#i dunno why i like this sort of a combination so much. it just scratches my brain.

[buttercup-barf]

It's your bathroom mirror. Mum is right behind you.

[doyouevenshipbr0]

gruvia drabble

author’s note: well. everybody. are we surprised??????? i dont write a thing for like months but then i get inspiration and here i am✨✨ also im not gonna lie... this fic is a lil bit ooc. v much for gray. its believable but like BARELY. so BASICALLY if u dont read fairy tail 100 years quest, this might not make a whole lotta sense to u, but i think youll be able to follow! SO! this fic is based off of the gruvia interactions in the latest fairy tail 100 years quest chapter! chapter 63!!! enjoy my beautiful ppl!:)❤️❤️❤️

*

Without missing a beat, Juvia launched herself at her darling Gray. “Ahh...” She lulled with great relief. “It’s so good to see you safe, Gray-sama.”

Her arms naturally wrapped around his neck as she sweetly nuzzled her face right into his. The two of them were certainly beat up from their battle with Metro, and they had the bandages wrapped around themselves from head-to-toe to proove it. Yet, naturally, Juvia didn’t mind. Her body was achey, sure, but all she could feel was warmth from her overwhelming love for Gray.

She felt Gray’s muscles soften. He brought his hand up to the top of her head, bringing her into the crook of his neck, and he followed her lead by resting his cheek atop her head. He couldn’t help but smirk at the sight of Juvia safe and acting like her normal self. After finally getting a moment to breathe, this was the first time in a long time he was really seeing Juvia where they weren’t fighting or she wasn’t partially brainwashed by Touka. It was nice to see her back to being unequivocally Juvia.

“You too.” Was all he replied, but that was all he needed to say.

Gray could hear the gasps going around the guild at the sight of he and Juvia, but he paid it no mind.

“Ok tiger, think you could maybe put some pants on?” Cana’s call to Gray was what finally snapped him out of it.

“Gah! My pants!” He exclaimed, flustered, breaking from his embrace with Juvia.

“They’re right here, darling!” Juvia quickly gathered his clothes. Naturally, she was always keeping track.

“Thanks.” He snatched them. He snapped his attention to his number one rival, and pointed at him. “Natsu, as soon as I get these back on, I’m kicking your ass!” He shouted.

“Eh?!” He responded. “Why me?!”

“Because you got to have all the fun taking down a dragon! Now I want a piece of you!” He taunted. He couldn’t deny that the combination of a couple beers, and the adrenaline rush from another Fairy Tail victory, was amping Gray up, to say the least.

“Bring it on!” Natsu grinned, and began cracking his knuckles.

Before they knew it, a bunch of the guys were rolling around like wild animals. You would’ve never thought they just faced one of the biggest battles of their lives, but, well, that was Fairy Tail.

“Get em’, Gray-sama!” Juvia cheered on, energetically, just as he swung a punch at Gajeel.

Juvia went back to the bar to get some more drinks, and Gray was shortly behind her. “Aw man.” He flopped onto the seat beside Juvia, out of breath. “Those guys don’t mess around in a fight. Even when we’re already beaten to a pulp.” Gray snickered. He did love a good fight, but he couldn’t deny his body was tired.

Juvia hummed a giggle. “The same can be said for you. Juvia saw you throwing some solid punches.” She handed him a beer.

“Did you expect anything less?” Gray playfully smirked at Juvia, causing her to blush just a tad.

“Of course not.” She grinned.

“Lucy!” Gray shouted, and as he did so, he casually brought his arm around Juvia, placing a hand on her shoulder as they both sat. Juvia was really blushing now. She sat still and silent, afraid of ruining the moment.

Gray continued once Lucy turned to him. “Why don’t you give Natsu some of that booze? Maybe that would take him off his game and I could kick his sorry ass in one shot!” He joked.

The hand still weighed heavy on Juvia’s shoulder. Did Gray place it there by accident? Did he know what he was doing? Maybe he just needed her so he could keep his balance? Or maybe he was cold and wanted Juvia to keep him warm?

Natsu perked up “Give me all the booze in the world! I’ll still kick your ass!” Just as he said that, Elfman came up from behind him, and slammed his body to the ground. Gray and Juvia both laughed.

“Leave it to Natsu to pick a fight with just about anyone.” He snorted, but Juvia couldn’t pay much attention to what Gray was saying at the moment.

He casually brought his hand down for just a moment, and just as Juvia’s mind rolled with questions as to what he could possibly be doing now, she was given an answer. He softly took a lock of her hair in his hand, and ever so lightly stroked it. Juvia was frozen in happiness. She didn’t dare turn her head, but she did see Gray out of the corner of her eye, and he simply took a gulp of his beer, without seeming to mind at all that he was doing something completely and utterly unlike him—public affection. However, he was unbothered. He continued rhythmically running his fingers through her hair as if this was the most normal thing in the world to him.

“Maybe I’m bias, but beer is better when Mira’s serving it at the guild.” He said to Juvia as he looked curiously at his beer. While saying this, he even began to twirl a piece of hair between his fingers. The way her heart fluttered with each flip of his fingers was something she’d never felt, but wow— what a feeling. Unfortunately, Juvia could not hold back this reaction as shivers were sent all over her body rather noticeabley.

“You ok?” Gray stopped the hair stroking, and brought his palm to the middle of her back, still seemingly putting forth an effort to touch her, and he looked over at her.

“Y-yes!” Juvia jolted. “Juvia is fine!”

“You sure?” He raised a brow. “You seem a little tense.”

“No! Honestly! Juvia is completely fine, just a bit caught off guard is all!” She was starting to break a sweat. Leave it to her to screw up a moment.

“How so?” He finally pulled the hand away, to Juvia’s dismay.

“W-well...” She fiddled with her thumbs. “It-it’s just that... Gray-sama... was playing with Juvia’s hair, a-and you had your arm around me—and— Juvia was just surprised, that’s all!”

“Oh.” Gray was the one who was a bit stunned this time. His cheeks turned bright red, and he couldn’t help but look away.

Honestly, he really wasn’t even aware that he was doing that until Juvia pointed it out. He was taken aback by himself, admittedly. It wasn’t like him to be a hands-on type of guy. However, what he did know, was now that he knew he wasn’t touching her, he felt a desire to touch her more than ever. It was like once he knew she wasn’t in his grasp, a piece of himself felt lost. He wanted his arm around her. He wanted to feel her soft blue waves run through his fingers. He wanted to feel her warm embrace in his arms. So, even though he didn’t make a conscious effort to be physical, it was what he wanted. He wanted to feel her, and thus feel comfort. Feel serenity. Feel happiness.

“But, it’s ok!” Juvia leaned towards him. “Juvia didn’t mind at all! Not one bit! Oh, Juvia is so sorry! She’s insulted Gray-sama! As an apology, you may touch Juvia wherever you want!” She stood up and proudly spread her arms and puffed her chest, displaying herself for Gray.

Gray’s whole face burned fiercely. “Ah, jeez, would you sit down!” He snapped, and he took Juvia by her shoulders, putting her back in her seat.

“Juvia is sorry!” She exclaimed. “It’s just that, it’s not like Gray-sama to show any sort of affection in public! Juvia doesn’t know how to act!”

“Yeah, I guess.” Gray nervously scratched the back of his head. “I dunno’, it’s just that, well, after so many of these fights and always putting our lives on the line, it’s just hard to believe we’ve made it this far. On top of that, seeing all my comrades safe and...” He paused. “Seeing you safe after all of this... it just makes me feel so relieved. And, well, basically, I’ve come to realize that life is short.” He looked down. “Really short. And, I don’t wanna waste time worrying about stupid stuff. I just wanna’ do what’ll make me happy.”

He finally locked eyes with Juvia. “And you make me happy.”

Tears rushed to her stunned eyes. “Oh, Gray-sama!” She threw herself onto him all over again. He reciprocated almost instantly, placing a hand on her back. She looked back up at him, eyes glazed with tears. “You make Juvia happy too.” She smiled gently.

“Glad we’re on the same page.” Gray smirked, and then he brought Juvia back into his hold. They were both where they belonged- safe, and in each other’s arms.

As Juvia rested against his chest, she felt a comforting sensation that was already so familiar to her: Gray combing his fingers ever so gently through her long hair.

[tartagliaxx]

first off, hello 🤷‍♀️ anon! sorry i missed you out

and secondly, dw, marius is my favourite too lol, he reminds me a lot of my younger cousin who i lived with when i was younger. i was always the one who took care of him and marius calling me older sister just set off so much memories of my childhood. the both of them are also vv similar in personality, attention seeking, playful and artistic so i always see him whenever i look at marius.

artem is probably my second favourite ngl, ever since i read his ssr where he was jealous and got drunk (what a good combination lmao) i just grew so soft for him. at the end of the day, he's just a vv soft sweetheart who's insecure that we'll leave him :(( i have like 3 ssrs at lvl36, two of them are artem cards and the other is luke. i vibe with luke too bc i love the childhood friends trope, it's top tier. and as for vyn... i have vv mixed feelings abt him. i feel like he could so easily see through me if he was real and i'm just like, how about no. he's rlly pretty though, like rlly pretty.

*major spoilers*

and you've finished the archon quests!!! personally, i feel like the ending felt a bit rushed(?). it's weird bc i thought the resistance war against the raiden shogun was supposed to be the center of the story, but it just devolved to us helping yae with the entire war being swept to the side. and i already knew somebody was gonna die, and as soon as i saw that teppei had become the captain, i just knew.

it's interesting bc i would love to explore what happened to la signora and scaramouche to make them so disregarding of human life. like, i don't like them, but i want to understand their minds. it's sad to read signora's artifact's background honestly. and the fact that her crown said she used to be called rosalyne, that she had perhaps once led a more innocent and naive existence. i dunno, to me it seems like a good ending for her honestly, she had already lost herself after her lover's death and brings pain to many others, i don't think she can rlly return to being her again.

and honestly, a lot of people are talking abt scaramouche not telling signora he already had the gnosis and saying that he orchestrated her death, i don't rlly think so. i feel like he's just that apathetic to human life, even if it's someone that stands on his side, he just doesn't care enough. it also says how he never got along with anyone, not even his fellow harbingers, so i don't know why ppl expect him to seek out someone he doesn't like just to warn her of danger.

i vibe with scaramouche and la signora as the antagonists bc they're good antagonists, but as characters, well. other than the fact that they're pretty, they have like one likeable trait and that is their loyalty. they would do anything for the tsaritsa even if it cost them their life. i'm rlly excited to see what the tsaritsa has in store for us in the future.

considering our sibling is nicknamed 'the prince/princess', i wonder if there's gonna be a day where we're gonna have to go toe to toe with them. if we had them backed them into a corner with no way out, i wonder if they would kill us. it would be an interesting twist if we could actually die, but i feel like the protagonist halo will prevent it lol and i'm sorry bc god, this is so long.

