stick flat on her back. “Will you QUIT with the BLUE MAGIC?!”

“not unless you stop trying to hit my bro,” Sans countered, and Papyrus laid a hand across his eyes.

“Sans, please put Undyne, who need I remind you is our boss, back on the ground?" he asked, voice still shaky from disuse. "I am quite capable of handling her rigorous expressions of affection, thank you.”

Sans looked over to him and sighed. “you’re right as always bro. i just… i know you’re tough and all, but you’re also not at 100 percent and undyne is pretty intense.”

“YOU BET I AM!”

“plus, i haven’t seen you in basically forever after you disappeared, so forgive me for bein’ a little protective.”

Undyne drifted down at last, and though she glared at Sans she didn’t seem intent on continuing her charge when she landed. Instead, she sat decisively on the couch and folded her arms, fixing them each with a sharp look. “Okay. Here’s what’s going to happen. BOTH of you are going to explain what the HECK is going on with Papyrus, and THEN! We’re getting him something else to eat so we don’t have to treat him like a delicate flower.”

“Flowers are actually quite tough!” Papyrus offered, but shrank under a skeptical glare.

“SO! Who wants to start telling me why or how Papyrus ended up as a… dog-dragon-horse thing?”

The brothers exchanged looks.

“It’s just a skeleton thing, you wouldn’t understand,” Papyrus dismissed. “Most of the time I am the wonderful tall fellow you are familiar with, but if I so wish, I can become… this! It’s a thing.”

“yup, it’s true,” Sans confirmed, but Undyne didn’t look convinced.

“So, you could transform into this awesome creature this whole time… and you never told me?!”

“W-well, you see, I never had reason to bring it up! My usual good looks are more than enough as well as more practical for my day-to-day life, so, I much prefer them. Not to mention I… actually completely forgot how to change. Such things happen even to someone as great as me, tragically…” Papyrus explained, his claws fidgeting, "but it's fine! This is totally a normal thing."

Undyne considered his words and finally relaxed. “Huh. Well, do you… remember how to change back?”

“do you think he would have run away if he did?” Sans shot, and she deflated.

“Right. But, if it’s just something you can do, why’d you hide it? There’s all sorts of monsters out there, no one would even blink at you.”

Papyrus grunted nervously. “Consider that this form is considerably more intimidating, and I, already a sight to behold… Not to mention! I want to be known based on my merits--my wit, my battle prowess, my shockingly handsome bones! Not a silly transformation gimmick that wears off within an hour of playing with it.”

Undyne laughed, a welcome sound after her furious screams. “I guess that’s fair. Wait, if this is a skeleton thing… does this mean Sans can do it too?!”

“nope. even if i could... i'm way too lazy for any shapeshifting shenanigans,” Sans answered lightly. “my bro has the ‘cool werewolf’ gig all to himself.”

“I am not a werewolf!!!” Papyrus cried, stomping his feet as the others chuckled. "I am still, clearly, a skeleton!"

“Alright, well, I guess that’s good enough for me. You dudes need anything, let me know, but now that this is resolved I have work to get back to. Oh yeah… Papyrus, consider figuring out how to change back your new assignment. If you really don’t want to go out looking like that, I figure it’s pretty much top priority. And Sans… you get half watch shifts this week, since you’ll probably have to help Papyrus out with… a lot. Sound good?”

“you know i won’t complain about working less,” Sans teased, and she rolled her eye.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you punks later, okay? Call me if you need anything--it's... really good to have you back, Papyrus.”

Papyrus looked like he didn't know what to say.

She finally left, closing the door behind her. Sans heaved a sigh, and debated whether to make the effort to move to the couch or just sit on the floor. He decided the floor was good enough. Papyrus made a face but sat too, drawing his own deep sigh.

“Well, what are we going to do, brother?”

“i dunno, bro. you need something else to eat, for one. but beyond that… i dunno. mostly… i’m just glad you’re back too.”

“If I am honest, it is good to be back. You weren’t kidding about the vacuuming though, ugh. Did you do anything while I was gone?”

“… i slept.”

Papyrus groaned. “You would. In any case… I am still rather famished. As you can guess, the forest... didn't exactly have grocery stores. Pardon me if I don’t cook fresh spaghetti for us, I’m sure you’ve missed it terribly.”

“more than i thought i could,” Sans laughed, and it was true. It had never been the flavor that was enjoyable about Papyrus’ cooking.

Sans proposed various techniques for Papyrus to try changing back over dinner, many of which he’d already thought of and attempted. He continued regardless, suggesting progressively ridiculous remedies until Papyrus laughed at him. They curled up on the couch together to watch TV, and Sans was happy to see his brother’s eyes drift closed—Papyrus never seemed to sleep, even when he really needed it.

