#how she'd wake up and find him by her bed in case he wandered off

[hcadlesshuntcr]

Literally put my hand to my head, gave myself psychic damage thinking about how he keeps getting taken from his mothers

[puhpandas]

Vivid Phantasm

(2,408 words)

Vanessa has a bad and vivid nightmare. Gregory helps her calm down when she wakes up.

(warnings: mentions of innards being outards, blood, gore, descriptions matching a zombie, panicking, unreality, mentions of death, corpses, maggots, etc. please be careful and take care!)

This morning feels off.

It's the same as any other morning, is the thing. Daylight is shining through the small window in her apartments kitchen, the TV has some Halloween baking show on that she can hear playing behind the island window, and Gregory is pouring an abundance of sugary cereal in a bowl even though breakfast is being cooked, like always.

Save for the fact that Vanessa's the one sitting at the table, instead of being at the stove cooking breakfast. Freddy took over that burden for her, if his hulking frame clutching a spatula and the smell of bacon and eggs is any indication.

She would feel grateful, that Freddy decided to use his steadily growing cooking skills to give her a peaceful beginning of the weekend. But the thing is, she cant remember waking up that morning. She cant remember getting out of bed, or having her morning cup of coffee, or Freddy taking over for her at the stove.

No, she shakes the thought away as soon as it enters her mind. Vanny is gone. For good. She isn't coming back.

Despite her own reassurance shooing away the paranoia (it's her old friend at this point), the feeling that somethings off continues to linger. It's like the very air is suffocating, feeling wrong against her skin.

Gregory finally sits across from her at the table, and despite his full bowl of lucky charms, she can't find it in herself to reprimand him. The feeling of wrongness is too strong.

So she just defaults to the question she asks every Saturday morning, and ignores the swimming uncomfortableness in her stomach.

"So," She begins uncertainly, fingers drumming on the dining table. "how has school been?"

Gregory doesn't respond. All he does is leave his bowl of cereal untouched and stare at her.

The wrongness washes over her, a sense of dread crawling under her skin. She shifts uncomfortably, eyes wandering across the kitchen just so she doesnt meet Gregory's eyes.

Her breathing picks up when she notices small oddities; Gregory's drawings on the fridge are muddled, like if she'd imagined them and couldn't paint the full picture. The cat clock that normally sits on the wall next to the fridge is completely missing. Freddys body looks like his old, company manufactured shiny one, no homemade mismatched casing or scrapes and scratches to be found.

She tries to lower her heartrate, taking deep breaths to stay calm in front of Gregory. She repeats her usual reassurances in her head, but the scenario that none of this is real, but more like a pale recreation of what she does know lingers in the back of her mind.

Gregory, who's been so still this whole time, suddenly begins to laugh. Vanessa startles, the sound that normally brings her joy just making her feel unsettled.

When she looks over at him, hes grinning, so wide his cheeks could crack, and he's cackling, like she just said the funniest thing in the world. His eyes bore into hers, looking so unlike the Gregory she knows.

It echoes in the suddenly silent room. She can't hear the TV anymore, and the sound of frying bacon is completely absent.

She trembles under his gaze, her heart in her throat. She swallows, feeling sickness coat the back of her throat. "...Gregory?"

The smile is off of his face immediately, faster than she could blink, and all shes left with is him boring into her with a blank expression. "You really think this isn't real?"

Vanessa goes rigid, because it's almost like Gregory read her very thoughts. "Um..."

Gregory's empty eyes stare right into hers, and she feels like hes looking into her very soul, judging her. "I bet you want it to be. I bet you want the things you did to just be a bad dream."

Vanessa feels nausea curl in her stomach when Freddys head is suddenly flipped backwards, staring at her with the same lifeless eyes as Gregory. Gregory cackles again, but when Vanessa looks over at him, he's still completely stoic.

"The things I did?" The question leaves her mouth without her permission. Her back aches when the wood digs into it as she tries to lean back as far as she can. Away from Gregory.

"You killed me." Gregory tells her, an edge to his voice. "I'm dead. I'm not really here."

Vanessa freezes, her body trembling so hard her shoulders shake. "What?" She whispers.

"You killed me." He repeats, eyes dark and devoid of any life. Theres zero shine to them, like hes just a copy. A cruel figment. "I havent been here in a long time. I died in that room, Vanessa. You killed me."

Vanessa shakes her head, and despite her wobbly knees, she stands abruptly and sends her chair squealing against the floor. "No..." She backs up, shaking her head almost deliriously. "No--

"I was trying to save you." Gregory stands himself, movements unnatural and rigid, and Vanessa feels her heartrate spike and her stomach drop when Gregory begins to stalk towards her.

"I was so close." Gregory says, blood seeping from his mouth and dribbling down his chin. The very same slice she remembers making on his face as Vanny, the one she always used as an anchor, a sign of hope that it was all over re-opens, blood leaking sluggishly out of it. "But you stopped me. You stopped me from freeing you."

Vanessa shakes her head, eyes blown wide. No. She remembers him saving her, the way she dropped like a puppet with its strings cut. The way he'd looked at her and smiled, and for some reason, forgave her for everything at that very moment. This isnt right.

"You stopped me." Gregory repeats, and hes suddenly in his old blue polo, rips and tears near his stomach. She feels sickness crawl its way up her throat when a dark spot appears in the same place, and the blood from his mouth dirties his collar. He takes another step. "Because you didnt want me to."

"No." She squeezes her eyes shut, back hitting the wall. She slides pitifully down the wall, knees giving in. "No... I-I never wanted to--"

"You wanted me to die." He says, anger lacing his tone. He takes another step. "You wanted to stop me. So you could continue killing."

"I didnt..." She mumbles, tears slipping past her eyelashes. She sits on the floor, knees pulled up to her chest and arms shielding her from the world. "I dont... I dont. I dont want to."

"You still believe that?" Gregory demands, with a kind of anger and hatred that shes never heard from him before. "I'm dead! I'm dead because you killed me Vanessa!"

"No..." She sobs, daring to peek at him, just so he can see her and know she didnt mean it. She doesnt want to. "I'm-- Im sorry--!"

She regrets it as soon as she sets eyes on him. Gregory's shadow looms over her, shirt half ripped and his intestines flopping out of his stomach, his eyes are wide and bug-eyed, like theyre supposed to be unseeing, but arent. Blood is smeared across his face, on his chin, under his fingernails, and she can see it trail after him on the floor.

"You did this to me." He says, voice sounding so unlike himself. Like hes a different person. "I hate you. Vanessa. I hate you!"

Vanessa sobs, cowering in the corner of the room and shielding herself. "No! I'm sorry!"

She can feel something grip her on her arm, an iron grip that sends waves of pain down her forearm. She cries out, and feels the color drain from her face when she follows the hand grabbing her to its owners face.

Gregory stands over her, slouched over with his face staring directly at hers. His skin is a horrible sickly pale green, with eyes and teeth a rotted yellow. Dried blood is caked around his mouth, and his cheeks are sunken in, with maggots crawling out of open wounds in his skin.

"I'm dead, and you're still pretending." He whispers, but it sounds so loud in the silence. She trembles when his bones crack as he rolls his neck unnaturally. "You'll never escape, Vanessa."

All Vanessa can do is cry. She buries her face in her knees, desperately begging for her to wake up from this awful nightmare. Gregory cackles above her, a demonic, horrible thing.

"Vanessa!" He yells, grip tightening. "Vanessa, wake up!"

"Vanessa!" Theres another grip on her shoulder, and she shoots awake, eyes flying open as she gasps for air.

Gregory winds backwards, narrowly avoiding getting headbutted. "Woah!" Gregory cries out. "Vanessa, hey-- calm down!"

Vanessas eyes dart around, desperately scanning the room for a decaying body, or straining her ears for laughing, but theres none. She takes deep breaths, and only after she has her breathing under control a little more does she realize she was matching Gregorys.

Gregory.

"You okay?" He asks when she finally looks at him. Her heartrate spikes again when all she can see is the shadows of his face -courtesy of her blackout curtains-. All she can see when she scans over him is blood leaking from his mouth, or holes in his skin with the writhing of maggots, or dirty fingernails that show evidence of a fight.

Gregory seems to notice, he always does somehow, so he throws the curtains aside, almost ripping them off the wall with how intense he rips them open. He clicks on the light, and only then does he return to her side and settle on the foot of her bed.

Shes still breathing erratically, and horrible anxiety is eating away at her stomach. Her shoulders are hunched and her heart is going ten miles an hour.