— r. anon

marius. that’s the tweet. man,, you dont realize how in love i am w him?? like,, this man was literally my only hope when i fell horribly sick. i cant w myself now that i’m hearing it w my own voice. it must be nice to remember the good ol’ days… i despise my cousins and i dont have siblings so i dont really have that sort of connection w him. to me, his onee-san is just a joke? a petname? idk but it simultaneously makes me so mad and giddy just like childe’s existence does

i like vyn bc his vibes are sus but at the same time, he’s cares abt our mental health 🥺👉👈 no one’s ever said shit like that to me… jokes aside, luke is seriously threatening his spot bc of his blushing bs like pls 🤲 i’m so weak for that shit give me more. artem makes me soft too like,, he keeps mentioning that he trusts us and he’s just…. HE’S A BIG TEDDY BEAR THAT BLUSHES AT LIKE ACCIDENTAL HAND BRUSHES GRRRR. in conclusion, i love them all.

but man,, give me ssr luck… literally, im in pain…

now that the excitement’s worn off, i can now judge things properly. i think that… the pacing is horrible. like the plot is good, genuinely, but there’s just,, so much to explore abt this. if you think abt it, this is the climax and yet we didnt get much. scratch that. we got a lot but it’s all underdeveloped that it felt like nothing. we go to sangonimiya, got promoted, became captain for like, one sec before we are sent onto an investigation that didnt really produce any results bc app teppei alr knows everything? and then the delusion thing is a good plot point but it’s not really explored? just… a lot of things are left unexplored and i think that story wise, a lot of the possible lore explanations went down the drain. it would’ve been nice if we saw more abt the rebellion and if we had gotten to know whats the real deal w the commissions but eh… idk… i would’ve rather done more quests abt this whole storyline than like… do that whole dance w the three people who lost their vision in 2.0.

if im going to be honest, la signora is such a wasted character. like maybe her death was just for the shock factor or maybe it’s to prepare us for more harbinger encounters in the future.. idk but she’s such a good character from what we’ve seen but we know jack shit abt her and her motives. we know a little from the artifact set but beyond that, what do we have?

precisely! that’s how i feel abt this whole thing when we’re talking seriously. like w ei, i dont really agree w whatever they’re doing but i want to understand why they do the things that they do. everything has a reason and their psychology is just interesting to me.

i think scaramouche’s nature makes it easy for him to disregard human life. call it arrogance or whatever but ultimately, he’s seeing himself as smth above all these people bc he’s more or less capable of standing toe to toe w a god. why should he bother telling signora? it’s not like he gains anything if he does. i think that when he got the gnosis, he’s just ‘well she dies if she dies. who cares abt that? i dont have any need for incompetent colleagues anw’ i agree and i dont think he orchestrated her death but at the same time, he just allowed it to happen too.

as for signora, i’m actually surprised? for the most part, i think that the harbingers took their posts for selfish reasons. for scara, it’s to entertain himself and pass time. for childe, it’s to fight and grow stronger. for dottore, it’s to conduct dubious research w/o anyone stopping him. i expected signora to have some similar motive like power or money but it seems like she does actually believe in the tsaritsa? it would be very intriguing if signora’s main motive in becoming a harbinger is simply bc she is loyal to the tsaritsa and her will. bc in contrast, i think scara and dottore are more loyal to the fact that the tsaritsa can give them what they want, not bc they actually like her. actually, idek if they’re willing to die for her lol. like i wouldnt be surprised if they suddenly abandon post in a life or death situation but who knows…

in any case, they are very good antagonists. i like yo think that the tsaritsa isnt as bad as the game portrays her to be… of all the gods, she’s the one im looking forward to the most but… haha… what version would that be….

i’m almost certain that they’ll make us fight our twin maybe before we face the unknown god? if one of them dies, i would be very sad. like legit. but knowing mhy, well, our twin is almost 100% a walking death flag.

anw i’m shutting up rn— i also spoke too much kahdjabdhakbsjansb—

[duskholland]

I was really debating if I was gonna send u angst or not but u know my brand so what about the enemies to lovers “i know i’m an asshole, but my life really is better with you in it.” with stiles 👀👀

omg love this krystal, thank you so much! I actually combined this with another cheeky request I got, which follows the lines of - Stiles and y/n are rivals at high school and at the start don’t really like each other (or so they think ;)) but then y/n faints/gets minor hurt and stiles has to take her to the school nurse - and they fit together really well so ! here we are ! I hope that’s alright :D

masterlist

[-----]

“You’re an idiot, Stiles.”

“Yeah? Well, at least I’m not a selfish know-it-all!”

“A know-it-all? Seriously? That’s the best you have?”

“Oh, trust me, I have plenty of insults I could use for you, Y/N, but that would just be a waste of breath.”

“Fuck you!”

You slam the door of your locker shut with a rattling clang and clutch your books to your chest, glaring at the boy in front of you. The edges of your vision tint a bright, pulsing red as his beady amber eyes stare you down. Somewhere deep within your gut, you feel a tight ball of hatred stir. Stiles Stilinski has been the bane of your existence ever since your best friend Lydia decided to get involved with Allison and her friends, and ever since, he’s been making your life a living nightmare.

Stiles’ deep frown shifts into an expression of humourless amusement as he follows you down the hall. “I don’t know why you’re running away,” he calls after you, voice light and irritating. “You know as well as I do that this is the only time we have to work on that project for chem.”

You stride outside quickly, knowing you can’t out-walk him, but hoping that it riles him up even further to have to chase you through the crowds. Plus, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t get a kick out of his yells.

“Project for chem,” you imitate, drawing your voice up into a high-pitched imitation of his voice. “I’m Stiles Stilinski and I like to be a teacher’s pet.”

He finally catches up to you when you’ve stalked out to the lacrosse fields. His fingers wrap around your arm and his touch burns against your skin as you spin around, your face warm from irritation. He looks at you, frustration pulled tight over his skin, and you smirk beneath his withering gaze. “You don’t have to be such an asshole, Y/N,” he mutters. He quickly lets go of your arm and scratches at the back of his head, the light of the sun beaming out over his freckly skin. “Can’t believe Ms Hook partnered us together for this. Does she want to kill me?”

You bark a laugh. “Kill you? Seriously, Stiles? This is ten times harder for me.”

He tilts his head to the side. “Really? How come?”

The nearby yells of lacrosse players mix with your disgruntled sigh. “You’re annoying,” you begin. “You always try so hard to be the best and that competitiveness is exhausting. You also always think you know everything. Well, newsflash, Stiles, you don’t.” You’re really digging for it now, feeling your entire body fill with a flushed heat as you stare at the boy who’s made the last six months of your life a nuisance. “You think you can just- just walk around, looking like that, acting all cocky, and that people will fall at your feet. Well, not me.”

“Looking like what?” Stiles echoes, confusion falling over his face.

You gulp as embarrassment twists in the pit of your stomach. Curse your big mouth. “Oh, uh, nothing?”

Stiles opens his mouth to speak, but before you can focus on his words, there’s a loud yell from the lacrosse field. There’s a large smack as you feel the heavy weight of a lacrosse ball hit the side of your face, and then you’re on the ground, vision blurry, face throbbing.

“Holy shit Y/N, are you- oh, fuck, that’s a lot of blood, oh my god.”

You stare at the sky blurrily, Stiles’ concerned words drifting in one ear and out the other. You remain dazed as Coach Finstock joins the growing crowds around you, and flinch deeply as he starts barking out instructions. Nothing really registers until you’re being pulled off the ground and as your feet leave the ground, you realise someone’s carrying you.

You fade in and out of consciousness, but you’re focused enough to realise that you have your cheek resting up against Stiles’ plaid shirt. His musky pine-wood scent fills your nose and you relax into his arms, allowing yourself to loosen up as you try to focus on anything but the throbbing pain stemming from your face. You glance up and see his face pulled into an expression of nervous determination, and let your eyes trail across the pink expanse of his plump lips, and even though it feels like your face is about to melt off, you can’t help the weak throbbing of your heart as you take in just how utterly adorable he is.

Once you’ve reached the nurse’s office, he places you gently down on the examination table and is then quickly ushered from the room by the doctor. But he glances at you, eyes concerned and worried, and your gaze meets for just a second before the door shuts behind him, and in that second, your heart throbs again.

Trying not to think about these new - and very confusing - feelings, you let the school doctor patch you up. Apparently nothing’s broken and all of your teeth are intact, and the bleeding from your nose stops after a few minutes of applying pressure to it. You’re given a large stack of painkillers and told you can go home early, and then the doctor exits the room and leaves you to sort yourself out.

As you begin to pull yourself together, the door into the office creaks open. You look up and see it’s Stiles, a guilty expression on his face. “Can I, uh, come in?” He asks, eyes skittering around nervously. You nod slightly and he slips inside, pressing himself up against the wall as he stares at you. “I’m sorry for being an asshole, Y/N,” he sighs. “I guess… I guess you aren’t that bad, and maybe I just act like such a dick when you’re around because I’m intimidated by you.”

Your mouth falls open in surprise. “Going soft on me, Stiles?” You say, voice soft. That hot, angry heat from earlier has fizzled out completely, and now it’s as if you’re looking at him through fresh eyes.

He shrugs, not even trying to deny it, and takes a tentative step towards you. “When you got hit by that ball, I dunno, I just froze, and it was like every insult I ever gave you ran through my head and I realised I was being…”

“An asshole?” You supply, grinning softly.

He laughs. “I know… I know I’m an asshole, but my life really is better with you in it,” he admits.

You pat the spot on the examination table beside you. “Well, I’ve not exactly been the nicest to you, either,” you admit. Stiles tentatively sits beside you, your legs brushing up against one another. Now he’s nearer, all you can think about is how nice he looks, and how kind it was of him to sweep you up into his arms and carry you to safety. Now, it’s as if a veil has been lifted, and all your feelings of frustration have faded away, leaving you with what was truly hidden away under them, all along: attraction.

“We’re just too similar,” Stiles reasons.