No doubt he really needed it now.

The next day saw about as much progress, and Papyrus’ happiness fade. Sans tried to ignore the worry growing inside him, but it was clear that the time alone with no success had done a number on Papyrus’ self-confidence. Toss in whatever memories he might’ve relived and no wonder he was having doubts.

Sans watched him pace the living room floor, occasionally sweeping up stray bits of trash he hadn’t noticed before. He was antsy, and judging by the way his tail lashed he was increasingly agitated by the situation. The fact he had to stay inside probably wasn’t helping either.

“you wanna go let off some steam somewhere?” Sans suggested before his brother could start another transit across the carpet, and he startled out of his thoughts.

“Hm? Oh, I’m fine! I just need to think!” he replied, standing stiffly. “The Great Papyrus will not be bested yet!”

“no way, but, i was just thinking you might like to get out before you wear a rut in the floor,” Sans continued, and Papyrus glanced at the carpet. There were a few places where his claws had snagged, and they all aligned perfectly with where he’d been pacing.

“Ah. I see your point. Where could we go? I don’t want anyone to see…”

“i was thinking the woods, middle of nowhere. kinda where you ran away to, but not for another three weeks, heh.”

“That sounds suitable. Alright! We do have a nice house but I can admit it is rather cramped for someone of my stature at this time, so! Take us away, brother!”

Sans obliged, and in an instant they stood in the clearing where they’d reunited only yesterday. Papyrus inhaled deeply and took off running, and Sans happily watched him tear across the field—getting some exercise was just what an active guy like his younger brother needed, and it wasn’t fair to make him stay indoors all the time. He leapt, and rolled, and sprinted through the snow, cackling all the while as he exerted himself. Sans waved to get his attention, then summoned a maze of bones for him to dodge and weave around. Papyrus raced through it flawlessly, and Sans couldn’t help but swell with pride. His brother was so cool.

As he watched, he could almost remember what it was like too.

Something juddered out of sync in his soul, and he froze. Oh no, nope, he was not doing this now or ever again. He shut his eyes and thought about how nice it was to be what he was now, tried to focus on how his soul had felt before something else had awakened within it, and was relieved to feel that foreign sensation die away. The Underground didn’t need two of them running around, and Papyrus had always had an easier time switching forms than he did—even when they both remembered how it all worked. Rubbing the side of his skull, he sat in the snow, and when the magic maze dissipated Papyrus came over to see what was wrong.

“Sans? Are you alright?”

“yep, fine. all those bones wore me out.”

Papyrus made a face. “You really do need to work out more! That was hardly anything compared to what you used to do.”

“yeah, well, that was before i discovered being lazy is the best thing in the world.”

Papyrus groaned. “If I need exercise you do too! Come on, lazybones!”

He was hauled up with a clawed hand and nudged in the back by a toothy snout, and gave an exaggerated groan as he stood. “these legs were not made for running, i’ll have you know.”

“Oh, come on Sans, I know you can do it! Chase me!”

Papyrus dashed off once more, and Sans took a few steps before simply cutting into his brother’s path. The indignant howl he got in return was worth being shoved into the snow, and in retaliation he used a touch of blue magic to bowl his brother over. Papyrus kicked, sending a shower of slush over him, and for a moment they just laughed at one another.

“I suppose I shouldn’t have expected anything else from you,” Papyrus finally said, pushing from the snow. “You have grown to enjoy a much slower pace ever since we… since whatever happened."

“yup, i’m gonna enjoy every moment i get. though, i will say… without you around to push me, i do get… too lazy,” Sans admitted, then sighed. “to be honest bro... it woulda been fine if you’d given me a sign you were okay, a note, anything, but not knowing if you were ever gonna come back... or why you left... well, it was rough. so, uh, i guess what i’m saying is… don’t do that again or i’ll have to ground you.”

Papyrus studied him, then hung his head. “I’m sorry Sans, I know I should have, but… I was. Uncertain.”

It was Sans’ turn to prop himself up and look quizzically at his brother. “about what?”

Papyrus fidgeted under his gaze, clearly considering his words before he continued. “How much do you remember of what happened to us?"

Sans furrowed a brow. "more than i'd like, but less than i should."

“S-so, w-well, when this, happened, I—I didn’t want you to see. I didn’t want anyone to see, but especially not you, because I remembered—I remembered a little of how bad we had it, and if you didn’t remember, I didn’t want to accidentally remind you,” Papyrus explained, digging his claws into the ground. “And then you came and found me, and didn’t care that I was what I am, and I felt like a fool for thinking it was better I had left without a word. I’m sorry, brother.”