She revels in the sight of Gregory okay, alive, and concerned. No trace of the anger and hatred pinching his face. His eyes look just how she remembers them, big and alive, but her eyes lock onto the scar when she sees it. Its fully healed at this point, just a thin line across his face, but it stills brings her more comfort than anything else.

Gregory saved her. She soaks in the thought, the reality. Hes alive. He survived her. He's okay and hes the reason shes okay, too.

She tries to unwind her tense joints, sinking into her sweaty pillow as her shoulders still tremble. Gregory's concerned look is the last thing she sees before she shuts her eyes, trying to relax her body.

Images of intestines dripping blood on the floor, lifeless eyes boring into hers, accusing stares, and decaying faces flash behind her eyes.

Nope. She rips her eyes open just as fast as she closed them, rubbing at them one at a time as if she can scrub the visions away.

"Nightmare?" Gregory asks her, startling her. She just sighs and nods, sticking her clammy hands under her comforter. She averts her eyes, even if she shouldn't, because she doesn't want to see lifeless, bugged out eyes and red stained teeth when she looks at him.

"Scale from one to ten?" Gregory puts a hand on where he thinks her knee is under the blanket. It's a question they ask eachother a lot, when they both have nightmares. None of them like reliving the memories, so this way, they can know how bad it is without having to talk about it.

This dream, no, nightmare is one she really doesn't want to talk about, so she just sighs shakily, and with a still hammering heart, says "Eight."

Gregory whistles low and long. "That's pretty bad."

Vanessa nods, and despite herself, tears slip out of her eyes. She tries to cover them up with her hands, but Gregory just takes them in his.

"Nope. None of that." He says. "Can you look at me, Ness?"

Vanessa doesn't want to. Lest she see a face pinched with hatred boring into her, but she still does. And instead of what she was fearing, Gregory's understanding, concerned, kind face is looking back at her. No malice detected.

"Whatever you dreamed about," He starts. "Its not true. You weren't the one to kill those people, it was him. You never killed me, either. I'm right here, and I forgive you. Me and Freddy both do, okay?"

Vanessa dares to nod, soaking up the reassurance like a sponge. The idea, no, reality that Gregory doesn't hate her, that hes okay and alive is so overwhelming, her shoulders sag and she breaths out a long, deep exhale.

She takes one more long glance at his scar, and nods more surely this time. "Okay." She sighs. "Okay."

"Cool." Gregory smiles, and it's nothing like the lifeless, uncanny grin nightmare Gregory had pointed at her. This is Gregorys smile. The crooked one that shows off his permanently missing front tooth. "I woke you up 'cause Freddy's cooking breakfast today and it's almost ready. He wanted to let you sleep in."

Vanessa's heart shoots to her throat at that, but it quickly calms, and she feels herself get clammy again. She tries to ignore it, relaxing her body and breathing deeply. "I think we should eat in the living room today."

Gregory lights up. "Can we watch YouTube?"

Unconsiously, a smile stretches across Vanessa's face. "Sure, kid. Anything you'd like."

"Cool." Gregory grins. He grabs her hand from under the covers, yanking her up with suprising strength. "C'mon then! The breakfast Freddy cooked for us is waiting!"

Vanessa laughs, and to her surprise, it comes easy. Some of the uneasiness melts off of her and dissipates from her stomach, and she scrambles to keep up with Gregory, not bothering to make the bed as he drags her to the kitchen. "Slow down! I'm coming! At least let me have some coffee first."

When they're sitting on the couch, Freddy next to Gregory and Gregory next to Vanessa, and they're sharing a throw blanket and they're chewing on slightly burnt bacon and runny eggs, and the video Gregory put on is surprisingly making Vanessa laugh, she smiles.

Because her kid is okay, and he doesn't hate her, and somehow, he did that thing where he somehow distracts her from her demons effortlessly. She can hear him laughing beside her. With her, and she smiles knowing how much her family loves her, and how much she loves them.

ao3 link

[ibrithir-was-here]

Its almost 2 AM. And instead of sleep I wrote Baby Dream AU drabble, cuz Calliope only graces me in her time zone I guess. Might be a part two. Anyway here ya go xD

Baby Dream Drabble (part 1?)

Jessamy was a raggedy, much mended, button eyed stuffed raven. She was Morpheus's only friend, and he loved her more than anything in the world. 

Teleute had given Jessamy to him on his first birthday, though of course he didn't remember that.

She'd made Jessamy with her Gift. He knew that, even if he didn't know how. He didn't really know how any of their Gifts worked. He just knew that they all had them.

Portos could See, 

Teleute could Give--and Take Away

And he could Dream

The others were too small yet for their gifts to be clear. Olethros was just four, the twins were barely  two, and baby Euphoria hasn't even reached a full year yet. 

But Morpheus thought Portos already knew what their Gifts would be. After all, he had been the one to give them all their names, though he was only ten himself. He'd looked with seemingly unseeing eyes at each one of his siblings as they'd lain blinking up at him, hours old, and had Seen the shape of who'd they become, the outline of their life written out like a page within a great book that only he could read. 

That was how he'd explained it to Morpheus anyhow.

The explanation seemed to be enough for Mother and Father as well. They'd just nodded and agreed, and then handed the newly named child off to their nanny, free now to pursue their own interests within the scope of their own Gifts, until those interests crossed to include each other again, in which case another child was added to the Aterenus family.

Another small bassinet to line the nursery, which would become a small bed within a few years, shuffled over to make room for another small bassinet. Each one set up and left to the care of the nanny who'd been taken on that month. 

They never stayed long. They found the house too lonesome to abide,  the masters too difficult to appease, and the children too strange to love.

The children learned to make due.

Portos spent his time wandering the gardens of the estate, keeping out of everyone's way, his fingers tracing over his books. 

Morpheus, at six, wasn't technically allowed in the library, but sometimes he managed to sneak in, and when he did he'd pour over the pictures of every book he could reach. He didn't understand all of the words, but he'd make up stories around the pictures and the words he could read, whispering them allowed to Jessamy. 

Teleute, always the most outgoing of the three eldest siblings, and though she was only eight and the nanny should have been watching, she managed to always find a way out of the  manor house and out into "the real world" as she called it, though it was only the local village. 

She would come back with tales of such fantastic things as shops and cinemas and other children to play with, children who were called home at last by mothers who smiled and fathers who laughed and hugged them close. 

Morpheus drank in her stories like he was someone's dying of thirst.

And at night he'd Dream of them.

The shops and cinemas and happy children with happy parents. As vibrantly and fully as he could. And for a few hours each night he'd wrap himself in a bubble of warmth that he'd never felt in the waking world.

Sometimes he'd even be able to pull bits out from the dreams. Only little things though. A wrapper fromna sweet he'd never tasted, a  stub from  a film he'd never seen, a flower from a feild he'd never played in.

He never could seem to pull out the big things. The friends, the smiling families, the warm feelings.

He thought perhaps, if he could see them once himself, in truth, then maybe the next time he Dreamed them he could make them real.

If he could see them just once, he knew he could. 

That was how one day he'd found himself, Jessamy in tow as always, ducking through the underbrush, scrambling through the hole in the fence Teleute had told him of, and running as fast as his small legs could carry him down to the village. Towards sunshine and smiles and maybe even a friend who could speak back to him. 

He got to the bottom of the hill when the men in the dark car grabbed him.

They put something on his mouth that muffled his scream and made him feel strange and sleepy--and when he did sleep he didn't dream.

When he finally woke, feeling sick and fuzzy, he was somewhere dark and cold and hard. There was a strange painted circle around him, and that made him feel more sick and fuzzy. 

There were people all around him also, and their shadowed faces were as cold and hard as the room they were crowded in. 

The man they called Mr. Burgess was the hardest and coldest of all. He shouted at the others for "grabbing the wrong one" and several other things about the difficulty of spells and alignments and other things Morpheus didn't understand.

And then he'd started shouting at Morpheus.

He wanted to know what he could do, what his Gift was, what he was good for. 

Morpheus didn't answer. He was too afraid to. In case his Gift was not what they wanted. In case it was.

He wasn't supposed to tell people about his Gift. None of them were. It was one of the few things his parents had ever told him, besides to stop bothering them. Never let anyone know what he and his siblings could do. They would be in terrible trouble if they ever did. People would do horrible things to them if they found out about their Gifts. 

Morpheus didn't want to know what could be more terrible than being in this place, with these people.

So he kept quiet. He kept quiet for three days. He thought it was three anyway, it might have been more. He couldn't tell, here in the darkness.