“Yeah,” you agree. You give him a pained smile. “We should probably try to get on better now. For the sake of the pack.”

“Yeah, yeah, for the pack…” His eyes trail around your face. Instead of lingering on the rising bruise and the way you have plasters sticking from your hairline, he focuses on your eyes, and it’s as if his whole expression softens. You feel his hand wrap around yours, and the breath hitches in the back of your throat. “You’re a pretty cool person, Y/N.”

You’re near him now, your forehead closing in, his fingers gripping yours, and it feels like your heart is bursting against your rib cage as you close the distance. When you’re a mere centimetre from his mouth, you let your free hand drift up to settle in his dark brown hair. “You’re pretty cool too, Stiles,” you mumble. And then you kiss him, and it’s like nothing else really matters. The pain ebbs away and the anger fizzles out, and all you can focus on is how fucking nice it feels to have his mouth on yours and your fingers in his hair. 

When you break away, Stiles gently leans his forehead to yours, his amber eyes blown wide with a warm sort of softness. “Let me take you home?” He asks.

The smile that finds your lips is genuine, and for the first time, you wonder if your relationship with Stiles is destined to be more than just an angry friendship.

“I would love that.”

[masquerade-story]

Chapter 4 - Memories

Lillian awoke late into the evening, after everyone collectively agreed to take a nap and process everything Crystal told them. Her throat was dry and scratchy, so she carefully rolled out of bed to avoid disturbing Grey, who'd crawled into her bed for comfort like he always did when he was upset, and padded quietly out of the bedroom.

Since there wasn't going to be any sort of heating bill, they'd left the mysteriously working heater on to combat the unexpectedly cold weather. Lillian stopped by a window to peek outside, and was momentarily startled when she could pick out individual leaves on distant trees.

"Right, our vision got all fancy." Lillian laughed softly at herself, turning her gaze from the trees to the starry sky.

An unfamiliar sky.

Three moons scattered across the horizon, a couple of planets close enough for their rings to be distinct to the naked eye, and a brilliant aurora ribbon streaming across more stars than Lillian ever remembered seeing when she looked up back on Earth.

"There's no North Star," she whispered to herself, her warm breath briefly melting some frost on the window glass. "Different constellations, different horoscopes... I wonder how long a year is here? Or a season? Can we... Even communicate with people to find out?"

An oppressive sense of loneliness settled in her chest. Lillian blinked back a few tears and turned away from the window, resuming her earlier mission of a glass of juice. She slipped downstairs into the kitchen, drank an entire glass, and went to bring her second cup upstairs in case she woke up again, when a soft sound caused her to pause mid-step toward the stairs.

Sobbing. Wretched, mournful sobbing, from the living room which currently had no light on.

Lillian felt her heart clench in sympathy, and changed route.

Rayne sat on the couch, curled into the corner with a blanket around her shoulders and a phone in her hands. She glanced up when Lillian approached, hurriedly dashing her tears with the corner of the blanket. "H-hey, what's up?"

Lillian had the sense to put her juice cup down on an end table before sitting heavily on the couch, encroaching on Rayne's personal space with reckless abandon. "I was gonna ask you the same thing. Why are you down here alone in the dark?"

"Oh, I..." Rayne muttered, her gaze flicking back to the phone. Lillian glanced down, and saw a photo of Rayne and her boyfriend trying on mouse hats during their trip to Disneyworld. His expression was exasperated, but his affectionate gaze was fixed on Rayne's laughing face.

Rayne locked her screen and set the phone down, but it was too late and she knew it. She retreated further into the warmth of her blanket, faking a shiver to cover the fact she was trying to hide her face.

Neither Rayne nor Crystal appreciated it when other people saw them cry, but Lillian knew that it was sometimes exactly what someone needed, whether they wanted it or not. So she leaned on Rayne's shoulder, resting a gentle hand on the other woman's knee.

"You know," Lillian said softly, closing her eyes. "There's three moons."

Rayne was quiet for a moment. Then she sniffled, before whispering: "Really?"

"Yeah. And some ringed planets, and an aurora. Wanna see?"

The bundle of blanket shook in a hesitant nod, and both Lillian and Rayne moved to sit on the window seat overlooking the front yard, keeping throw pillows between them and the frozen glass to seal in their bodily warmth.

Silence stretched on between them as they stared together at the foreign night sky. Whenever Rayne gave a soft cry or pained whimper, Lillian reached over to squeeze her hand without turning to look at her, giving the other woman a measure of privacy while still providing comfort until she was ready to talk.

"It's unfair," Rayne whispered finally, reaching out of the blanket to draw a frowning face on the frosty glass.

Lillian nodded. "It ate our bonds so they all forgot us, but we still have to remember them? It's totally unfair."

"Actually..." Rayne looked over, locking gazes with Lillian, her dark brow furrowed. "That's the thing. Lils, do you remember your parents?"

"Of course. Robin and Larry-"

"Their faces, Lils."

Lillian opened her mouth, then immediately shut it. Her curious expression turned to one of realization, then panic suffused with horror. "No, I... What...?"

"I don't remember his face if I'm not looking at the photo," Rayne said, crossing her arms tightly under the blanket. "I don't remember his voice anymore. I did at first, but... Every passing moment, it's harder to remember the times we shared. The bad, the good. Even while looking at the photos! And I just... I felt like I should have a good cry, while I still felt enough lingering emotion for him to do it."

Lillian felt as though her heart was caught in her throat. She swallowed, swallowed again, then wheezed as she tried to remember how to breathe. Rayne hurriedly wrapped her arms around Lillian's shoulder, squeezing tight in a hug that contained all her comfort and sympathy.

"We'll do everything we can to remember, them, okay?" Rayne whispered, her voice shaking with emotion. "Let's go wake Grey and Crystal, then we can all start writing stuff down. Alright?"

Nodding, Lillian clung desperately to Rayne's hand as they both hurried upstairs, rolling their respective siblings out of bed for an emergency meeting. Grey's horror was contrasted starkly by Crystal's numb nodding, as she apologized for not realizing it would happen. They dug into the boxes of personal belongings, finding some notebooks and pens, and sat together in the master bedrooms writing down everything they remembered about Earth and their loved ones until well into the next morning.

"On the one hand it's a mercy," Grey said sleepily, as he doodled another picture of his parents in the margins of his notebook. "So we won't be grieving our loss very long, I guess? But it still feels..."

"Wrong," Lillian mumbled, looking through her phone for a picture of her cat to use as a reference.

"It's not like the time was wasted," Rayne said, adding another bullet point to the list she was writing. "Our experiences shaped who we are whether we remember them or not. It does feel pretty crappy, though..."

"I wonder, will they forget us like this?" Lillian asked, unable to stop the words in her heart from escaping. Her hand paused above the page, the pen in her hand shaking violently. "Will they just... Slowly forget us? Or was it sudden and merciful? Because this... This is cruel."

"Cruelty implies intention," Crystal said softly, her voice shaking almost as much as Lillian's pen. "That... Thing. The Eater. It didn't have any malice, it was just hungry. But I dunno if that makes things better or worse..."

"I dunno man, you ever seen a cat catching prey? Pretty sure eating something alive has some inherent malice in it." Grey grumbled, trying to force his chicken scratch handwriting into something legible.

Crystal, who'd already given up on her own handwriting and embraced the chaotic glyphic nature of her lettering, nodded sagely in agreement. "That's true. I got the impression the Eater wasn't exactly sentient or sapient though. More like a force than a being, if that makes sense? Or maybe I just can't conceive of it, since that thing exists outside our dimensions of understanding."

"You say that so easily, do you even know how wild that whole statement was?"

"Do you even know how wild this whole situation is?"

"Look, we've passed absurdity at this point. Now I'm just down with whatever weirdness comes our way."

"We don't have to pay bills anymore," Rayne said slowly, staring at her paper. Her handwriting was the neatest by far, and she'd finished writing down most important events she could think of, but she kept having a nagging feeling she'd left something out so she kept reading the pages over and over hoping to trigger another memory. "We won't have to buy groceries unless there's things we want specifically that wasn't in our house to begin with. The electricity will never go out, damage to the property will be repaired, and even though we're in a new world with unknown levels of development and technology, we will never have to worry about toilet paper. In exchange for a very comfortable standard of living, we lost our connection to our home and families."

"Personally speaking I think it's fair," Crystal said with a scoff. "But that's because our family sucks so I'll be glad to forget them. All my most important people are here with me! I know Robin and Larry will take good care of all our cats, my exes all sucked, and my other friends will get along just fine without me. I don't have anyone to worry about, just regrets for stuff I never got to do. Like visiting the Grand Canyon, or going on a long cruise."

"I wanted to hike around Europe someday..." Rayne said wistfully.

"I wanted to vacation in the tropics. Or maybe Spain? For like, two years. With some hot guys and infinite fruity alcohols." Grey said, staring off into space with a dreamy look in his eyes.

"I wanted to be famous enough for us to visit the space station," Lillian sighed. Grey snorted, and everyone started laughing in a combination of absurdity and delirium from lack of sleep. They started listing everything they could think of, starting with shopping sprees and game show appearances, and ending with complex bank and casino heists to dismantle capitalism.

When Crystal started dozing off while sitting up, they all agreed to get some sleep for real. The notebooks were stacked lovingly on one of the end tables, which reminded Lillian to run downstairs and chug her long-forgotten cup of juice in the living room before trudging back upstairs into bed.

------

"We can't just stay in the house forever, right?" Grey muttered as he stared out the living room window later that night, curled up on the window seat with his knees hugged to his chest.

"Technically we could," Rayne said, drumming her fingers against the recliner arm as she waited for her laptop to boot. "Infinite food and basic supplies, stuff for our hobbies... We have our instruments, we have our computers and game consoles and several external drives worth of movies and books and music since you and Crystal obsessively insist on collecting or hoarding anything of interest for later use."

"Hey, hey." Grey wagged a finger and feigned an offended scowl. "Look at our situation. How bored would we be if the two of us didn't hoard everything? In fact, maybe our desire to hoard entertainment was preparing for this day!"

"Damn psychics always preparing for everything they couldn't possibly know about," Rayne muttered rebelliously, and Crystal laughed. She'd stretched out on half of the corner couch taking up an entire section of the living room by itself, looking cozy with a pile of blankets and her special edition Switch.

"It's only gonna get worse from here, Ray."

"Open your town, I need to sell my oranges," Lillian interrupted, nudging Crystal's feet from her spot on the other side of the corner couch.