Sans leaned back with a soft, bittersweet chuckle. “and here i always kept the fact i remembered anything a secret ‘cause i didn’t want you to worry either. we’re hilarious, a real comedy of errors.”

“Indeed.”

“anyway. the important thing is figuring out how you can change back. i don’t remember a thing about that myself, and obviously neither do you. seems like a thing you just gotta feel.”

“Agreed,” Papyrus huffed. “It used to be so easy! How did we do that? As effortless as the bones we conjure, as natural as breathing! It’s so… so frustrating Sans. I… I don’t want to be this. It’s so easy to just... let my thoughts slip away. And I remember that... they wanted us to lose them, wanted us to... be less of us. And after all I've worked for, I refuse to go back to that!”

"you got this, bro. despite everything that's happened, it's still you."

“I know… It’s hard though. But! Hard things have never discouraged me before! We just have to keep trying no matter how long it takes!”

“you got it,” Sans said, his mood lifting at his brother’s boundless optimism. “you ready to head back home then?”

“I think I’m going to take one more lap! You should try to as well, and no cheating!”

“if i did we’d be here for another hour. you go ahead, i’ll be right here.”

Sans watched him rise and make one last circuit around the clearing, then in a blink they were both back home. Papyrus shook snow from his talons and gave a contented sigh, then sat with a determined look on his face. He puffed out his chest, and Sans knew he was in for one of his brother’s monologues.

“Now that my restlessness has been cured, it! Is time! I can approach the issue of my transformation with a clear head! The simple fact remains that my memory of the technique has been obscured by forces strange and concerning, but! I was able to recall how to turn with the simple triggering of a distant memory of the instruction to do so, so! It stands to reason that a memory of the opposite instruction will have the same effect. Said memories may be distressing and difficult to pinpoint, but! The Great Papyrus has never been one to back down in the face of danger! Nyeheh!”

“nope. like i said bro, you were the bravest one there,” Sans affirmed, sifting through his own tenuous recall of their old lives. “i was never strong enough to do anything, and the... assistants, well... they never spoke up about animal cruelty either. says a lot about them, and none of it’s good.”

Papyrus looked at him sadly. "You know, Sans... I don't think they knew what we really were. With how he was, how could they? I think even he pretended not to sometimes..."

Sans huffed a short sigh. "yeah. think you might be right about that."

“… I wish it all could have been different.”

“me too.”

“But! It’s different now! We’re the determiners of our fates! And I say I will be this beast no longer!” Papyrus declared brightly, banishing the grim mood that had settled in momentarily. Standing proudly, he scrunched his eyes shut and concentrated—to no avail. He sighed, and let his legs slide out from under him until he lay spread-eagle on the carpet.

“i can’t believe i’m seeing my brother lay down on the floor with my own two eyes,” Sans teased, and Papyrus scrambled to rise.

“Nyeh! Do not think for an instant I was being anything remotely close to ‘lazy’ or ‘tired’!” Papyrus refuted, glaring at him with comically bugged eyes. “The effort of trying to overcome my natural inclination for this form simply took some recovering from!”

“so, you were tired,” Sans summarized, earning more disgruntled complaint from his brother. He’d missed this so much.

“Fine! Yes! I required a brief respite,” Papyrus conceded, sitting back on his haunches so he could fold his arms. “If I am honest I am quite tired of this form’s stubbornness! I know I must have been instructed to change many times, but I cannot recall how I managed such a simple task and it! Is! The! Worst! Thing!”

“wow, and that’s pretty bad, since that means it’s even worse than my jokes,” Sans commented, and his brother stamped his forefeet down.

“It is!”

“well, we better get to work then. undyne said this was your new assignment, i can’t believe how much you’ve slacked off on it already.”

“No! Nooooo!” Papyrus howled, clasping his head in his hands.

The banter continued as the brothers worked to recall what had once been a regular part of their lives. Some memories slowly filtered back, hazes of shadows and sharp objects resolving into people with needles and too-bright rooms full of instruments. Long nights that sometimes became days that became nights again, spent alone and shivering in an empty room. Hours of training for a task neither of them really understood, harsh tests of every aspect of their abilities imaginable, pushing them to the limits of their endurance. Fleeting moments of happiness together.

All encouraged and directed by a man whose words could seem kind, but masked a cruel curiosity and an unbending will. They were never meant to have souls or personalities. He was going to ensure his work continued despite those.