He kept quiet, and ate the little food they gave him and drank the little water, and hugged Jessamy to him tightly when he got too hungry and didn't want to cry, for fear he wouldn't be able to stop.

He felt like that more and more often. 

Each day Mr. Burgess came down to yell at him. To yell and demand and threaten. And Morpheus felt fear locking his mouth shut tighter with every horrible word that spilled from the man's mouth. And he spent each night cowering from nightmares of the man; towering over him as he shrank smaller and smaller, chasing after him in the darkness, locking him in a glass bubble with no air, suspended naked for all to see. 

And on the third or fourth or seventh day, Mr. Burgess snatched Jessamy out of Morpheus's arms.

And he tore her into pieces.  

He dumped the pieces outside of the painted circle, where Morpheus couldn't reach them. He could only stare, thick, silent tears running down his thinning cheeks as he stared at the tatters that had been his only friend. 

He thought, dimly, that he didn't think he could talk now even if he wanted to.

And he didn't want to. He didn't want to do anything but be somewhere else. Somewhere far, far away. 

Somewhere warm, and safe. Where Mr Burgess couldn't be. Where there would be softness instead of hard stone, and enough to eat, and…and…

Morpheus curled up on the stone, as tightly as he could, and let his mind drift off. He hadn't tried to Dream, properly Dream, the whole time he'd been here. Worried his Dreaming might give his gift away, worried it would make things worse.

He didn't think things could get worse now.

At least if he Dreamed, he might see Jessamy again.

If he was very lucky, maybe he wouldn't even wake up.

And so he let the Dream wrap around him, hoping that wherever it took him, it would never end

***

It was the smell of pancakes that woke him.

He didn't really wake of course. Morpheus could tell he was in a dream, he always could. But in the dream he was waking up, and there was warmth and softness all around him. 

A pillow and mattress beneath him, a blanket tucking him in. Both more comfortable than anything he'd ever had at home. More colorful too. As he blinked open his eyes, Morpheus saw a room filled with a galaxy swirl of color. The walls were covered in bright paper, the ceiling in little plastic stars, something his parents would never have allowed in the nursery lest they peel the paint. 

 The windows were a riot of color, stained glass that the warm sunlight filtered through to send a rainbow down onto Morpheus's equally star-covered blanket. 

And there were toys. 

Toys of all shapes and sizes and descriptions, in bright and cheery colors, scattered on shelves and in woven baskets and some simply scattered on the floor, another afront his parents would never have stood for, though Morpheus couldn't remember the last time they'd actually been inside the nursery. 

In permeating it all was the wonderful smell of pancakes, coming through the door on the other end of the room.

Slowly, afraid that at any moment he'd take a wrong step, trip over a toy and take a tumble and wake with a jolt back in his waking nightmare, Morpheus tip-toed his way across the floor, the starry blanket pulled about his shoulders, determined to keep its warmth about him as long as he could.

He took a breath, turned the handle, and walked into a large open room. There was a comfortable looking , a few bookcases filled with interesting looking books, and a television set turned off, but a radio was playing somewhere.

And at the far end it opened into a kitchen space, where a man stood, his back turned to Morpheus, flipping pancakes and humming along with the radio. 

Morpheus stopped in his tracks, frozen at the sight of the towering adult. He was broad and strong looking, with longer hair than Morpheus had seen on a man, with a reddish tint to it that reminded Morpheus of his father's hair. He wondered how loud this man could yell, how hard he could hit. 

Morpheus gulped, took a step back. wondered if it was too late to sneak back into the wonderful bedroom, lock the door and hope he wouldn't be noticed. If he was very very quiet he could probably get away and--

And right then his stomach gave an almighty rumble. 

It would have been loud in the waking world, in a dream it practically echoed.

Morpheus froze up like a deer in headlights, hunger displaying as icy fear flooded his stomach as the man froze, and then turned…

The warmest, softest, kindest eyes Morpheus had ever seen settled on him, widening in surprise for a moment and then crinkling up into a happy welcoming smile.   

Morpheus had never known that people could smile with their eyes.

"Hullo"  The man said, crouching down to get on eye level with Morpheus, "Who might you be then?"

Morpheus opened his mouth to answer--and then shut it again, looking down at his feet as he felt his cheeks flush under the attention.  He hadn't  spoken much to adults even before he'd been taken, afraid of hearing once more that he needed to be quiet, to get out of the way. He'd never had someone approach him like this, on his level instead of towering over him.

It was strange and disconcerting and…and nice.

And yet he still couldn't make himself speak. He'd gone so long without using his voice by now that he was almost afraid of what he'd hear if he tried. 

But he knew if he didn't say something the man would start to get angry. He'd start to yell and then then--

Morpheus felt his chest tightening again, his throat felt thick even as he tried to summon up something, anything to say before the tears burning at the edges of his eyes could fall.

"Hey hey, it's alright"

The man's soft voice broke through the ice of Morpheus's panic like the sunshine of Spring thawing a frozen lake, its soothing tones sinking down into him, pulling him up from the depths he'd been sinking into.

"Bit shy? That's alright then. Suppose it's rude of me to ask before I've even introduced myself."

He held out a hand, slowly, so that Morpheus wasn't even startled into thinking it was coming towards him.

"I'm Hob, Hob Gadling. Would you like some pancakes then, little dream?"

Morpheus looked at the man, Hob's, hand, open in invitation, held steady, not gearing up for a slap. He looked at his warm smile, his kind eyes. And for the first time in more days than he knew, Morpheus felt warm all through.

He reached out his own hand, and placed it cautiously in Hob's. It curled over, dwarfing his small one, cupping it gently but not squeezing, not trapping in anyway. And Morpheus nodded his head. Yes, he would love some pancakes. He was so, so hungry.

Hungry for food and warmth and the kindness in Hob's face, a kindness he didn't think he'd ever seen till now, had never known could exist outside of his older sister and the comforting softness of his lost Jessamy.

Hob's smile became even brighter, and he gently, so gently, took Morpheus's hand as he led him to the table, where a plate of steaming, golden pancakes lay, stacked and waiting.

"Well come on then, I'd love the company. Stay as long as you'd like"

Morpheus wondered if he could stay forever.

***

When Hob Gadling woke up that morning, there were tears in his eyes, and a smile on his face.

He'd long since gotten used to the tears.

But it had been a long while since he'd woken up smiling.

Not since Eleanor, not since Robyn…

The little dream boy--he hadn't looked like Robyn at all. Dark where Robyn had been fair, quiet when he's never been able to get Robyn to stop talking.

He wished now he'd never tried.

But he was glad all the same, of the chance to be there for a child again, to make food to share, to read a silly picture book with ridiculous rhymes while the small dream boy had curled up next to him, wide eyed over some silly simple story Hob couldn't even recall now.

It had been a silly simple dream too. He'd played silly simple games and made silly stupid jokes he hadn't played or made in years and though the dream child hadn't laughed, he had finally smiled. And oh, it was such a sweet little smile, it lit up his whole face.

And he'd gotten to tuck a child in for bed once more, in a room that certainly did not exist in his real flat but fit so perfectly into his dream one, just as the dream child had seemed to fit perfectly into his existence as well, filling a space he'd long tried to avoid remembering was empty.

Hob hoped he'd dream the same dream again. He wouldn't mind seeing the sweet little dream child again.

He never expected to start dreaming it every night.

[junior-high-nene-official]

// Underneath the cut is a suicide attempt. if this would trigger you in any way, please skip over or proceed with caution. nene is not dying. im not killing her off. /srs/gen

..its quiet up here.

Nene mumbled as she lay on her roof. Climbing up there was a pain with this cast- and she didn't know how she was going to get down safetly..

..she knew how she was going to get down, though.

Nene prayed Rui didn't walk outside and happen to look up. She'd be devastated. She'd have no excuse to tell him what she was doing.

..But it seemed he was inside still. Luckily for her. She looked up at the stars in the sky and sighed. They were bright out tonight. She was glad it was clear and bright. It was like the stars knew what she was doing and were saying goodbye. She liked that thought, so while it was unreasonable, she didn't try to say otherwise. The stars were bright to say goodbye. That was all.

She let her mind wander a bit, dissociating yet aware of everything going on. Time seemed to still for Nene. She hoped her mother didn't see the notes she left on her freshly made bed. She hoped she didn't notice how Nene actually put her gaming systems away, instead of leaving them out because she was going to play them later, because there would be no later for Nene. She hoped her mother didn't notice her hearing aids in her case, not in her ears like usual. She hoped her mother knew she was sorry.