"Alright, lemme finish making this waterfall first."

"Your villagers are never gonna have scurvy again for like, three generations."

"That many oranges? Isn't that a bit overkill?"

"If they don't want an entire island nation's agricultural sector's worth of citrus they should learn to adjust their economy for inflation."

"You know the shop is run by literal children, right?"

"It's good to learn early that nepotism leads to ruin. The business world is harsh and so am I."

Rayne chuckled at the sound of Lillian's low, malicious cackling, but her expression swiftly turned serious. "What do you mean it's gonna get worse, Coco?"

"All four of us have abilities for real, right? Being in this world is gonna make them grow exponentially, whether we try to train them or not. New ones will pop up too, or existing ones will change a little as they grow. Okay Lils, gate's open." Crystal spoke nonchalantly, but every word drained a bit more color from Rayne's face. Meanwhile, Grey turned away from the window with an excited glint in his eyes.

"So psychic powers can get real strong in this world?"

"Yeah. The impression I got when we were coming over was... Magic exists here, and it's something anyone can learn to use with practice. But abilities like ours, psychic powers? Those you have to be born with, and it's rare. That's about as much as I know about it though," Crystal sighed and shrugged.

"Can you list everything you know about our situation?" Rayne said, opening a new document on her computer and typing away with her nose inches from the laptop screen. "I wanna write it all down. I got the thing about our bonds and memories, and the house being indestructible-"

"It's not indestructible, just protected." Crystal seemed startled as soon as the words left her mouth, as though the information was somehow new. She furrowed her brow, nose wrinkling as she carefully examined her thought process. "I see, protected... Like a barrier, almost? It'll always rebuild itself and restock supplies overnight no matter what happens, even if it's all burnt to ash, but the property itself is also shielded unless we draw attention from a big threat."

"A big threat? Like what?"

"I don't know. Big animals like those Nessies on the beach yesterday. Or monsters like the Eater, maybe?"

"Monsters?!" Lillian sat up straight, pulling her feet under her body. "There's monsters!?"

"There's magic, why wouldn't there be monsters too?" Grey pointed out, but his twin just stuck her tongue out at him.

"It's just an assumption," Crystal hurriedly explained. "For my power to work, I'd have to come into contact with stuff related to what I want to know about in order to get more information, I can't just pull stuff out of the ether whenever I have questions!"

"Then how do you know what you know already?"

"Well, we were in contact with the house. The house is made with really powerful magic, so I learned magic exists, and that it was used to make the house echo and ensure our supplies remain the same. I think I also learned about the barrier then, but didn't think about it or really absorb the info cuz I was thinking about other things, so it only just popped up." Crystal shrugged and let out a half-hearted laugh.

"What about the Eater?"

"The Eater was menacing us directly and I looked at it so I was able to get some info on it and the bond-eating shenanigan, but not much else because it's way stronger than me, I think? And my power activated as soon as we started our... Transfer, I guess? Away from Earth. And you all were in the room with me, so I knew you all had powers as well as myself, got the basic gist of how mine work, and that we'd all get much stronger whether we wanted to or not. That's really about it for what I know. I told you it wasn't much."

"Why the house though?" Rayne muttered. "It just wanted to eat our bonds and it did that. So why did it drop us on another planet, and why give us this cushy house echo thing?"

Crystal shrugged again. "I honestly have no idea. I think I could know if I got a lot stronger, but... That won't be any time soon. I can tell there's a reason, though. I just dunno what."

"Maybe it's compensation?" Grey said, his expression hopeful.

"Or bait, like a beacon, so it can find us again..." Lillian whispered with a shiver, and everyone's faces fell. Seeing their reactions, she hurriedly straightened her spine and forced a smile to her face. "But it didn't hurt us, and we're all still together. Imagine if we'd been flung to different planets instead of staying together!"

"That'd really suck," Grey agreed. "So like, Crystal, your power activates if you come into contact with stuff?"

"I think so. I'd have to test it to get the hang of how things work, precisely."

Grey chuckled, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. His expression made the three women exchange worried glances, especially once he started rubbing his hands together like a two-bit cartoon villain. "Looks like we got ourselves an excuse to head to that town for some reconnaissance!"

"In the snow?" Rayne asked, raising her eyebrows.

"With only summer clothes in our wardrobes," Crystal pointed out.

"We wore hiking boots for the walk up here so that'd be fine, but the warmest clothes we have right now are..." Lillian trailed off, then suddenly doubled over and started giggling.

Realization dawned on the others soon after, and Rayne covered her face with her hands. "Oh no."

"Oh yes!" Grey hissed, pumping his fist into the air. "That'll make one heck of an entrance, wouldn't it?"

"Our music video costumes? In PUBLIC!?" Rayne wailed while the others laughed.

"That might not be what we want to do though," Crystal said after her moment of laughter had subsided. "We don't know what kind of world this is. If they'll be friendly to strangers, especially ones who can't speak their language - or any language on this world. They won't know English, you know."

"But do we really have a choice?" Lillian asked, putting down her console and staring up at the ceiling. "We don't know anything about this world. About magic, except that it exists. About the people. And hiding here in our safe cozy house will be fine short term, but what about long term? Are we gonna spend our whole lives holed up in here?"

"I, for one, embrace the forest witch hermit lifestyle," Grey said. "And I know Crystal does too."

"Sure do. Cottage life."

Rayne sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I don't wanna be caught completely off guard by whatever nonsense comes our way. We know it's winter, but we don't know what the other seasons are like yet. What if they have a raining magma and diamonds from the sky season? We can't apply Earth logic here! Or if we can, we don't know to what extent! There were dinosaurs on the beach!"

"That's a fair point. There were indeed dinosaurs on the beach. Counter points?"

"There were dinosaurs on the beach."

"A fair counter point as well. I do want to see the dinosaurs up close."

"From a safe distance."

"Up close from a safe distance, of course."

"Plus, we don't know what's gonna happen with our powers. You said they'll get stronger, what does that mean?"

"I don't know. More powers will manifest, I think? And the ones we have already will be more potent. But I don't know how potent, or what exactly will happen."

"Exactly! You psychically downloaded only a little info about our situation and it gave you a nasty seizure! Right?"

"Pretty much."

"So what if something worse happens? A big huge infodump? If you can't control your powers, or shut it off when needed or whatever, what if..." Rayne's shoulders sagged.

"What if I have a big seizure every time I use my powers now?" Crystal finished, a wry smile on her face. "Yeah, I was wondering about that too. Honestly, everything about our situation has me so terrified I've circled back around to just feeling numb about it all."

"That's a hell of a mood," Grey sighed, stretching out on the window seat and propping his feet up against the wall. "Everything's happening so much, am I right? It's hard to be freaked out about everything simultaneously. It's easier to just phase out of existence, mentally speaking."

"I... Have an idea."

Everyone turned to look at Lillian, who sat perched on the edge of the couch. She glanced at all their faces, then offered a shy smile.

"Well? What's your idea, sis?" Grey encouraged, when his sister kept fidgeting in place instead of finishing her thought.

"Well, those warmer clothes we have... They're our costumes, right? And Crystal said we dunno how people would react to that sort of outfit, or to strangers in general, but what if... I mean... We have our instruments? What if... We pretended to be minstrels?"

[deathfrisbeeinthetardis]

'things you said when you were sick' ryan going: 'you were so weird! like you kept talking about how cold i was and-' shane quipping back: 'cuz i had a fever and your heart is made out of ice'

This was sent to me waaay back in the beginning of March, and now you’re getting a long-ish drabble in time for Shyan week day 6, prompt domesticity :D

To think this was even before 3AM anon came around and people started sending me so many prompts in my mail, ah wild.

if I’m telling the truth

It’s not that Ryan wants Shane to be sick, but it really does not hurt to have an excuse to take care of the big guy once in a while. 

Shane grunts from beside him, grimacing when he tries to sit up from where he lay on the couch.   

“Woah there.” Ryan reaches out to pull him up, “You want some more tea?“ 

“Yeah, that’d be great.” Shane’s voice is scratchy. He rubs a hand down his face, tucking his legs close under the fleece blanket, making an appreciative noise in his throat when Ryan hands him the steaming mug. 

“Ugh, remind me not to get sick again.”

“Oh I did plenty of that.” Ryan smirks, because he really, really did. “‘Shane don’t run in the rain’ I said, ‘you’ll get sick’. Then 20 minutes later the suspect was discovered with a severe case of cold.” Ryan pitches his voice down into his theory voice, and he can’t help the giggle when Shane scrunches up his nose at it. 

As much as he’s glorying in Shane’s misery, it is a nice memory, Shane’s wide-eyed grin as the rain rapidly plastered his hair onto his forehead, long limbs twirling in the downpour, drops painting across the joy that had been in the other man’s gaze, warming Ryan under his umbrella. 

Ryan thinks he’ll store it away, in a deep-down place. 

“You’d think you’ve never seen rain in your life, you were so excited.”

“That’s because LA is a desert that rains never, Ryan, I need my comfort rain-running.”

“Well, you get rid of the fever first, then tell me about your freaky love for rain and how us Californians are soft lilies.”

“You are.” Shane mutters, shifting to brush a kiss into the back of Ryan’s hand when Ryan reaches to feel Shane’s forehead. “Oops, sorry, go, go wash your hands!” Shane calls, nudging at Ryan insistently until he got up, leaving Shane chuckling to himself nestled under the blanket.

After his last dose of medicine Ryan fusses Shane to bed, almost cooing when the taller man curls up under the comforter. Ryan is the one that usually needs comfort, hollow from overexposure on shoots or tossing and turning for days when he gets sick, so it’s kind of nice that he gets to mother his boyfriend a little now. 

He climbs on the bed and tucks the blanket tighter around the two of them, settling down to face Shane. 

“You wake me up if you need anything in the night?”

“Sir yes sir.” Shane salutes him, it’s crooked and there’s way too big of a grin on Shane’s face, it’s so hard to not lean in. That’s what this whole ordeal has robbed him of, Ryan thinks glumly, the careful small touches and caresses that they had always taken for granted. He’s so going to double down once Shane gets better.  

Shane’s looking at him through his down tilted eyes, already sleepy, “You’re a gorgeous pizza.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Ryan murmurs, giving the other man a peck on the nose, but his curiosity nudges him on, “You got any specific kind in mind?”

Shane hums, tucking himself against Ryan’s side through the blanket he’d wrapped around himself, “Definitely deep dish.”