But for all these memories, there were still gaps. Black holes that would never divulge the information that had once been there--and considering the nature of what Sans did remember, he couldn't help but feel perhaps that was for the best. But if Papyrus' memory of how to shift back had been engulfed by one of these voids... then he might not ever remember, and have to figure it out all over again. On Sans’ part, he’d at least recalled why he didn’t know the method to change back, and it had nothing to do with a spotty memory.

“AT LEAST IN YOUR OTHER FORM YOU LOOK MORE LIKE A SUCCESS. NEVER TAKE THIS SHAPE AGAIN.”

The words had stung anew, a biting remark on a small, frail body that was useless to a lab that only made weapons. He ought to at least look the part, and wasn't allowed anything else. It was only the third time Sans had taken that smaller form in the lab; from then on, he'd slowly accepted his life as a beast. It was easier that way.

"I think perhaps we've had enough," Papyrus said in a low voice, shaking him out of a flat stare after recalling that particular memory. "Let's take our minds off things for a while!"

Sans was glad to get up and laze in front of the TV as Papyrus reheated leftovers for them both. MTT had something mindless on as usual, and it was just the thing for drowning out painful memories. Papyrus snorted when he noticed his brother had fallen asleep, and busied himself with cleaning up the dishes before rejoining him on the couch to doze himself. It had been a long day, but more were sure to follow. They needed all the rest they could get.

It wasn't going to come easy.

[marwritesgood]

Secrets | O. Diaz

Pairing: Oscar x Martinez!Reader

Timeframe: Season 3 Episode 8

Summary: He tells her he’ll call, and he’s never broken a promise to her.

masterlist

A/N: I have too many thoughts on Season 3. So now I have too many fic ideas.

My parents and youngest siblings were out of the house, and my grandmother was on her own adventure somewhere via here station wagon. I took this as the opportunity to call my brother and his friends over and get them to spill the details about what they had been up to for the past few months.

Ever since Ruby came home at 11 o’clock at night, they had been acting secretive, Spooky included. After sticking my neck out for them when they were trying to clean the rollerworld money, I felt offended that they were hiding things from me again.

I was ready to bribe and torture them until they talked, but it was only a few minutes into the investigation and Ruby and Jamal were already squealing.

“- So now we have until July to find Lil’ Ricky before Cuchillos gets mad.”

Ruby and Jamal were breathing heavily after detailing everything that happened. Meanwhile, Monse and Cesar were glaring at them both for having such little will power.

“You mean to tell me,” I began, crossing my arms and knitting my eyebrows together. Ruby shrunk back down to his, knowing what was about to happen. “That you’ve been in the middle of a gang-affiliated vendetta for the past few months and I’m just only hearing about this now?! And after I helped you with the rollerworld money and convinced Spooky to help Cesar.”

Guilt washed over all four of their faces because they knew I was right. They recruited Jasmine and Oscar’s help almost as soon as they were tasked with the job, but left me in the dark until the very end. Ruby, having looked significantly more flushed than the others, stared down at his shoes as he spoke to defend the four of them.

“Oscar made us keep it from you,” he stated, voice trembling with fear, because he knew the kind of conflict this would create. Perhaps he hated the idea of me being mad at him more than he hated the thought of me being mad at Spooky.

“He did what?”

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Just as his name was brought up in the conversation, a loud knock on the front door sounded throughout the living room area. Ruby’s eyes widened with horror, having become familiar with sound of Spooky’s knock from all the times he’d come over when my parents weren’t around.

It wasn’t until I opened the door that the other three caught on and sunk into their seats in terror. I was glaring at Oscar the moment I opened the door to him, but he was clueless, smiling like a fool because we hadn’t seen each other in a few days. When he glanced over my shoulder and saw the kids, however, he began to piece together what had happened.

“You have some explaining to do,” I stated bluntly, making my way back to where I stood in the living room- leaving Oscar to follow me inside without the traditional kiss we’d share as a greeting. “All of you do... So start talking.”

“You told her?”

“It was Ruby!” Jamal held his hand out and pointed at my brother, whose eyes somehow grew wider than they already were. I saw Oscar inhale deeply, flaring his nostrils while doing so, in the corner of my eye.

“She tortured it out of me! I’m not made of stone,” my brother retorted.

“All she did was yell at us,” Monse stated.

“Oh, you do not know my sister,” Ruby said defensively, holding his finger out in Monse’s direction. “The last time I made her that angry, she shaved one of my eyebrows off in my sleep, I wasn’t gonna take my chances-”

“Hey!” Spooky was glaring at all four of them, still unimpressed that they told me about what happened. “You four have done enough. Cesar, take ‘em and leave.”

One word was enough for Cesar to know what Oscar wanted him to do. He lances over at the other three, before getting up and heading towards the front door. They stood and followed him out, most likely to meet up again at Spooky’s house to discuss more plans behind my back.