Nene hopes a lot of things.

Nene hoped a lot of things.

She doesn't like to hope. If you don't hope, you won't be disappointed. Nene grew up that way. Yet, all Nene can do right now is hope. Hope this goes her way.

She wipes away the tears that have poured out her eyes silently. She sits up and looks down. It's a far drop from the ground. Nene is sure that if she does it well, she won't wake up. Nene is sure that even if she doesn't die on impact, no one will find her until morning, and by then, she'll have bled out. She's sure.

She looks up at the stars and waves slightly, knowing she'll become one soon. She always liked to believe that when someone passes, a star is formed. She hopes Rui looks for her star every night. Nene doesn't deserve that wish, though, so she casts it aside.

She steps towards the edge.

Why is there a lump in her throat?

Why is she frozen in time?

Why can't she just. Let go already?

Nene cries. Her lip shakes as she looks down. She hiccups. She shakes. She shudders. She cries. It's ugly. It's an ugly song from a supposed songstress. It's a song she's sung so many times before, though, and she can't stop it. She's a big loud, she knows. Her hopes are probably in the gutters by now. Someone will hear her ugly cry. Her ugly song. And she will have no excuse to give on why she is up there. Sobbing. Late at night. Severly underdressed for this weather.

Nene hates hoping.

She continues to cry her ugly song as she looks down, unable to step away or step forward. On the line between life and death, she wishes she could decide which line to side to cross.

[thecraftymagician]

Special shout out to my dear friend for the idea(s) for this one (@wonderingwhatsyonder). I wanted to write something for April Fools and lawrd she hit the nail on the head.

Honestly I really do truly love writing Julian but after making the masterlist I kinda feel bad about how much I write for him. This is me subtlety bullying myself in a way but I like always I mean these with love!

Warning: accidental bullying, pRaNkS, minor injuries

April Fools!

Today was not the best for Julian to say the least. On his day off the doctor woke to something tickling the tip of his nose. His bleary grey eyes opened to see a small familar face. Faust smiled as she took her tongue back. Morning! "Morning, Faust.. Faust?!" As he fell out of bed, she tightened her grip around his neck. Hugs! "No, hugs!" He choked. She released him and slithered off, seeming to disappear. It takes him a moment to catch his breath. What was all that about? Did Asra send her, did they need something? In any case there was no way he'd be getting back to sleep and the sun was already up. Gathering himself, Julian got up and went to his wardrobe to grab his clothes for the day. Reaching for the handle there was a thud against the door. Odd, did something fall inside? Carefully, he turned the handle preparing for clothing to come crashing out. Needless to say he wasn't expecting 3 chickens to burst out instead in a flurry of feathers and squaks. He fell back with a scream onto the floor as they fluttered as they ran around the room. While this wasn't the first time he'd been scared by a chicken but.. "What on earth..?" He pondered aloud before rushing to get dressed. It took almost an hour to chase the chickens out and to clean up after their mess. When he'd finished, he decided to go see Portia for breakfast. Maybe she could make some sense out of the morning he'd had.

"Portia? Are you here?" He made his way through her garden carefully knowing she'd clobber him if he squashed her squash. There was no sign of his sister anywhere, no answer when he knocked on the door. Did she have work today? He hadn't seen her in the palace. Maybe he'd just missed her. As he wandered back to the path his foot hit a snag by the tree line. Before he could blink he found himself hanging upside down. "A-Again?!" "Ilya?!" Portia called as she ran towards him. She couldn't help but bust out laughing. "This isn't what I expected when you said you wanted to hang out more." He rolled his eyes as he began to swing himself about to get to the knife in his boot. "When did you get into trapping, Pasha?" "Oh, Muriel has been teaching me but wait be careful-" Snap. Before she could finish the branch broke mid-swing, sending Julian sailing into a puddle of mud. "Ilya! Are you alright? I'm so sorry!" Portia rushed over and began to haul him up. He sputtered mud out, feeling extremely defeated. "Here, let's get you cleaned up. I'm sure Nadia will let you use the baths."

In fact when Nadia saw him tracking mud and dirt around the palace she insisted. She seemed amused to his misfortune but maybe a bath was just the thing to turn this wild day around. The water was perfectly hot as he quickly added the right salts to calm his nerves. He sunk himself into the water, letting his muscles relax. For the first time since waking he'd felt peace as the water softly lapped at his skin. That was until something cold wrapped around his leg. Suddenly he was pulled under the water to see none other than Lucio. Kicking him off he surfaced with a splash, Lucio following with a laugh. "Hah, got you Jules! You should see your face!" Julian hurried out of the bath, storming off towards Nadia's salon. He threw open the door to find Portia and Nadia. "Julian, is everything alright?" "No! I don't understand what's happening today!" He ran his hands through his dripping hair. Portia chewed her lip, sharing a glance with Nadia. "Do you mean the trap-" "The trap, the-the chickens- Faust- Lucio-" As if on queue, he burst through the doors. "Jules, it was just a joke! I didn't mean to-" "Everyone please!" Nadia rang out. Everyone stopped as she turned back to Julian. "What's all this about chickens and Lucio and..?" With an exasperated sigh, he recount the days events up to Lucio. Everyone's eyes grew wide.

"Oh dear.. It seems we've all has a misunderstanding." Nadia said with a blush. Julian's eyebrows furrowed as he looked between everyone. "Ilya.. Do you not remember what today is?" Portia said carefully. "Yes, the first of April. Why- ...oh." His face flushed. "It seems we all have put a target on your back collectively. I supposed none of us assumed we'd all be placing our tricks on you." His eye widened. "You mean..?" Portia nodded with a nervous chuckle. "Asra must've sent Faust, Muriel the chickens, I.. set the trap. But I was going to tell you after the bath-" "Which I sabotaged. Oopsies.." Lucio said with a chuckle. His grey eye landed on Nadia. "Well what has Nadia, done then?" Just then a servant came in holding out garments that matched Julian's clothes.. only in bright pink. He couldn't help but laugh after a moment of silence. "Your.. not mad?" Portia asked. He couldn't breathe as tears filled his eyes. "I was at first but to think you all thought all of these things through to mess with me but didn't think the rest would.. In a way I'm flattered! Sure you all thought me the easiest to trick but if I can make you laugh and get a good story out of it then, well.." The room sighed with relief. Nadia started with a smile. "I'll send for your clothes then-" "No need, I'm sure I can pull off pink. It's the new black after all." After putting on the garments, he made a show out of posing. Today might've been crazy but Gods it'll be fun to tell at parties!

[crystxlclear]

sudden desire

chapter three: so, maybe i’m not okay

part four of sudden desire

prologue / one / two / masterlist

in which two best friends won’t admit they’re in love so decide to have a baby together instead.

pairing: marcus pike x original female character

word count: 2.5k (short lil chapter today!)

warnings: mentions of illness? other than that, none that i can think of? maybe the tiniest smidge of angst if you squint

Coraline has always been close to her father. One of her very first memories involved her perched on his shoulders at a Fleetwood Mac gig. He'd managed to sneak Cora, her brother, Daniel, and her heavily pregnant mom side-stage — the perks of him managing the venue at the time, in between jobs — and he'd cried when he'd heard her singing along to his favourite band. The show was all she'd talked about for a solid two weeks. Sure, the memories were a little grainy and probably warped by a crackly VHS tape of her mother's that she used to watch almost every day, but they were memories she held onto it as tightly as she could.

It was her father who took her first (dreadful) headshots, and him who she'd turned to when her sister died, and him who'd persuaded her that leaving everything and everyone she knew and loved back in Michigan to settle down in California (and then, later, D.C.) was a good idea. She owes her dad a lot, which is why the phone call has been playing on her mind all day.

The call came at 3am. She'd only fallen asleep two hours earlier, after Loren had arrived to pick up Maisie an hour late, hair a mess and rushing to apologise. Marcus had left a little while later and she'd practically collapsed into bed a few minutes later. She'd been woken by the low humming of her phone vibrating against her bedside table as it shot light through her dimly lit bedroom. She'd groaned uncomfortably and reached for it, cheek wedged awkwardly between her pillows and the mattress and legs tangled wildly in the sheets (Scott had always said she wriggled a lot in her sleep, but she'd always assumed he was exaggerating, until she slept alone).

She'd scowled when she'd seen it was her dad; he knew her schedule, and she'd told him she was up early when they'd spoken earlier that day. He never rings her late and it takes a moment for the frustration of being woken early by her phone to bleed away into worry and concern.