“Oh yeah?” Ryan’s heart skips a beat, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He’s kind of fishing for compliments now, but it doesn’t really matter when he gets to curl up with Shane at his side, “Because that’s your favorite?”

“Cause it’s like home.”

Ryan stares, his breath caught in his throat, because he can’t bring himself to do anything else. Shane says it so easily, voice thick from the fever and sleep. Time stays still around him, the tenor of Shane’s words hanging in the air for seconds, minutes, hours even, Ryan’s not sure. 

The next time he focuses on Shane’s face, the other man’s eyes are already closed, breaths evening out as he drifted away, the huffs of air tinged with barely-there snores. 

Shane looks so young like this, the lines of his face smoothed out in sleep and hair still soft from the shower. Ryan looks at him, then looks some more. He’d never get tired of looking, even before Ryan caved and confessed his heart out, their lives were already tied so close together that Ryan hadn’t been exaggerating when he said Shane’s the person he sees the most for the last four years.

Even Obi likes him now, and that should be a pretty big accomplishment in anyone’s book. 

He knows things could change, how the rapid flow of the devouring internet and humanity itself could rush in and tear everything apart any second. And Ryan’s really not the praying type, but for god’s sake, he hopes they could stay like this through it all. 

He searches Shane’s face, and he’s almost glad that he’s already too far gone.

“I love you.” Ryan whispers, testing the words on his tongue, just to see how they feel. He’s been avoiding them on purpose, Ryan thinks, guilt clenching in his gut. But it’s difficult to face them when the words still hurt, spikes of broken hearts sharp and piercing to the touch. Words that were broken with halfhearted goodbyes and see-yous that should have lasted forever. 

But it feels right here, now. It fits right into the dynamic of the two of them, Ryan and Shane, together.

Ryan thinks he could say it again. 

His eyes prickle, and he smiles in the darkness, pressing a hand against his mouth to muffle the sob that’s trying to form.

“Love you Ry.” Shane murmurs. 

It’s a wonder Ryan managed to fall asleep, but Shane and Obi’s purring combined is a force to be reckoned with. 

He wakes with a fuzzy weight on his chest, and a cursory stretch reveals the kitten had somehow deemed him worthy of a pillow at some point in the night, Obi’s little soft face tucked against Ryan’s chest, his whiskers tickling bare skin. It’s another bright sunny weekend in LA, and as far as Ryan’s concerned it can stay that way forever. 

“Mornin’.” He murmurs, reaching down to scratch behind the little hellion’s ears. 

Obi shoots him a dirty look but accepts the touch, then he pads over to nestle right into the curve of Shane’s neck. The other man wakes in a half start. 

“Wha-” Shane sputters, fluttering hands coming up to investigate the warm scarf that Obi has become, “oh, it’s you.”

“Hey sleepyhead, feeling better?”

“Yeah,” Shane sounds strained, trying to speak without jostling the kitten too much, the animal’s purrs sounding in time with Shane’s voice. “Movement’s out of the question for a bit though.”

“He was sleeping on me all night, you’re on nursing duty now.” Ryan gives Shanes ribs a light poke, delighting in the pained way he tries to shift without actually moving.

“We’ve got a homicide going on here officer, you’re not going to investigate that?” Shane does a rapid-fire series of blinks, maybe there’s also a wink in there, but Ryan really can’t tell, he really hopes Shane isn’t having a stroke. 

Obi’s tail flicks and curls around to rest across Shane’s nose, and the man lets out a strangled sound. 

“That depends,” Ryan grins, tapping his chin, “It just so happens I might suddenly not see anything, you know, cats are such gentle animals.”

“Oh, you’re evil.” 

“I’m not the one that put that characteristic in my sims character,” Ryan reminds him, laughing, “Come on, you think your throat can take waffles?” Shane’s eyes light up. 

“Oh yes please, they are the superior batter food after all.”

“Why you gotta keep shitting on pancakes?”

“Cause it’s fun to see you get all puffy about it.” Now that’s definitely a wink. How the fuck does he have the energy to do all this when he was burning up with a fever just yesterday? Evolution is so not fair. 

“You,” He flounders, “your mom gets puffy. You’re just a sore loser” Ryan huffs, and has to take a leaping jump off the bed when Shane reaches out a hand to swat at him.

“Oh I’m not the one that should be worried about that getting sore.” Shane raises an eyebrow and his eyes go dark. Ryan shivers. 

“Promises promises.”

Shane flails again, but Ryan’s too quick for him, already jumping back with a giggle. And Shane just lays there with an arm and half his torso dangling off the bed, a little ball of orange fur draped across his throat purring like an engine. 

He blinks up at Ryan with that shit-eating grin on his face, and Ryan falls for him a little bit more. 

Ryan busies himself around the kitchen, sliding a cup of tea onto the counter when Shane ambles into the room, rubbing at his eyes. Obi pads over to the corner and starts on his breakfast. 

“You were pretty out of it last night.” Ryan leans back against the sink, sipping at his coffee. 

“I say anything stupid when I was high on cold medicine?”

There’s a twinge in his chest, “Oh I dunno, what counts as stupid?”

“Hmm, a lotta things.” Shane’s palms are wrapped tight around the mug, and it must burn, but his hands clench around it like they need something to hold onto. He meets Ryan’s eyes, “But nothing I regret.”

There’s a slight ringing in his ears. Ryan swallows, pushing down the thoughts that erupt at the words. He cracks a smile, “You sure that’s not because you don’t remember what you’re supposed to regret?”

“Pretty sure.” Shane grins back, but his gaze turns serious again, settling on Ryan with a steady weight. “You said things too.”

Ryan’s breathing is coming short. He wonders idly if there’s a tea that can fix that. Shane can probably find one. “I did.” He hedges. 

“Anything you regret?” Shane’s fingertips are white against the navy blue mug, and there’s a vulnerability in his face that Ryan wants to kiss away.  

It may be a lazy number nine their kitchen clock’s pointing at, but it’s still too early to have this sort of conversation.

But it would eventually come to this point, Ryan thinks. No matter what they can and may do or say in the dark of night under the haze of sleep and liquor, no matter how passionate or desperate or all-encompassing it gets, it will always come down to this, the reckoning in the sobering light of morning. 

And maybe it’s better this way, when the harsh sunlight throws no more shadows to hide, leaving truths bare in trembling hands. 

“Never.” Ryan breathes with what’s left of the air in his lungs, and watches the tension in Shane’s shoulders melt away. 

“Oh thank god.“ 

Shane is even less of the praying type, but the hushed words scrape closer to divine gratitude than Ryan’s ever heard.

Then Shane’s pulling him close between the counters, enveloping him in a hug that shakes slightly with the effort. “Thank God,” Shane says again, breaths hitching against Ryan’s chest. 

Ryan returns the pressure, rubbing small circles between Shane’s shoulders and murmuring I’ve got yous and I knows into his shoulder. 

“Oh look at me, crying on a Saturday morning.” Shane sniffles, pulling back and wiping at his eyes. The sun catches the wet patches trailing down his cheeks and Ryan is dazzled by the light. He brushes at the tears with a hand at the other man’s face.

“I love you, Shane Madej.” He says, loud and clear into the whole damn universe. It sounds nice, and makes Shane’s face light up in the prettiest way. Ryan’s never going to get tired of saying it. “I love you.” He repeats.

Slowly, Shane cups Ryan’s hand with his own, turning his head to brush a kiss to Ryan’s palm. It’s stupidly tender, stuff Ryan’s seen in every romantic movie, and Shane makes it even softer.

 “I love you too.”

Shane’s eyes do the crinkly thing at the corners, and Ryan just wants to kiss this insanely kind and caring of an idiot he’s fallen so completely for. So he does. 

“Wanna hear what other stupid things you said last night?” Ryan teases, breathless when they break apart, and Shane wheezes out a laugh. 

“Yeah? Let’s list my crimes.”

“You were super paranoid about me getting sick,” Ryan says, catching the corner of Shane’s t-shirt and tugging slightly, “You kept talking about how cold I was in your sleep and-”

“That’s cause I had a fever and your heart is made out of ice.”

“Is that why you like me!” Ryan grins, pointing an accusing finger, “I called it you yeti!”

And Ryan relishes in the fact that Shane doesn’t have a comeback to that, because Shane leans in again, and Ryan thinks as their lips meet, that he’ll even be generous enough to not hold it against him. 

Yeah. He definitely won’t. 

[itwillbeall-dwight]

twilight fog

quentin smith & jake park; no tws unless you count freddy; 1482 words

a/n: TUMBLR. DELETED. THE ASK. AS I. WAS. EDITTING MY POST.

N E WAYS, i hope this gets out to you anon! this was a lot of fun for me to write, considering how much i love quentin and how indifferent i am to jake. i didn’t write it intending for it to be romantic but if you wanna interpret it as such, you may do so!

drabble reqs are open, so if you want something, feel free to send me an ask! likes < reblogs, any comments in the tags are appreciated

ao3 mirror in the reblogs!

Preview: But he wasn’t done. As he let the sleeve of his shirt go from his fingers, and reached behind him to grab his jacket and rest it on his lap, he found himself speaking again. “What’re you doing here?” “Wish I could tell you.” “...No, not like… here, just. Here. With me.” “It’s my thinking tree.” “Huh?” Without looking behind him, Jake moved his shoulder and pointed to the tree bark just behind him. Sure enough, crudely carved with something blunt, his initials, JP, were right there. “...Shit, now I feel-” “Don’t.” The survivalist cut him off before he could finish, glancing up for a moment or two. “You needed it more than me. I can share.”

A four-man escape. Their best performance yet. So why was it that it was so hard for him to breathe?

Quentin rubbed his nose with the back of his sleeve, sure that the smell of the meat plant was going to get stuck up there, considering how long he’d hidden in the freezer for. Loud whoops from Kate as she slapped Jeff’s back in celebration, the poor man thrown off by the girl’s excitement but still grateful nonetheless, were drowned out by the familiar white noise tickling the back of his brain. The boy looked back to where their trial had just ended, and just beyond the ashy entrails that blocked entrance back in, he saw the familiar figure and the shadow of a claw, just… watching him leave. He saw it move, and one by one, its claws individually moving in a mocking, cutesy wave - see you, for now, until next time. And for a moment, it was if that hand was wrapped around his neck, and ripping the air he was trying to breathe out from his lungs.