I had grown tired of trying to avoid being kept in the dark, so I let them leave. Not to mention, it was Oscar who kept them from telling me what was happening, so it was him who I was mostly angry at.

“I can’t believe you, Spooky,” I scoffed, a beat after the door slammed shut and the kids were out of earshot. “You told them not to tell me? What the hell?!”

“I didn’t wanna get you involved,” he reasoned. 

That was his reasoning for almost everything. I understood matters concerning the Santos. I understood the deals that went down between them and the prophets. Each of the jobs he had to do here and there because of it. But this wasn’t like that, and he knew it.

“So you don’t think I have a right to know when my brother’s in danger?” I placed my hand on my hip and waited two seconds for him to say something. When he didn’t, I beat him to it. “Since when do we keep shit like this from each other?”

He sighed when I brought that up. I knew that wasn’t what he meant to do, but that didn’t change the fact that Ruby was in danger and he kept it from me. He shoves his hand in his pocket, and I could already sense that he was about to say something stupid.

“You took Cesar in last summer without telling me.” 

My eyes grew wide in frustration, and my mouth fell open. Spooky caught on almost instantly that bringing that up was doing the opposite of helping his argument, but that didn’t stop me from making it absolutely clear to him.

“So what? Because I didn’t want Cesar to sleep on the streets, it makes it okay for you to hide things about my brother from me?” Again, I waited a few seconds for Spooky to response, but there was nothing he could say. On the other hand, I still had a lot to get off my chest. “How would you feel if Cesar was in danger and I made sure you didn’t know about it?”

“Okay,” he sighed, his cheeks flushed because this was a rare moment; me scolding him. And about the protection of our brothers, of all things. “I get what you’re saying.”

 “Oh do you?” I said sarcastically. 

“Y/n,” Oscar reached for my hand, and I knew what he was doing. My boyfriend had so much charm. It had gotten him out of a lot of grudges and arguments, but not this one.

“Don’t,” I shrieked, yanking my hand away from him and stepping back. “- touch me. I’m really mad at you right now, Oscar... And I am so sick of you keeping shit from me. I’m so sick of watching the people I love be put in danger, and have no clue about what’s going on.”

He keeps his head down, and I know he’s caught on. This wasn’t the first time he kept important things from me. When Ruby was shot, I had no it was Latrelle who did it until Jamal told me at the hospital. When Mario was getting targeted by a group of Prophets, I didn’t find out until he came home bloody and bruised. When he was sent to prison, I didn’t find out until Cesar came knocking on my door with tears streaming down his face.

“I know you do it because you’re trying to look out for me,” I cried. As much as I enjoyed winning an argument, I didn’t scold Oscar to make him feel bad for doing what he genuinely thought was the right thing. “But it hurts more when I have to find out this way.”

Silence fills the air for an uncomfortable amount of time. I watched Spooky stare at the ground as he thinks something through in his mind. 

“I’m handling it today,” he began, as finally looked up at me, his expression less stoic than its natural state. “Cuchillos... she’s taking a meeting she’s not walking out of. I’m gonna make damn sure of it.”

I could help but let out a sigh of relief. Even after the kids told me about their task to find Lil’ Ricky, they wouldn’t budge on talking about the rest of the plan. It felt good to know what was happening for once.

However the danger of the situation became alarming aware to me as I continued to process. I was beginning to empathise with Spooky as to why he kept things from me. The hurting was inevitable.

“Hey,” he whispered, after noting the tears brimming in my eyes. He took hold of my face as he closed the distance between us. “Look at me... Remember when I called you that time? Before I closed the deal with the prophets? I promised you I’d come home. And what did I do?”

“You came home,” I answered, after sniffling as I wiped my tears away.

“And when I did time,” he added, this time lifting his other hand to caress the other side of my face. “I promised you I’d get out early, and what happened?”

“You got out early,” I sighed. 

For someone who had just lost an argument, and had put his life on the line several times beforehand, he made a really good point about keeping his word.

“Exactly, mi vida,” he smiled, gazing into my eyes until I began smiling back. It was hard staying mad at him. “I promise you I will handle this, and I promise I’ll call you as soon as it’s done.”

He gently pulled me closer to him, and kissed my temple, before hugging me close to his chest. I placed my hands on the backs of his shoulders and buried my face in the crook of his neck. I wanted to believe his promise, but I couldn’t help but savour the smell of his shirt... just in case.

***

“Y/n, c’mon I went to the mall just to get this for you.” Ruby was whining about buying me my favourite combo from my favourite food joint at his least favourite place- the mall. “He’s gonna call, Y/n... You having something to eat isn’t gonna affect that.”