"Hello?" She'd croaked our groggily. "Are you okay? Is mom okay?"

She'd been met with a chuckle. His voice was low and gruff when it came, unusually thick and strangled. "Hey, Corrie." There was shuffling on the other end, hushed voices floating in and out of focus, until the phone went silent enough to think that maybe he'd hung up and hadn't meant to disturb her at all.

She'd scowled but her phone assured her he was still on the line. "Dad?" She'd called out to him. The panic had begun to rise when it wasn't his voice that replied.

"Coraline," her mother's soft voice breathed out. It was like a sigh of relief. "Sorry to bother you." Her French accent tipped the corner of her words. It always got stronger when she was upset or worried or scared, and it was especially thick now.

"What's wrong?"

Another pause. "Your father is in the hospital."

"What?" She’s suddenly holy upright, fear turning her blood to ice.

"He's fine, don't worry." She'd assured her. "He’s had some problems with his breathing again. They're doing some tests."

She'd almost booked a flight back to Michigan, almost abandoned filming and ran back home to make sure her dad was okay. The last time he'd been in hospital, it had been touch and go, and they'd spent an entire day huddled at his bedside in fear, just in case he'd stopped breathing. It was touch and go, and she couldn't live with herself if the worst happened and she never got to say goodbye to the man she owed so much to. She'd been in the process of scanning over the next flights on her laptop when her dad had taken the phone back from her mom and practically demanded that she stay in D.C.

Eventually, she'd relented. He'd promised to update her and she'd told them she loved them both before hanging up. But the phone call had sent her entire day into a tailspin.

She’d tried to sleep the extra hour and a half before she had to haul herself to work but her mind was running too wild for that. Even despite the reassurances, worry was plaguing her thoughts and panic was forcing her eyes open. Everything was just too much.

The last time it had happened, she'd had Scott. It was back when things were good, and he'd held her as she'd finally fallen asleep, curled up against him in an uncomfortable hospital chair.

But, now, he’s gone. Now, then, she was stood on set alone, trying her best to bite back a yawn and the tears, with so much concealer hiding the dark circles under her eyes that she can feel it clinging desperately to her skin. And, of course, life had picked the day when they had the most action scenes to film to deprive her of sleep.

Her entire body ached. She isn't sure how she's still standing after the first hour of work, with her legs protesting with every movement. Two hours of sleep and the running and the jumping and the endless stunts had sapped every last scrap of energy from her bones. She'd carried on stoically for most of the morning but she's truly never been more grateful for a lunch hour before, when she finds herself curled up against the couch in her trailer, passing out even despite the panic still swelling in her chest. She'd been surprised when she hadn't cried — maybe she was just too exhausted and her body simply couldn't muster the tears — but she's grateful she manages to keep the tears in because she doesn't want to haul herself back to set with mascara tears on her cheeks.

She’s even more grateful when she makes it home after a day that feels like five rolled into one and the scattered couch cushions look far too inviting for her to ignore.

It's an uncomfortable sleep and she wakes with the beginnings of a headache thrumming through her skull and a stiffness in her spine that she can't seem to straighten out. She's not sure how long she's managed to sleep — barely half an hour, she assumes — because she's woken by a soft knock on the door instead of the alarm she'd set on her phone. It wakes her with a jolt and she can't help but groan at the aching protests her limbs give when she stands. She shuffles across the apartment to the door and Marcus is stood there, smiling, his suit jacket and tie draped across his arm.

She's half dressed too - only he looks a damn sight better than she does, because his hair isn't dishevelled and messy and his shirt isn't twisted half way around his torso. She shouldn't have slept in her clothes but at least she had the hindsight to take off the stiff jeans. Except, now, she’s startlingly aware she’s standing before Marcus in nothing but her underwear and an unforgivably tight tank top.

"Good evening, Sunshine." He grins, that smile that makes her think that maybe he should be the one she called 'Sunshine'. "I brought you coffee." An odd offering at nine on a Wednesday evening but she’d been complaining, via text, about the lack of quality caffeine all day. Marcus offers her a polystyrene takeout cup as he steps inside.

"Lifesaver," she mumbles as she grabs it by the flimsy top and shuffles towards the kitchen to pour it into her unused Death Cab for Cutie mug — the mug her brother bought her three birthdays ago — and sips on the coffee. It's far too hot but she doesn't care; she needs the caffeine just to keep her eyes open. She grabs the blanket that she’s been sleeping under and wraps it around her waist, hyper-aware that she’s still wandering around in her underwear. She’s almost too tired to care.

"Are you okay?" It’s almost like he can tell. Though, she’s sure it probably has something to do with the dark bags beneath her eyes. She’s sure it probably looks like she’s been punched square in the face.

She shrugs. "I'll be fine. 'm just tired," She hums. Coraline slumps back against the couch cushions, pulls a thick blanket back over her body and lets her eyes flutter shut again. She groans and pinches the bridge of her nose.

"Bad night sleep?" There’s bags and piles of fresh laundry piled on the chair he usually sits on, a product of Coraline’s half-hearted attempt at productivity. Instead, he resigns and sits down beside her at the opposite end of the couch, lifting her legs absentmindedly to rest in his lap, sipping on his own drink, and smiling at her sympathetically as she stifles a yawn against the back of her hand.

Her eyes drag towards him when she opens them again. They rest on his face, studying everything from the softness of his brow and the curve of his prominent nose, to the scattering of facial hair that dances across his jaw, small patches of grey poking through at the edges. She’s glad he kept it after whatever undercover work he’d been assigned to before they’d even met. "If I tell you it was the worst night sleep I'd ever had, in my entire life, would that make me sound dramatic?"

"You? Dramatic?" Marcus scoffs and a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. His free hand rests on her leg; he draws patterns against her skin but she’s not even sure he realises he’s doing it. "Never."

“Shut up.” Coraline glares at him but smiles, regardless. "Well, I think I'm allowed a pass today."

His face falls at her words. "What happened?"

She sighs and takes a hand through her hair. "My dad-" She eyes him as he watches her intently, brown eyes soft and comforting. "-he's ill again."

Cora had told him about her dad's illness, about how she worried he'd wind up back there again, in the hospital, that things would be worse this time. He'd listened to her like what he was saying was the most important thing in the world and she'd almost cried when he'd held her in a hug a little longer than usual. It was that night that she’d tried to ask him about his past; she wasn’t sure if he was trying to avoid telling her because he didn’t trust her or because it held things he didn’t want to relive. She half-hoped it was the latter, but she hated to think that he might be bottling things up, things he didn’t want her to know or didn’t feel comfortable sharing.

She wishes he’d tell her things. She’ll understand, no matter what it was. She’ll listen, like he does to her, for as long as he needs, as long as he wants.

It’s almost comical how different they are in that sense. Marcus is reserved, closed off, but in way that doesn’t suit him. It’s like whatever exists there, whatever memories lingered, had been withered by sadness, by something or someone, until there’s a barrier guarding his secrets and story that he hasn’t meant to build. She sees the softness in his eyes when she tells him her stories or shares her fears, like his heart is aching to spill the details of his past. Like he can’t let it out. It works for his job — undercover work, secrets, classified information — but somehow it doesn’t suit the smile and the softness of his words as he illuminates Coraline’s darkness.

Coraline, on the other hand, finds her words spilling from her chest before she can even hold them back. She’s not sure if it’s just him — the reassuring smiles, the soft brush of a hand, the gentle voice — but they pour from her at an almost embarrassing speed, like a waterfall of words cascading at regrettable speed. She’s not even entirely sure that she won’t spill her secrets to the next stranger in the street who offers her a smile. But that works for her job; people prying, picking her apart like vultures, scavengers of information found tucked away out of reach. It’s the worst part of the job description, to expect someone to know every detail of your private life, but she often thinks she’s open enough to sate them, until they leave her alone at last.

On paper, they make no sense. Jobs, the polar opposite, necessary privacy mixed with relentless publicity. Open and closed doors. But Coraline thinks, perhaps, that’s why they work. It balances them both out.

Marcus reaches over and catches her hand in his. There's barely any space between them because of the way they’re sat, with her feet prodding at his knees. "I'm sorry, Cora," he whispers, his thumb running over her knuckles softly.

After a shaky smile, gazes locked for maybe a little too long, Coraline stands up and smooths out her shirt. As much as she appreciates it, and appreciates him, she doesn't want to cry. Not today. "It'll be okay." She scrapes her thumb under her eyes, brushing away the black smudges that she's sure have formed underneath her eyes, and finishes the last of her coffee. "Everything will be okay."