Thankfully, the combination of a hyped-up Kate and just Jane herself, in general, was enough to let him sneak away. The campfire was loud, and the fog in the back of his head was getting louder. Quentin wrapped his arms around himself, cold wind shaking him to the core, or maybe, it wasn’t, because it seemed Freddy still had that core in a tight grip, ripping it to ribbons as he felt his knees get weak. Leaning a shoulder against a stray tree, he found himself sliding down to sit on the forest floor, leaves damp despite no rain, pulling his sleeves over his hands and gripping the fabric in a tight fist, just to feel something. It was hard to breathe, the fog was in his lungs and it felt like he was suffocating, and every time he closed his eyes to will himself to take a breath, all he saw was twitching claws and hear the haunting lullaby that followed him in his dreams. But he was awake, he had to be awake. ...Was he awake? Oh god, was he awake-

“Taken?”

The voice scared him, physically feeling himself lurch as he looked up as Jake’s face, light hitting his back and casting his shadow over Quentin. “Uh, no, c-come over.” Please don’t, he silently begged.

But he didn’t pay attention to those unspoken pleas, the survivalist taking a seat beside him on the floor, opening to toolbox he’d brought with him, and slowly sorting through it. Metal hit metal as tools collided with the box and one another, his rummaging slow and meticulous.

Quentin rubbed his eyes with the back of his sleeve. Had Jake seen him crying? He must have, he was always a mess when he cried, the whole works. He kept rubbing until his eyes hurt, throbbing from the soreness of canvas against skin, before he moved his hands to hold himself, scratching at his arm. What was he going to think? Jake was the silent pillar at the campfire, stoic, kept to himself but always had something to say about someone. Always watching. He probably thought he was weak, sat here on his own like this. Surely he-

“Knock it off.”

He paused his thoughts to look up, a bit startled as Jake was now looking at him, a spanner in his hand. A quiet sniffle. “S-sorry, I can’t-”

“No, your arm.” He pointed, and only now did Quentin notice that the jacket had torn, blood staining where a claw had dragged across his skin, now drying. The skin underneath was raw, red and inflamed from the repeated scratching, and blood had gotten all over his hands and fingernails. “‘Don’t get infected here, but good practise. If we get out.”

“Ah, I… guess.”

Jake stared, frowning a little deeper than he was at default, before he put the spanner he was holding back into the toolbox and moved his hands to the back of his neck. “Take off your jacket.”

“W-what?”

“I said-”

“N-no, no, I… I heard you, I’m just...” He trailed off, not really sure how to explain his thought process when he could barely understand it himself, between the brain fog and the white noise, and how much the wires in his brain were naturally crossed when it came to conversation.

The other survivor looked away for a moment, seemingly focused on whatever he was doing with his hands, which turned out to be undoing his scarf from around his neck. He seemed so naked without it. “I was gonna wrap your arm, just until you decide when you wanna go back.”

So they hadn’t noticed he was gone, so Jake wasn’t sent to come after him. Huh. “Ah… right, sorry.” And so Quentin did as he was told, letting his jacket fall on the floor behind him as he pulled up the sleeve of his shirt a little, watching Jake tie the scarf around his lanky arm with expert precision.

He nodded as he finished, quickly moving his hand away and going back to focusing on the toolbox he’d brought with him, seemingly wanting nothing else to do with Quentin. 

But he wasn’t done. As he let the sleeve of his shirt go from his fingers, and reached behind him to grab his jacket and rest it on his lap, he found himself speaking again. “What’re you doing here?”

“Wish I could tell you.”

“...No, not like… here, just. Here. With me.”

“It’s my thinking tree.”

“Huh?”

Without looking behind him, Jake moved his shoulder and pointed to the tree bark just behind him. Sure enough, crudely carved with something blunt, his initials, JP, were right there.

“...Shit, now I feel-”

“Don’t.” The survivalist cut him off before he could finish, glancing up for a moment or two. “You needed it more than me. I can share.”

The harshness of his affirmation made Quentin stop, mouth hanging with another excuse on the tip of his tongue before he decided it would be best to drop it again, not wanting to drag on the pity. He looked down at his hands, to his own blood on his fingertips, gently tugging at the sleeves. “What’re you… thinking about?”

“Hm?” He looked up again.

“You said this was your thinking tree, so what are you thinking about?”

Jake looked away for a moment, down at his toolbox, before glancing back up and shrugging his shoulders. “I dunno.”

He didn’t know what else he expected, really. Still, it made him laugh a little, still shaking a bit, and for a moment he swore he was Jake’s mouth tug into an ever-so-slight smile.

They didn’t say much else after that, and the sound of rummaging tools was more of a comfort than anything anxiety-inducing, enough that Quentin had even taken to watching him sort (he would have closed his eyes and listened, but he couldn’t bear to do it, not here, not now) with precision.

“What’re you missing?”

“Hacksaw. Think we have a few spare, I don’t know.”

“Oh, we do. I think David brought one back a few trials ago.”

Jake hummed, nodding to himself as he put everything back again, picking the wet leaves off every so often.

The boy watched him again, looking up to analyse his face for a moment, before he continued. “Uh… thanks.”

The box snapped shut, the mechanism locking as he flicked it up and over the latch again, as the survivalist looked over, eyebrow raised.

“Well, just- for the… scarf,” He lifted up his arm, waving it around weakly before letting it rest again, elbow on his thight. “And, uh… being here.”

“I was coming here anyway. It’s fine. But…” Jake paused, tapping a gloved hand on top of the metal box resting in front of him. “You’re, uh… welcome. Just- don’t… do this again. People are gonna ask. You probably dont wanna talk about it. So, I dunno, if you feel… bad. I’m- well, I’m not good, but-”

“I think this is the most I’ve heard you say in one breath.”

Jake was caught off guard by that, and then, Quentin was entirely sure he smiled at him. “Yeah… guess so.”

So he didn’t have to have an impromptu therapy session yet, at least. Jake knew something was up, but he wasn’t going to ask… nor was he forget about it either. But that wasn’t as unnerving as it should have been. Because now Jake kept an eye on him, and little by little, there were cracks starting to show in that cold exterior he’d put on for so long. So, in a way, the worst of it had brought on a new era at the campfire. The one where Quentin could close his eyes and smile, and the one where Jake could finally connect with someone.

[spn-safeandsound]

14. Family Squabbles

Safe and Sound

Dean Winchester x Original Character

Episode: 1x20; Dead Man’s Blood

Word Count: 7,603

Warning(s): Mature language, canon violence + gore, arguing

Author’s Note: Introducing Luke Alexander! I hope you guys enjoy the chapter. Don’t forget to reblog and like!

Masterlink in Pinned Post!

Julia popped a fry into her mouth and wiped her greasy fingers before looking back at her laptop, reading an email that her Aunt Maggie had sent to her, Abby, and Beth. It was her monthly update with what was going on with PSC; earnings, new contracts, and employee turnaround. Julia didn't know much about what went into keeping a business but she knew enough to know what Maggie was talking about in her emails without having to look it up  in a dictionary.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dean reach for one of her fries; she swatted his hand away and ignored the pout he gave her in return. Fries were her favorite and she would only share them on certain occasions. A random weekday didn't count.

Dean sighed and folded the newspaper he was reading. "Not a decent lead in all of Nebraska," he told them before addressing Sam, "What have you got?"

"Well, I've been scanning Wyoming, Colorado, South Dakota..." Sam said from behind his laptop. "Here—a woman in Iowa fell ten thousand feet from an airplane and survived."

Julia raised her eyebrows while Dean cocked his head. "That sounds more like 'that's incredible' than 'the Twilight Zone'."

Sam sighed and continued his search. "Yeah."

"Hey, you know, we could just keep heading east. New York, upstate," Dean suggested. "Could stop by and see Sarah again, huh. She's a cool chick, man, smokin'," he whistled playfully. "You two seemed pretty friendly. What do you say?"

Julia grinned when Sam perked up, a little flustered. "Yeah, I dunno, maybe someday," he placated his brother. "In the meantime, we got a lot of work to do, Dean, you know that."

Dean pressed his lips together. "Yeah, you're right," he conceded. "What else you got?"

"Uh, a man in Colorado," Sam studied his screen. "A local man named Daniel Elkins was found mauled in his home. It sounds like the police don't know what to think. At first they said it was some sort of bear attack and now they've found some signs of robbery."

Julia perked up when she recognized the name. Her dad had known a man named Danny Elkins way back when she was a kid. They had a falling out of some sort but Luke still held him in high regard and made sure he was supplied with anything he needed from PSC.

"My dad knew a Danny Elkins," she told the brothers as Dean pulled out John's journal.

"I think my dad knew him, too," Dean flipped toward the part of the journal where John kept his hunter contacts. "Here—D. Elkins."

He pointed out the contact, which included a phone number, to Sam and Julia.

Sam raised his eyebrows. "You guys think it's the same Elkins?"

"If both of our dads knew a Danny Elkins, it makes sense," Julia shrugged, closing her laptop. "Plus, that's a Colorado area code."

Sam looked from Julia to Dean, who nodded. "Okay," he agreed. "Let's check it out."

-

Daniel Elkins lived in a secluded cabin up in the mountains and, according to the bartender at the place he frequented every week, he was a bit of a shut-in. Despite the fact that it was July, it was chilly up in the mountains and starting to snow a little.

They had to pick the lock to get into the cabin and since Julia didn't have much experience with that, Sam and Dean made sure that she was the one to do it this time. It took her a few tries but she eventually unlocked the door.

"Good job, shortcake," Dean patted her ass when Sam stepped into the cabin and then followed in behind him. He turned on his flashlight and started looking around. "Well, looks like the maid didn't come today."

Julia stepped into the cabin, lighting her own flashlight. She wandered off into a different room as Sam stayed by the door, observing some of the salt on the ground, and entered the study. It was an absolute disaster; with most of the furniture splintered into pieces, papers and books all over the place, and various collectibles knocked over everywhere.

"Hey, there's salt over here, right beside the door," Sam called from the front room.

"You mean protection-against-demon salt or whoops-I-spilled-the-popcorn salt?" Dean called back from the room he was looking through.

"It's clearly a ring," Julia heard Sam say as she picked up an empty wooden case that used to hold a gun and its bullets. "Do you think this Elkins guy was a player?"

"Definitely!" Julia spoke up loud enough so the boys could hear her.

"He's got a journal here, Jules!" Dean replied back. "Dates back to the sixties."