My eyes had been glued to my phone for most of the three days in which Spooky was gone. And with passing moment, my anxiety and fear grew exponentially. 

“Look, I gotta go,” he sighed, placing his hand on my shoulder. “We’re gonna hideout somewhere until it’s handled... but please eat something.”

I exhaled and put my phone down for the first time in several hours. 

“Ok,” I breathed, before pulling the food closer to me. Ruby smiled and began heading towards the door. Before he reached it I called out to him. “And Ruby?... Be careful.”

He came back to me, and kissed me on the forehead before leaving with his duffel bag on him. It was difficult eating my dinner alone, with two of my favourite guys gone. 

My abuelita came home after an hour, by which I had made myself comfortable on the living room couch. She sat at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee in one hand and her sewing job in the other. 

I had began drifting to sleep, by the time it was nightfall. My grandmother must have took notice, because I had my eyes closed for a few minutes and by the time I opened them again, she had placed a blanket over me. 

Then, just as I was about to call it a night, and head to my bedroom for yet another night of half-sleeping and half-staying alert for Oscar’s call, there was a knock at our front door. I sat up instantly.

Turning to my grandmother who looked just as I confused as I did I concluded that the only person who would be knocking at the time of the night would not be good news. Ruby had his own key, and so did my parents.

With one hand on Mario’s ld baseball bat, I slowly made my way to the door. As I pulled it open, I gasped in horror. 

“Spooky?” I had never seen him with so many cuts and bruises. Without hesitating, I swung his arm over my shoulder and helped him inside. “Abuelita? Abuelita, get your sewing kit.”

After sitting him down at our kitchen table, I held his hand and winced while my grandmother stitched his wounds up. Even in the state he was in, Spooky still had the nerve to chuckle at how squeamish I was. I wasn’t typically faint-hearted, but something about these wounds being on Spooky made my skin crawl.

“Thank you,” my abuelita whispered to Oscar as she finished stitching up his last wound.

“For what?”

“You know what,” she replied, smiling at him. I squeezed his hand and he lifted mine to his lips. Even beaten and bruised, he was still charming as ever. “So... what are you gonna do with the money?”

He turned his head to my abuelita, and he smiled. She nodded, as if she understood exactly what he was trying to communicate, but I was still clueless. Silently, she stood up and walked into one of the bedrooms to give us privacy. I finished placing a bandage over Oscar’s neck, when I noticed him staring at me.

“What?” I asked softly. He reached for my hand and interlocked our fingers together. I put my hand on his lap and gave him my attention.

“You still mad at me?”

“No,” I smiled, before taking the bottle of booze he’d been drinking and taking a gulp of it for myself. I needed it after watching my grandmother stitch him up. After putting the bottle back onto the table, it dawned on me what he had done. “... Is it really over?”

He took hold of my face and pressed our temples against one another. As I gazed at him with worried eyes, he smiled- more confident than ever.

“I handled it, baby.” He chuckled lightly, like getting it done didn’t cost him a few days of getting beaten and battered. “And I can finally get out... We can finally get out.”

It hadn’t occurred to me that one of his motives, aside from saving the kids, was finding a way out. Ever since his affiliation with the Santos became explicit involvement, we fantasised a life away from Freeridge. It was finally becoming and option for us.

That’s what he was gonna use the money for.

I leaned closer to him and kissed him softly. He stroked my cheek, while I held onto his wrist, too afraid to hurt him by touching one of his facial cuts accidentally. As I pulled away, I thought back to our last argument.

“No more secrets?” 

Spooky shook his head before, lifting his head to kiss my forehead. He made sure to lift my chin and grin at me before shaking his head once more.

“No más.”

[medfangs]

live by the shadows

prince aerin x mc

word count: 2k

angsty fic based on theories i’ve seen around reddit about the prince possibly getting corrupted by the shadow court in future chapters.. it hit me with inspiration so i banged this out. this is gender neutral and basically inclusive to all races and weapons so yeah! hope you enjoy!!

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The lake had an effect on you, that’s for sure. Colors hazing and scents dizzying (the good kind, the kind that leaves you feeling a mouthful of static, a buzz that spreads and warms as it leaves your body through every small crevice). You could blame this on that, sure, you could also blame this on the rose-tinted glasses you wore miles before you came here. But you won’t. Because not even the others—Mal with his being streetwise, Tyril and his perception—could have predicted this.

Prince Aerin stands bleeding tendrils of shadow. His eyes are glazed over with a murkiness one of his kind should never be caught in, and they stare in no particular direction. He senses your party with a deeper perception, one indiscriminate and sharp. And then he lashes his dark tendrils at each one of you.