Cora isn't entirely sure she believes that.

[vwildmonk]

2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 8, 11, 13 and 14?

B for you also!!

Also: If she were in smash/mario kart, what powers do you think she'd have and what would her vehicle look like???

What's your favorite thing about playing her?

Random thought you have about her that just won't leave your brain?

Putting under a read more as these got long again, but thanks for sending in the ask! Happy to take many more as these are always fun! Also looking forward after a game soon seeing how Lin centric answers change, she’s going to be going through some fun (and happy) things in her near future!

Also excellent extra Qs Frosty, love to see ‘em!

2.  How easy is it for your character to laugh? Laughter… oh tough one cos Lin, she does laugh quite frequently. But some of that is a forced laugh at the end of one of her own ‘look at the peckin’ idiot jokes’ or to misdirect things (both so others dont see and so she doesn’t always have to think too deeply about her words). But she also does laugh genuinely quite a bit as well; family shenanigans, silly stories over warm meals or steaming drinks, watching toon chaos go down that is safe and silly. It’s easy when you know her to get honest laughs- she’s open with those she loves and as they bring her joy the actual warm laughter comes easy. Something that is going to get even easier given time. It’s loud and bright and full of warmth and it’s going to be softer.

3. How do they put themselves to bed at night (reading, singing, thinking?) At the moment? A sharp drink of a sleeping potion and trying very hard to think happy thoughts as she blacks out- nightmares still come but she does try. Waking half-shifted too few hours later and fighting a shift isn't great... but she slept enough right? 

But In the future? It’s going to be better. Reading sometimes, but also a good cup of Stagehand’s special hot chocolate and a final chat with her boy are going to be important and soft. Making sure he’s asleep, sometimes staying with him to make sure he gets good dreams and nodding off herself. Other nights it’s getting herself in the comfiest pyjamas she can find, snagging a lullapop to put on the bedside table and doing some breathing exercises with Network humming songs to her. Nightmares might still happen, but with a major dangerous card off the table, she’s going to feel easier about getting support. Her dreams are going to get sweeter… and maybe one or two cuddle piles will be helpful. She always sleeps best when she knows family are near and safe, in either of the two places she calls home. The last thought she has when drifting off is the phantom of comforting hands she’s felt in the past full of love and reassurance, slipping into sweet dreams and true sleep knowing everything is alright.

4. How easy is it to earn their trust? It can be quite easy and also quite hard! She’s guarded and needs a reason to trust people. But there are ways, if you seem kind and caring and open- if she sees good and soft present? You show her through your acts that you are someone potentially safe to trust? She’s got a bleeding heart and a wish to help. Having people care for her back and trust in her confirms that bond, She will do her best to prove that the care is well placed. Other ways are steps: You help out children and she sees that? Congratulations you have a little bit of her trust. If she gives you her business card, you’re definitely working your way up as network, and if she invites you around or turns up to a place that you’ve invited her to more than once? Yeah you’ve definitely got her trust then- you might even be family.

5. How easy is it to earn their mistrust? Lin likes to think herself as a wary person, and she is- once bitten twice shy sort of thing- she can get quite railroading on her views. In this world if someone can harm you and gain something from it, they likely will- she’s seen that quite a bit from her cases. So if something sits wrong with her, or she finds things out that taint views, or someone just keeps pushing the wrong buttons it can break that trust or prevent it from ever forming. However, given time and proof Lin can learn to trust people even if she didn’t originally.

Breaking her trust? Withholding dangerous info from her or doing something that takes what little control she has out of her hand. Once you’ve broken or splintered the bond it is going to be incredibly hard to earn it back. 

She’ll beat herself up for months that she didn’t see it coming, or worse question where she went wrong that led to the moment happening. It’s a surefire way to get her walls up and once you’re on a mistrust list it’s tricky to find ways to get off them.

6. Do they consider laws flexible, or immovable? Oh another tough one! Lin sees laws as both. They can be flexible, you can find the loopholes and the strings and manipulate them so the system is the best it can be- work within it to keep people safe and as shielded as possible- with the Law backing you it makes it harder for things to go wrong. At the same time she sees the corruption in places and knows that if things go wrong that immovable authority and strong laws will be worse than hitting a brick wall. Just because laws can do good, doesn’t mean the people behind them always are. It’s one of the reasons she is so worried for Lil Boomer. If that kid gets into trouble enough to actually get caught by the authorities, she’s genuinely unsure how she could get the flexibility to make sure that little reelkind didn’t get hurt.

8. What were they told to stop/start doing most often as a child Oh Lin had a lot of people giving her advice as a kid, many different stagehands helping her learn things and also beyond that. She’s got a few snippets she recalls best: “Start/keep exploring, there’s a world full of people Pompom, never stop seeing that.”, “”lil Lin, pompom, kiddo, please for the love of peckin’ gods stop leaping from the rafters to scare folks, do it like this!”, “Never be afraid to come in for a hug pompom dear, always ask permission first mind for most folks, but remember to keep being open- you’re a good kid, keep being soft eh?” … “Pompom… Lin please, whatever the peck is going on stop and talk to us Stop shoving us away! What’s happening to You?! What is wrong with your design? What is wrong with your face, this isn’t normal would you just- Lin Lil Lin Stagehand talk to us! -Kiddo!” 

11. How do they cope with confusion (seek clarification, pretend they understand, etc)? If it’s for a case or for something related to someone she cares about, she seeks info out. Either clarifying with folks or doing some sleuthing and finding as many reports or related information snippets as she can. She might even straight up bluntly ask someone if something makes no peckin sense about them. Although she tries to have habit of tact for her inner circle when she asks questions, or with children. She tries to be soft as needed. Her track record of near perfect cases definitely proves that she has done her best over the years to limit confusion at all costs.

 If it’s something related to herself though, perhaps about the cure? She will dig up as much as she can but also likely spiral if she can’t find the source or the answer to the thing confusing her most. She’ll pretend everything is fine while internally going into panic spiral at ‘peckin detective can’t even help themself’. Nothing is ever simple or calm and so she can’t believe it if something is too easy, and she’ll drive herself into confusion if she listens to much to her paranoia.

13. What color do they think they look best in? Do they actually look best in that color? Lin… doesn’t really know what colour she looks best in? She’s had the same outfit for as long as she can remember with the odd costume for a case or seasonal event. Navy and Red are her go to colours and she does suit them quite well when she is her natural true colour. In fact she does think she looks good in them, especially with her niece-jumper in gold-red-navy. So that’s her ‘best look’! 

When her fur has become the distressed russet the red kind of clashes a bit but that won’t be an issue forever. She’ll have to try out other colours someday, when she gets the time and energy to go clothes shopping, maybe try out autumnal or halloween themed colours, she’ll see how things go.

What animal do they fear most? Herself Wolves. She knows other wolves aren’t like the Thing that bit her, and the Thing in and of itself wasn’t fully wolf… whatever the peck it was is something else… but yeah, from her own shifting and knowledge of what she can do, and that memory of something lupine and huge hurtling at her from the dark… its definitely an animal that sparks her fear response and has her reaching for her broach and crossbow at the sound of a howl or a too big shadow. 

She will meet lycans in the future that help ease that, and seeing druids like her son be able to change to wolf form is cool… but if she doesn’t see it coming or one come at her from behind she will flinch and shield whoever’s closest to her and mentally be somewhere else for a second. 

An old fear that’s going to take a long while for her to be able to ease away. Wolves are wonderful creatures, she just has to break the association.

B) What inspired you to create them? Honestly? Toonkind in general. I saw my first session of it on YouTube when I was alone and wandering what to do with myself as my DnD adventure died with lockdown. But this whole new world of insane and amazing characters and stupendous people- it sparked such joy and life in me. Lin was formed from that joy, and then from there she has grown. I am so delighted by the stories I can tell with her and the people I have met through her. That creation inspiration has bloomed since then... in fact: Lin thinks in network connections, and in this instance, the Drafthouse server to me? Is a RAINBOW of inspiration.

Mario karts: 

Vehicle wise: She’d have something small, a very speedy little car in her signature colours and a very happy tooting little horn, does it have racing flames on the side? Absolutely bc she delights in the silly things even as she projects sensible detective as well. 

Special power move? You ever heard this little monkey swear? An explosion of tangible grawlix symbols in a rainbow of colours bursting from the car to knock people out of the way (followed by a very quiet version of her signature laugh).