"Ooh," Julia whispered under her breath; that would be interesting to read.

Finished with searching their rooms, Sam and Dean entered the room where Julia was looking around. Sam's eyes immediately went to the broken skylight. "Whatever attacked him, it looks like there was more than one."

Dean nodded, looking at the wooden case that Julia had discarded on the messy desk. "Looks like he put up a hell of a fight, too."

Julia made a noise of agreement as she continued to slowly step over some of the debris. She paused when her light flashed over some blood and when she took a closer look, she saw that there were some scratches in the wooden floors.

"You got something, J?" Sam noticed her crouching down next to the scratches.

"I think so," Julia nodded. "Hey, can you get me a pencil and some paper?"

Dean quickly grabbed some supplies from the messy desk and handed them over to her. Julia slapped the paper over the scratches, making sure it was flush with the floor, and then scribbled over it with a pencil, marking out whatever Elkins scratched into the wood.

She picked it up when she was finished, reading the letters and numbers that she deciphered. "It's a message."

Dean took the bloody paper from her. "Well, that looks familiar," he showed it to Sam. "Three letters, six digits."

"The location and combination of a post office box," Sam realized. "It's a mail drop."

Dean nodded. "Just the way Dad does it."

-

After dropping by the local post office and getting into Elkins' mail drop box, Julia, Sam, and Dean went and rented out a motel room. The letter they had discovered in the drop box was written out to a J.W, which just so happened to be John Winchester's initials. Julia didn't think it was a coincidence but Sam and Dean were a little skeptical.

"J.W," Sam sighed, looking over at the envelope Dean held in his hands. "You think it's for Dad?"

"I don't know," Dean studied the initials, looking as if the writing would jump out at him. "Should we open it?"

Before Julia or Sam could answer him, there was a knock on the motel door. The three of them stiffened and Dean dropped the envelope on the table before grabbing his gun to walk over to the door. He aimed it at the door as he reached for the knob and twisted, opening it just a crack so he could see who was on the other side.

His eyes widened in surprise when he saw who it was and he opened the door all the way. "Dad? Luke?"

John Winchester and Luke Alexander made their way into the motel room, shocking Julia and Sam. They both looked a little tired but other than that, they seemed healthy.

Julia silently stared at her father. She hadn't seen him in almost a year and even though she loved him, she had been suppressing some anger toward him for a long time now, especially after what happened to Levi and the fact that he just took off again.

Growing up, Julia and Luke had a good relationship despite the fact that he was gone most of the year, hunting supernatural creatures. Luke had always been closest to Abby, his little protégé, but he loved each of his children in his own ways. He was a strict father but still loving and he loved Naomi to death. When she died, he became distant but he still kept in contact. All that had changed the beginning of Julia's senior year at Stanford.

"Dad, what are you doing here?" Sam asked John, standing up from the table. "Are you guys all right?"

"Yeah, we're fine," John assured his youngest son. "We read the news about Daniel. We got here as fast as we could. We saw you three at his place."

Julia narrowed her eyes at her dad, noticing that he was avoiding eye contact with her. She couldn't believe that he would come all the way to some random cabin in Colorado but didn't have the decency to attend his own son's memorial or make sure that his daughters were okay.

"Why didn't you guys come in?"

"You know why," John said pointedly. "Because we had to make sure you weren't followed by anyone or anything. Nice job covering your tracks, by the way."

Surprisingly, his comment wasn't at all sarcastic.

Dean grinned proudly. "Yeah, well, we learned from the best."

Julia couldn't contain her anger anymore. Not when everyone was acting so casual about John and Luke's reappearance. "So, you came all the way out here for this Elkins guy?" she caught everyone's attention with the sharpness in her voice; it wasn't like her at all to speak that way to anyone. "but you couldn't extend the same courtesy for Levi? For your son?"

Luke sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Jujube—"

"No, don't do that!" Julia stood up abruptly, causing Dean and Sam to exchange a knowing look; Dean slowly started moving toward her, hoping she wouldn't direct her ire at him. "Levi died, Dad! He died and you were no where in sight. Oh wait," she scoffed bitterly. "I forgot. You were in Chicago but you decided it was best not to see how the rest of your family was doing!"

Only inches away from her, Dean placed a warm hand on her back, trying to calm her down. "Jules..."

Luke was in the wrong, he knew that, but he wasn't about to let his daughter yell at him like that. Especially in front of other people. "Don't you talk to me like that, Julia Ruth," he pointed at her, his eyes hardening. "I'm still your father and you will show me some respect."

Julia scoffed, tears coming to her eyes. She angrily brushed them away, cursing her overreactive tear ducts. "You don't deserve it," she spat, pushing away Dean's hand as he tried to grab her waist. "You abandoned your family!"

Luke took a threatening step forward and Julia recognized the look in his eyes. She had seen it many times before when she or Abby stepped out of line and got into trouble. It was look he gave when he was two seconds away from whooping their asses.

Luckily, Dean came to her rescue. "Okay, that's enough," he said sternly, firmly grabbing her waist, pulling her to her and Sam's bed, and sitting her down. He gave Luke a glare, too, expressing all of his anger into it for Julia's sake. "You too, Luke. Both of you calm down."

Luke glared back at him but calmed down when John patted his shoulder.

"All right," John sighed and gave Julia a sympathetic look that surprised her. "We need to focus. Dean, can I look at that letter?"

Not letting go of Julia's shoulders, Dean nodded at the letter where he set it on the table. John picked it up and opened the envelope as Sam came to sit by Julia on their bed, grabbing her hand to calm her down.

"If you're reading this, I'm already dead..." John read the letter, trailing off when he came across something shocking. "That son of a bitch."

Luke gave him a questioning look. "What is it?"

John handed him the letter. "He had it the whole time."

"What?"

Luke quickly read the letter and then looked at Julia, Sam, and Dean. "When you searched the place, did you see a gun? An antique, a colt revolver? Did you see it?"

"There was an old case," Julia told him, wiping her tears and swallowing her anger in order to talk to him. "but it was empty."

John sighed angrily. "They have it."

"You mean whatever killed Elkins?" Dean wondered.

John nodded. "We gotta pick up their trail."

"Wait," Sam looked at him in shock. "You want us to help you?"

"If Elkins was telling the truth, we gotta find this gun."

"The gun?" Sam raised his eyebrows. "Why?"

"Because it's important, that's why," John said sharply.

Sam sighed. "Dad, we don't even know what these things are yet."

"They were what Danny Elkins killed best," Luke spoke up. "Vampires."

"Vampires," Dean's grip on Julia's shoulders tightened. "I thought there was no such thing."

"You never even mentioned them, Dad," Sam pointed out.

"We thought they were extinct," John explained. "We thought that Elkins and others had wiped them out. We were wrong."

"Most vampire lore is wrong," Luke took a seat at the table where Julia, Sam, and Dean were previously sitting. "A cross won't repel them, sunlight won't kill them, and neither will a stake to the heart. The bloodlust, though, that's true. They need fresh human blood to survi-ve. They were once people so you won't know it's a vampire until it's too late."

Julia pursed her lips and shared a look with Sam, both of them concerned with the unknowns of what was happening. Vampires now existed, their dads were searching for some random gun that the vampires stole from Elkins, and they didn't even know why the gun was so special that Elkins left a letter for John in the event of his death.

She was unsettled already by her dad's presence but now, with all this new information, it was worse. She wrinkled her nose and bowed her head, trying not to let her emotions get the better of her again. Dean had pretty much calmed her down for the moment but her anger was still simmering inside her. There were three things she did while she was angry; cried, gave whoever she was angry at the silent treatment, or act petty.

This time, she was going with silent treatment.

-

A harsh pat on the end of her bed by her feet woke Julia up from her deep sleep. She could hear Luke and John talking and the hum of a police radio but her mind was trying to catch up to the fact that she was now awake. Sam groaned from next to her and hit her in the shoulder when he stretched out his arms, making her groggily groan in pain.

"Sam, Dean, Julia, wake up," John barked at them; Julia sat up to see that he and Luke were shrugging on their jackets. "Let's go."

Still half-asleep, Dean sat up in his bed and rubbed his eyes. "Mmhm."

"What happened?" Sam sighed.

"We picked up a police call," Luke stated, making sure his weapon was loaded. "A couple called 9-1-1, found a body in the street. When the cops got there, everyone was missing."

"It's the vampires," John added.

Sam slowly sat up, groaning. "How do you know?"

"Just follow us, okay?" John said impatiently as Luke opened the door, heading out after the older man.

Julia moaned as she stretched, getting the sleepiness out of her joints, and hopped up to her feet. She had fallen asleep in the leggings and t-shirt she wore the day before, so she simply pulled on her boots and her navy-blue canvas jacket, making sure all her weapons were ready to go.

"Huh, vampires," Dean scoffed groggily, getting up from his bed. "It gets funnier every time I hear it."

A half-hour later, the sun was rising as John and Luke questioned the police gathered around the abandoned car. The two older men had been adamant about having Julia, Sam, and Dean stay back while they did their work, leaving Julia and Sam feeling frustrated.

"I don't see why we couldn't have gone over with them," Sam grumbled from his place against the hood of the Impala.

While Julia nodded in agreement, Dean gave him a calculative look. "Oh, don't tell me it's already starting."

As John and Luke started making their way back to them, Sam furrowed his eyebrows at Dean. "What's starting?

Dean just shook his head and turned to the older hunters. "What'd you get?"

"It was them, all right," John confirmed for them. "Looks like they're heading west. We'll have to double back to get around that detour."

"How can you be so sure?"

Dean gave his brother a warning look. "Sam..."

"I just want to know that we're going in the right direction," Sam defended himself.

John clenched his jaw. "We are."

"How do you know?" Sam challenged him.

John sighed and reached into his jacket pocket, pulling something out and handing it to Dean. "I found this."

Julia silently looked over as Dean flipped over the sharp tooth between his fingers. "It's a vampire fang."

"Not fangs, teeth," Luke corrected him. "The second set descends when they attack."

John gave Sam a hard look. "Any more questions?"

Sam didn't speak but glared down at the gravel at their feet.

"All right," John spoke when he was sure Sam wasn't going to backtalk. "let's get out of here. We're losing daylight."

It was early in the morning and the sun had just set so Julia knew that John was just being an asshole.

He proved her theory correct when he passed by the Impala and commented, "Hey, Dean, why don't you touch up your car before you get rust? I wouldn't have given you the damn thing if I thought you were going to ruin it."