“Hey!” Imtura snatches a tendril mid-air and crushes it within her palm. Her muscles pull taut with the action and her nostrils flare as she glares down at the lost prince. “Is this the best you’ve got? My mates slay leviathans as a pastime!”

The other party members wrangle with their own tendril in the meantime, faring from Nia’s impromptu light defenses to Tyril’s practiced swordsmanship. Even Prince Baldur carries his own weight, landing multiple blows with his bow and arrow. You swing your own weapon just in time to save yourself from Aerin’s attack. Just barely—you’re too shaken up by the prince’s transformation and stagger when the shadowed limb falls to your feet. It gives him just the opportunity to thrust another attack right towards you.

It whips around your wrist and drags you through the forest’s floor.

“Kit!”

“Help!” you cry out, the shadow searing your arm with piercing frigidness. When you grasp onto it with your other hand, you’re met with a bitter emptiness. It weighs heavy and collapses in your chest like you’ve got the whole sun to carry on your shoulders. And then, you feel him. You feel the resentment, the self-pity, and an anger tasting like vengeance. Then you feel something foreign, sinister, and deeper, manipulative.

Duke Erthax.

He’s got a grip on Aerin like a vice, of his emotions and sorrow, and places it all in his fist of power. It’s in that you sense a weak spot, a vulnerability, that is neither yours nor the Duke’s.

You’re thrusted back out when you find yourself flat at Prince Aerin’s feet, his blank stare meeting yours. You hear the cries and growls of your party. Beasts have sprouted out from hidden parts of the forest, gnawing on Tyril’s armor with decaying fangs. Imtura punches through one, two, and guards Nia behind her back as she summons her magic. Mal and Baldur have teamed up, mowing down animals near and far with their bows and daggers. Baldur turns to keep a hateful eye on his brother. The latter pays him no mind.

He grabs the front of your clothing, pulling you up to meet face-to-face. He's glazed with sweat, cheeks blotchy and the veins along his face have grown black and bulge with strain. 

“Aerin,” you cry out before you can stop yourself. “Don’t do this.”

Hearing you speak his name does nothing for him. His eyes seem to look past you, and his mind elsewhere. Of course, you’re not foolish enough to believe that. Especially with deathgrip he has to keep you upright—your feet has given out on you. Your back hurts. Your skull throbs. And frankly, you just might piss yourself. 

Even more so now, when Prince Aerin opens his mouth and out comes—not his voice. It’s a voice that speaks so deeply that it sounds like it’s coming from somewhere further inside Aerin. 

“Finally,” he drawls, and the edge of his lips twitches slightly. “It is only the beginning but it feels as though I have made it.”

“H-huh?” you attempt to stand but his strength forces you down. 

“Every single one of you have minds so weak it is no wonder you crave a hive to follow,” he grins, “a king here and a God there? Look where that has brought you all! Have you no agency to be your own ruler? If you must insist, I will be your monarch. ”

His words sting, though you know it shouldn’t. You have no idea who’s even talking, the Prince or Duke? At this point, either title spells ruin for you. But you cannot take any chances.

“Aerin,” you grunt, “This isn’t you! Don’t let him take over. You can defeat him.” Something in his expression changes, softens, and then hardens, and with a stronger grasp and stone-cold face he spits, “No! I have no reason to do away with what fills me with life, one I had chased all my life. Now, it is here, in me, and all I have to do is get rid of you.”

He shoves you out of his reach then, and you tumble to the ground on your back. He brandishes his sword and you only have enough time to gather your bearings. You scramble to parry his attack, rolling away from him—and closer to your party—and prepare yourself to defend against him. The others struggle with their own demons. Imtura fails to connect her fists to the monsters all while skeletal beings evade Tyril’s sword with slight maneuvers, his blade slicing through the empty gaps of their ribs. 

Aerin, or more appropriately Duke Erthax, seems to have already lost his interest in you, instead moving towards the most prominent figure in his life—Prince Baldur. He struggles pulling back the string of his bow, the blood and sweat making the thin string slip piteously from between his fingers. Nia and Mal handle the heavy work, but even then Nia’s light could merely be described as mingling with Aerin’s shadow magic. None of them are ready enough to take on the corrupted prince on their own, so it’s up to you to mitigate that. 

You jump before the prince and call out to him, blocking the blow of his sword when he swings and lock him there long enough to conjure a plan. 

You know this isn’t him. You think you know this isn't his fault. When the Duke snuck up on him, you have no idea, but it had to be within a short timeframe, definitely no longer than the time you’ve spent with him. The Duke must’ve caught him when he was vulnerable, but—

—you’ve also caught him when he’s been vulnerable. His past words resound in your head. Then it clicks. 