Favourite thing about playing her? Interactions with others. Lin has built an amazing web of family that is full of love and warmth and softness. Getting to see her grow into that and reach back is something so soft that I am delighted to enable. Her CornMaze family, spooky grandparents, her son? her many adopted children and newfound friendly pecknecks? It’s the people that make it fun to play her and give her such life. She changes and grows and shifts even beyond what I think of her and so that makes it so exciting to play as I have no idea what the future will have in store.

…also not going to lie hearing people scream “Lin for peck sake NO” adds years to my lifespan as I cackle, she’s a beloved but so very dumb little monkey who makes poor life choices and audience reactions give me life.

[chromium7sky]

Damirae week Day 4: college au| i only focus (on you)

A/n: i’m a sucker series part 3 enjoy.

That damn headache made her lay on the bed again as soon as she wake up from her slumber. She felt aching sore of her body as she tried to move any of her limbs. As she about to doze off suddenly she remember she had an appointment on 11 am.

Quickly she jolted out from the bed and later she regret doing it as her head felt as if been hit by a train. "What happen last night oww... "

"Aren't you suppose to have class? "

Oh, shit. That voice. As she turn around, she saw Damian in his last night clothes holding two cups of coffee. Then she look around the room. "This is not my apartment!! " she goes frantic.

"Well obviously. " Damian sip his coffee casually then gives the other cup to her. "It's for the hangover. It'll helps."

Raven hesitately to accept but due to the trobbing headache she felt, she accept and took some sip, hopefully it will ease it.

"I think I messed up last night. "

"You really messed up."

Raven looked at him.

"BIG TIME. "

“Oh no. Oh god.” Her face grew paler then shake her head. Suddenly, she realise something. As soon as she settle her coffee at the nightstand, she look at herself, wearing a shirt , men’s to be presumed, then she took a peek under her comforter. No pants.

Damian observed her as she gasped realise the situation she's in. "Oh MY GOD! " She look at herself then Damian. He hide his smirk as he sip his coffee.

"What happen last night?! Did we do it?!!! " her eyes went wide. Guess her shock really has take over her killing headache.

"....We were have some fun. "

"F-Fun?" she's having her cold feet.

"FUN." Damian said it with his death-pan face. "And you almost break my bed. "

Raven felt her face burn up. "B-b-break? Oh God! " she buried her face with her palm. The embarassing is unbearable. "W-what do you mean fun? " as her voice muffled against her hands.

"Flirting, Undressing and... "

"Aaaa...I don't wanna hear it!" she pulled the pillow and cover her head.

Damian smirked as he sees her reaction after drunk night. 'Oh, this is FUN.'

"I'm an idiot!" Raven muffled squeal into the pillow.

"You ARE an idiot. I told you to blend in last night, did I? " Damian sighed, as he lean on the wall near his bed.

"As far as i know from urban dictionary, in a bar, blend in means drinking! " Raven defend her.

"Well, you could at LEAST pretend to drink but still, not bad for first timer. " Damian chuckled as he look at her.

Raven whimpered as she tried to process the information she get from the her 'fake' boyfriend.

"By the way, you are a childish when you’re drunk. Quite funny though when you talk like a ten year old." Damian starts to laugh as he remember the night before.

“But... But.. If its childish that means we didn't do anything...pervert, right?? " she tried to convince herself.

"I DIDN'T do anything pervert." Damian cross his arm and stare at her. "You DID."

Raven upon hearing it, she flop to the bed and scream into the pillow. How could she'd be out of control?! Especially with him!

"Come on, I made you some breakfast. Better eat it before it gets cold. " Damian walked out from the bedroom.

It took a while for her to come out and join him at the table, perhaps, she still shocked with what happen last night. Damian smiled then give a pat on a chair next to him,as a signal for her to sit NEAR to him.

Raven gulped then slowly she drag her feet towards the dining table. Slowly, she pull the chair and sit. Damian observed her as he rest his chin on his palm propping on the table.

"Uh... " Raven try to break the silence but she's kind of lost her words as soon as she look at him. Her imagination start playing on her mind about what happen last night made her fidget and embarassed.

"Don't tell me you're still shy sitting next me?"

"Wha... "

"After what happen last night, You sleep in my bed and on TOP of me. It should be NO problem when seating next to me." He smirked.

"Mmmm... " Raven pressed both of her lips into a thin line.

"Let's eat first then I'll send you to the college." The young detective poured orange juice into two glasses and he served one of them to her.

Raven looked her plate, there's a stack of mini pancake soaked with maple sauce, two sunny eggs and a muffin (where did he get the muffin?).

"Here's the butter. " Damian passed the butter.

"Gee, thanks."

"Aren't you going to call me daddy?"

Raven choked up on her orange juice. She glared at him as she coughed, adjusting her airways. "Must you tease me?" her pitch voice goes higher in annoyance.

"Oh, yes, Babe."

It gives her the cringe as well as she heard his laugh, kinda rare to see him so casual. The usual Damian she met are always serious, monotone and well, has that stubborn old man attitude.

She focus on her eating, couldn't afford to be late for this appointment. Before the drunk night , she happens to received a letter says there's an art association wanted to offer her sponsorship to Japan for study in art interactive and pop culture.

"So, you're gonna wear yesterday clothes for the class? " Damian asked as he ate his mini pancakes.

"Actually it's for meeting with an Art Association about scholarship. " she nimbled on eggs then sip on her drink.

"Oh? "

"Can we stop by at my apartment first then go to my college? " she looked at him. She need a new clothes. Appropriate one.

"Your apartment are much further besides, mine is nearer." as Damian finished his plate. "We'll buy new clothes. " Damian cleaning his dishes. "That's what boyfriends do, right? " he smirked as he sidelong stare at her.

Again she felt heat rushed to her cheeks. "Fine, I'm going for a quick shower." she sighed as she walked to sink to wash her dishes but instead he take her plate and her glasses.

"Take a shower at my room. The towel is on the rack besides the bathroom door. " as he washes her dishes.

Raven noded then went to the bathroom as she took the towel from the rack. The bathroom is so huge that she were agape with its spacious interior. She tried to find the shower heads. "Where is that goddamn shower? " as she try to find the switch hen she saw a knob with number 0-5.

"Is this for lighting? " She turn the knob and rain start to pour in the middle of the room.

"Oohhhhh!!!! " she exclaimed, like she just discover a new life hack.

"What?! What's wrong?!" Damian yelled outside the bathroom.

"Nope. Nothing. Just found the shower and don't come in!!" she warned him.

"It's almost 9.30! Hurry up, Mermaid!"

"I know!"

***********

"So, where are we going to buy my clothes?" Raven ask as she sunk in her seat while Damian drive his car.

His black mazda entering the parking site of a shopping mall near by her campus site.

"Lady's store of course, where else? " as he pull her hands to several exclusive store. "Wh... " before she could reply several shopping assistant has pulled her to the fitting room as Damian ordered them. "Find something professional for her first interview. "

As she come out from the fitting room with soft cotton blouse, navy blue jacket and black palazzo, he noded and shows his ok sign.

"Damian, you don't have to do this." Raven stand beside him at the counter as cashier present the receipt.

Damian pull out his golden card to the cashier. "It's for your future, Raven. First impression is important. "

Raven sighed. "Don't judge a book by it's cover, Damian."

"It's not about cover, Raven. It's about..." he paused as he stunned looked at Raven's new appeal. " Its about discover a real diamond among the rubble."

"You and your talk. " Raven chuckled as she closed her mouth. As soon as they left the mall, Damian reached her campus at 10.50 am.

"There, you're 10 minutes early. I hope you could practice your speech before the 'interrogation' begin. " he smirked. Raven sneered at him and about to get out from his car.

Damian quickly caught her wrist.

"What?" Raven look at him as she saw he put on crystal bracelet on her wrist. "What is this?"

"Incase something bad happen, Pull the charm."

"But I have cellphone. I can... "

"What if that perp took your handphone? what if there's no line? what if your phone has no battery? what if... "

"Alright, alright, I'll wear it! " she sighed annoyingly. "You're sound like my mother." she pout.

"Of course I am because I... " he stop abruptly. "Because I am your fake boyfriend." he continued. " and I don't want you end up becoming my case investigation. " his stare getting darker.

Raven swallowed as she saw his smoldering look. "I'll becareful." Raven noded.

"Good luck." Damian pull her wrist that has bracelet and kiss her cheek. Raven gasped as she accidentally open the door. She almost fell out of the car backward but saved by Damian as he pulled her arm. "You are unbelievable." he muttered then sighed.