“Aerin,” you say steadily. “This isn’t what you want. You’ve never wanted to become a ruler. You’ve always been aware of the setbacks that came with it. You’ve always had your own goals—one separate from your brother’s, one that gave you friendship and freedom. Listen to me, Aerin, you can be free!”

The prince sways in his steps, a quick contemplative look that’s gone the moment it arrived. He hardens again, though softer than before. He swings his sword blindly, missing you by a mile. He seems to recognize this, because he calms himself before diving again. You don’t want to hurt him, not when he’s like this, so you try your best to dodge and deflect him.

Suddenly, he speaks up again, hollowed. “All my life I have lived underneath the thumb that is Baldur’s power. The greater of two.” He glances at Baldur, and with a gleeful smile he watches his brother struggle against his monsters. “Now, I finally know what it’s like to be inside his princely, polished shoes. And it is so, so satisfying.”

“No, it isn’t,” you yell. You land a light blow to catch his attention and continue, “You know what is satisfying? Our night at the lake. When we sat and looked at our reflections in that glowing water. The way we both felt that coolness on our skin after we took the stress off each other’s shoulders. The knowledge that we shared. That my brother can be saved. That you can be saved.”

Prince Aerin stands there stunned. His sword shudders weakly in his grip. The darkness around him seems to lift, or at least reflect the light that bounces off the forest’s walls. You seem to have touched him. 

Your name falls from his lips faintly, and then he’s curled onto himself. He drops to his hands and knees and heaves painfully, until finally, “You know nothing. None of the knowledge I shared is true, you naive fool.”

“You don’t truly think that,” you say. Cautiously, you kneel at his side, far enough to defend yourself if he tries his luck. “If anything, you’re the fool, Aerin Valleros.” He whips up, tense, shocked, and angry. But then it melts into sadness, confusion, and even more so, disappointment. His chest grumbles, so deep and low you feel it vibrate the ground where you kneel. “I am, aren’t I.”

His voice holds none of the reverb it previously did. No more of that spacious emptiness. 

Neither of you move in that moment, though you watch the way his back rises and falls with every deep breath he takes. The cries of battles behind you begin to settle, and from the corner of your eye you see a finishing light burst from Nia’s hands. You rest a hand on Aerin’s shoulder. He looks up, broken. 

“Need help?”

“As always.”

You pull him to his feet. He coughs embarrassedly once you’re eye-to-eye (or almost, anyway). Up close, you can still see the straining in his face, his bloodshot eyes, and the grayish tone of his veins. His fist is clenched at his side and his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows repeatedly and that’s when you realize he’s still fighting. Not your party, but himself, and Duke Erthax. The realization makes you spike in empathy—suddenly you’re flushed with his strain as well. You step back and he smiles coyly at you. 

“Well—"

Then his eyes are wild with panic, the darkness around him coils violently and in a flash, and you can barely process what’s in front of you until you hear a telltale pew! and your vision is clouded by an inky miasma and when you blink you see—   

Oh, no. 

—An arrow lodged deep in the crux of Aerin’s chest. His fist is wrapped tight around its shaft. 

You stumble back, looking into his eyes and following his gaze to his brother. Prince Baldur lowers his bow and stands with haughtiness, as though it isn't a fatal blow he just delivered, but a bullseye.

Your party shares a collective gasp.

“Prince!”

“What’d you do that for?!”

“Your own brother!”

The fallen monsters seem to come alive, for just a second, before crumbling back to the floor. And with a thump, Aerin follows, too. His tendrils shrivel up and shadows bloom alongside blood on his chest, billowing once before waning. He fights with all the life he’s got left, his expression taut and fists curled, but the essence Duke Erthax gave him seems to have been his only life source, so when his darkness fades completely, so does he.

What you’re left with is the shell of a person, in more ways than one. No one dares to break the silence. Only the pristine sound of nature may speak. Till Prince Baldur, like most of his affronts, calls the attention back to himself. He approaches Aerin’s body stoically; no grief, no sorrow, and definitely no remorse. He kneels down, one hand resting on his knee, the other coming down to rest on Aerin’s shoulder. He rubs it, gently, brotherly. It's almost a warm sight, if only you refrain from acknowledging what happens before and after.

“What a shame, you are. Born in my shadow, raised in my shadow, and, unfortunately, you had to die in your own shadow. Think that’s just the life you were made for.” 

He turns to your group, frozen in fear and disgust, and slings his bow over his back. "Now, shall we venture onward? I reckon Undermount isn't much far from here."

-