"I Gotta go. " she quickly gone out from his car. Damian wave at her then drove away. As she watch the car move towards the gate, she just sighed and cursed at herself for being clumsy.

She never been this clumsy ever since after the drunk night, maybe it was because of her mind wondering what happen yesterday? Perhaps so.

Quickly, she paced up to the a building that has several classroom that usually used for the interview but this letter said the venue is in the AV room.

As she reach to the room, she knock it first then come in. There is no one there. Strange...

"Hello? Is there anyone in here? " said Raven as she went in. As she wander around suddenly the light flickers. She look at the ceiling then she realise the monitor from the other room were open.

She felt goosebump starts to crawl at the back of her neck, she quickly dashed towards the door. As she about to hold the knob, she felt a surge of electric sting her that made jerk off from that door.

'Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.' Her heart become panicking. She looked around try to find a way to escape. As she consider the vent at the other of the room, a shadow start to merge behind her.

She felt heavy breathing behind, gather up her courage she tried to dash forward until she felt a hard knock on her head. Her vision become blurry and she fell on the floor. Black out.

[imagine-this-imagine-fanfiction]

Cannonball~Malia Tate/Hale

A/N: So this is something I wrote on Wattpad, it’s a Malia Tate love story. With my main character Lemony Stilinski, obviously Stiles twin sister. I thought I would put up my prologue on Tumblr in case people are looking for a Malia x OC girlfriend story, because I love Malia. If you like it I’ll put the link below. Or I’ll try. If I can’t my Wattpad user is in my bio.

~~~

It was a quite night over Beacon Hills memorial hospital. The death of a teenage girl had just hit the news, stabbed in the chest. The hallway of the hospital's second floor echoed with a single pair of footsteps, they belonged to a seventeen year old boy, long, fluffy, almost black hair with dark eyes filled with loss.

His hand reached out to a closed door, the sign read: 'Stilinski' it had been scribbled in by a nurse that was in a rush and didn't seem to care who's room it was. Underneath that name read: 'Emily' the writing was almost impossible to make out, like you had to know who was in there to be able to read it. And this boy certainly knew who was in there.

The boy wandered aimlessly into the room, he looked over to the bed which was filled by a tall girl the same age as the boy. Twins. The boy was older and he would never let her forget it. That is if she would ever wake up. The boy grabbed a plastic chair and placed it next to the head of the bed where the girl laid.

It had become a monthly thing for the boy, to come to the hospital in his spare time, to talk to the girl, to read to her (always her favourite books: Percy Jackson, The Maze Runner, Harry Potter anything really), anything that could spark something in the girl.

Lifeless. Pale. Almost dead. That's what ran through the boy's mind when he saw her. He wanted to say something to her but nothing came to mind. His mind was blank, empty, he was lost without his sister. He knew he had to say something, so he cleared his throat and started.

"Lemony. It's me. Again. Listen. I don't know if you can hear me, I hope you can cause that means all these visits will have paid off, it's Allison. I know you two were close, along with Lydia before this." He said gesturing to the girl in a coma. "She died. Lemony she's dead. I'm sorry. If it makes you feel any better she died saving us all. You're right it doesn't help. So now is the time for you to wake up. Lemony please wake up, I know I've said this a hundred times since the incident but I mean it now." The boy took a deep breath, looking at his shaky hand holding her cold still one. "I need you Lemony."

Around a year ago on the last day Lemony had seen awake, she was stood by the bleachers watching her brother and his friends sitting on the bench by the pitch. They were watching for the boy with the number thirty seven and waiting for someone to die. Lemony had no clue what was going on with her brother so she walked over to the three boys.

"Hey bro." She smiled, taking a seat next to her brother. "And brother's friends." She looked at the two on the other side of him. "Why was we staring all gog-eyed at Jackson?" The girl asked looking over at number thirty-seven.

"Lemony. Listen. We're not staring okay?" Her brother started getting defensive. "We're just keeping an eye on him."

"Oh Stiles seriously I've never heard so much rubbish. Especially coming from you." She retorted with a heavy laugh.

"Just leave okay. I don't want you here." Stiles snapped at her. He had his reasons but Lemony didn't know those reasons.

"Fine. I hope you lose Stiles." She stood up and confronted him. "I wanted to come and support you but no. I hope you enjoy the bench." She turned to walk away.

As she did so, the entire pitch went black, joining the darkness of the night surrounding them. The crowd began to shout and panic. Those in Beacon Hills had a reputation for it, considering what happens in the town.

The lights were back on almost as soon as they went out, everyone was panicking. A crowd had formed on the lacrosse pitch. The three boys ran to join the crowd. To find Jackson in the centre on the floor, his stomach was bleeding.

"Stiles you need to get your sister out of here." Scott turned to his friend, who was already looking around for the brunette girl who looked like him.

That was when he noticed another crowd of people, they were circling around a girl, this got Stiles worried.

"Lemony?" He asked, Scott and Isaac followed his gaze to the smaller crowd.

Stiles ran faster than he ever remembered running until he reached the slowly growing crowd. Shoving his way through the crowd, yelling "Excuse me"'s and "Move"'s until he reached the centre of the circle.

His heart stopped when he saw it. Lemony unconscious, her eyes open but rolled to the back of her head. There was a student performing CPR as a precaution. He was lost, and before he knew it he was knelt beside his sister screaming, crying, yelling her name.

Scott grabbed Stiles by the arms trying to pull him away to focus on the task at hand, but with all of Scott's attempts failing and Stiles yelling his sister's name, nothing would wake her.

"Lemony. Please wake up. It's been a year." Stiles looked at the closed eyes of his sister, she reminded him of their mum. "The doctors are surprised you've held on this long, they don't know why you're in a coma at all. They say you wouldn't be, that you should be walking around, perfectly fine, and healthy. Why aren't you Lemony?" He continued playing with her hand. "Dad's given up on you. He's begun packing all of your belongings thinking that you'll soon be joining mum. But you won't Lemony, I won't let you. Show him how strong you are. Please."

It had gotten to the point where Stiles had asked for the help of Deaton, a Druid, but he had no clue either. While in the coma, Stiles would tell Lemony everything, from what they learnt in econ that week to Scott becoming a werewolf. He knew it was a long shot of her hearing and/or remembering all these one sided conversations he would have with her.

"Wake up!" He yelled, he knew he wouldn't get a response but he had no filter, no fuse, nothing stopping him. He place his hands on her shoulders. "I know you can hear me Lemony." He sighed before yelling again. "Wake up!" He shook her ever so slightly. "Please! Lemony! Wake up!"

That's when the door swung open, to reveal the sheriff, their dad. He looked at the image in front of him. His son shaking and yelling at his comatose daughter. But Stiles didn't stop when the door opened, he didn't even look. He just yelled again. "Wake up!"

"Stiles!" Their dad shouted running toward his son pulling him off his daughter. "That's not going to work. Let's go home."

"No dad. Just 'cause you've given up on her doesn't mean you can stop me from seeing her!" Stiles shouted, he was still distraught about Allison, and that didn't help his mood now. "I've tried everything except this, I even asked a freaking Druid for help. That was a dead end. I'm out of options, I don't want to lose her. I don't want her to die." He began to cry.

"I know Stiles. Say goodbye. We need to get you home." Their dad sighed holding back his own tears.

The boy turned towards the bed again, looking all over the girl to see if she'd moved, even a toe it didn't matter to him. But nothing. He let out a strong but heavy breath. "Bye." He mumbled before reaching down to kiss her forehead.

As he began to pull away, the heart rate monitor tracking the girl's heart beat began beeping faster and faster. Until a nurse came running in to check what was going on. The nurse was checking the screens, looking concerned.

This was nothing. It was when the girl began convulsing, rolling from side to side, her body was shaking. It was like her subconscious was trying to wake her up while her conscious didn't want to. But the girl's eyes refused to open.

"Stiles what did you do?" The nurse asked, as more doctors entered the room.

"I'm sorry, Melissa. I was upset about Allison. I shouted at her to wake up." Stiles plead to Melissa McCall.

"I think you two should go." Melissa instructed, showing the two the door. "I will call you if anything changes."

Stiles and his dad slowly walked towards the door, well Mr. Stilinski did. He had to walk back to Stiles who was still stood staring at his sister and place a hand on his shoulder to slowly lead him out. While Mr. Stilinski lead his son out the room Stiles felt something, something lingering on his shoulder almost spirit like. It felt like it was trying to tell him something.

Then it did. In a voice he hadn't heard in a year.

"STILES!"