Julia scoffed quietly as John and Luke got into their truck, glaring at the former. Dean took better care of Baby then he did himself. There was no way rust was getting anywhere near the treasured Impala. Dean would rather die.

Sam gave his brother an I-told-you-so look while Dean just smiled awkwardly and shrugged in embarrassment. The three of them got into the Impala, with Sam driving, and started following John's truck to make their way past the detour.

"You take great care of Baby, Dean," Julia assured him, reaching forward to pat his shoulder twice. "Don't listen to your dad."

"Eh, maybe he's right," Dean shrugged as he grabbed Daniel Elkins' journal from the dashboard.

"No, he's not," she insisted.

Sam nodded in agreement. "She's right, Dean."

"All right, all right," Dean sighed and tossed the Elkins journal to Julia. "Find some info on the vamps, would you, shortcake?"

Julia, who caught the journal easily, nodded and started flipping through the pages until she saw the start of the section about vampires.

"Vampires nest in groups of eight to ten," she read out loud so Sam and Dean could hear her. "Smaller packs are sent to hunt for food. Victims are taken to the nest where the pack keeps them alive, bleeding them for days or weeks."

"Ugh," Dean grimaced. "I wonder if that's what happened to the 9-1-1 couple."

"That's probably what Dad is thinking," Sam muttered sourly. "Of course, it would be nice if he just told us what he thinks."

"So," Dean gave his brother a thoughtful look. "it is starting."

Sam glanced at him confused. "What?"

"Sam, we've been looking for Dad all year," Dean pointed out. "Now we're with him for more than a couple of hours and there's static already?"

"No," Sam huffed. "Look, I'm happy he's okay, all right? And I'm happy that we're all working together again..."

"Well, good," Dean thought that he was finished. Julia knew better, though; Sam was itching to make the fact that he was annoyed with John bossing them around known.

"It's just the way he treats us," he blurted out. "Like we're children."

Dean groaned. "Oh, here we go."

"He barks orders at us, Dean," Sam raised his voice to try to make a point. "He expects us to follow them without question. He keeps us on some fucking need-to-know deal."

"He does what he does for a reason," Dean argued, matching Sam's volume.

"What reason?"

"Our job!" Dean exclaimed. "There's no time to argue, there's no margin for error, all right? That's just the way the old man runs things. Luke does it, too."

"Yeah and look at what a great father my dad is," Julia spoke up. "Look, I agree with Sam. You guys are grown men and he should treat you like it."

While Dean gave her an annoyed look, Sam nodded, glad that she was backing him up. "It doesn't work anymore," he agreed. "Not after everything that the three of us have been through, Dean. I mean, are you telling me you're cool with just falling into line and letting him and Luke run the whole show?"

Dean pressed his lips together and looked at Sam. "If that's what it takes."

There was something in the way that Dean said those words that had Julia doubting that he didn't mind John taking charge. Over the last year, Dean had been the one in charge; he was the oldest, what he said goes. More than likely, he didn't like giving up his control, especially when his dad treated him like a kid and not the twenty-seven-year-old man he was.

Nevertheless, Dean gave nothing else away. They continued driving through Colorado throughout the whole day, with little to no breaks. It was well past dark when John called Dean to inform him of their next move.

"Yeah, Dad, I got it," Dean confirmed before hanging up the phone and turning to Sam. "Pull off at the next exit."

"Why?"

"Cause Dad and Luke think that we've got the vampires' trail."

"How?"

Julia winced at Sam's furious tone; John Winchester sure did know how to bring the best out in his sons.

"I don't know. He didn't say."

Sam stomped on the gas pedal, revving the engine. They shot forward, speeding from their current place behind John's truck until they were passing it. Once Sam was sure they were a safe enough distance ahead of their fathers, he abruptly pulled out into the middle of the road, cutting John and Luke off.

"Shit," Julia breathed in shock, pressing her hand against her racing heart. As Sam pushed open his door, she protested, "Sam, no!"

"Fuck, here we go," Dean muttered, getting out of the Impala to run interference between his dad and Sam. "Sam, stop!"

Just as Julia was getting out of the car, John barreled out of his truck and up to Sam, a furious look on his face. "What the fuck was that?"

"We need to talk."

"About what?" John stopped in front of Sam when there was only about three inches between them.

Luke got out of the passenger seat of the truck and leaned against it, watching what was going on with raised eyebrows. He shot Julia a look but she steadily ignored him, watching Sam with furrowed eyebrows.

"About everything," Sam said firmly. "Where are we going, Dad? What's the big deal about this gun?"

"Sammy, come on, we can Q-and-A after we kill all the vampires," Dean tried to interject.

"Your brother's right. We don't have time for this."

"Last time we say you, you said it was too dangerous for us to be together. Now, out of the blue, you need our help," Sam raised his voice. "Obviously something big is going down and we wanna know what!"

John gave him a stone-cold glare. "Get back in the car."

"No."

"I said get back in the fucking car."

"Yeah, and I said no!" Sam yelled.

Before the argument could escalate any further, Julia and Dean stepped in. Julia grabbed Sam's arm and forcefully tugged him a few feet away from his dad, standing her ground when he tried to fight her.

"Okay, you made your point, tough guy," Dean told his little brother as he pushed on his dad's chest to get him to back away. "Look, we're all tired. We can talk about this later."

"Come on, Sam," Julia said encouragingly. "Let it go for now."

Sam shook his head, still glaring at his father. "This is why I left in the first place."

John lunged forward, pressing against Dean's hold on him; Luke jumped into the fray, holding his friend back. "What did you say?"

"You heard me."

"Yeah, you left!" John reminded him scathingly. "Your brother and me, we needed you. You walked away. You walked away!"

"Stop it, both of you!" Dean called as Sam broke loose from Julia's grasp, stalking straight up to John. Dean immediately pushed him back while Luke continued to try to pull John away.

"You were the one who said don't come back, Dad," Sam shouted, tears in his eyes. "You closed that door, not me. You were just pissed off that you couldn't control me anymore!"

Julia shook her head, feeling three angry energies clashing back and forth. Sam was getting more and more riled up and John was the source of the Winchester temper so he was no better. Dean was angry because he just got his family back together and it was splitting apart already. It was too much anger and, added with her own, Julia was having a hard time keeping her composure while Sam needed her. She had to stay calm, though. She—and her dad, really—were the only ones who could right now.

She took a deep breath, calming herself down, and stomped forward, gripping both of Sam's arms to pull him away from John. "Stop it!" she yelled firmly. "Stop it right now! That's enough!"

Dean saw an opportunity when Julia got Sam to back up a couple of inches; he forced himself in between his brother and his father, making sure that they were far enough apart once again.

"That means you too," Dean added to John with a glare.

"Come on, John," Luke grunted, pulling John back toward the truck.

Sam ripped his arms away from Julia and stomped to the Impala, slamming the driver's door shut behind him. Julia and Dean shared with look of exasperation with each other; it'd only been a day and the duo of Sam and John Winchester would be the death of them.

"Fucking terrific," Dean grumbled under his breath as he and Julia joined Sam in the car.

-

Julia, Sam, Dean, Luke, and John crouched in the woods only a couple hundred feet from the old barn where the vampire nest was living. They had been there for a half-hour already but there was no activity until an old car drove up and parked next to the other ones. A vampire got out and another vampire opened the barn door for him, neither one of them affected by the sun's rays.

"Son of a bitch," Dean swore, shaking his head as the second vampire closed up the barn once again. "So, they're really not afraid of the sun?"

Luke shook his head. "Direct sunlight hurts them like a nasty sunburn," he told them. "The only way to kill them is by beheading."

"And just because they sleep in the day doesn't mean they won't wake up," John added.

Julia hummed. "So, I'm guessing just walking in isn't our best option."

"Actually," John grinned at her, showing off his Winchester dimples. "that's the plan."

The five of them left their hiding place and made their way back to where the truck and Impala were parked. Even though the truck was only a couple years older than Baby, its weapon outfit was much nicer. It buzzed as it mechanically opened, holding numerous weapons in a neatly organized way.

"Come here, baby girl," Luke waved Julia over to their weapons; Julia hesitantly walked over, knowing that now really wasn't the time to be angry with her dad. "This is for you."

Luke pulled a brand-new machete out of the weapons storage, complete with its own holster. It was slightly shorter than the ones that he and John were using but it was pretty and it'd get the job done—well, she had never beheaded anything but she assumed her dad wouldn't give the machete to her unless it would do the work.

She knew this was some sort of truce between them. For the moment, Luke wanted her to set aside her anger so they could trust each other and have one another's back. He had done this many times growing up; when he missed her ninth birthday, Luke had come home from his hunt with a set of brand-new daggers. She easily forgave him and still used them to this day. Usually her problems with her dad didn't disappear but she wasn't perfect and she loved presents. What little girl didn't?

For now, she'd accept the truce. She took the machete from him with a small smile. "Thanks, Dad."

So much for the silent treatment.

Luke grinned and tugged on the end of her French braid like he used to do when she was a girl. "There's my girl."

Julia gave him a closed-mouth smile and went back to Sam and Dean, holding it out for them to look at it. Dean was more impressed than Sam was, holding it up and mimicking an attack, slicing through the air with the blade. She couldn't help but laugh when he grinned happily and gave it back to her.

"So," John spoke up once Julia put the holster around her waist and they were all loaded up with whatever weapons they needed. "You three really wanna know about this colt?"

Sam nodded, his temper calmed down from their fight the night before. "Yes, sir."

"It's just a story, a legend really," John started to tell them. "Well, I thought it was. Never really believed it until I read Daniel's letter. Back in 1835, when Halley's comet was overhead, the same night those mean died at the Alamo, they say Samuel Colt made a gun. A special gun."

"He made it for a hunter," Luke took over the story. "He made thirteen bullets and this hunter used the gun half a dozen times before he disappeared, the gun along with him. Somehow, Danny got his hands on it."

"They say...they say that this gun can kill anything," John finished.

"Kill anything," Dean repeated slowly. "Like, supernatural anything?"

Sam stiffened in realization. "Like the demon."

"Yeah, like the demon," John confirmed with a nod. "Ever since Luke and I picked up its trail, we've been looking for a way to destroy that thing. If we find the gun, we may have it."

The five of them split up—John and Luke together while Julia, Sam, and Dean were grouped up—to enter the barn. While John and Luke went to look for the colt, the three of them went to rescue hostages. While Julia and Dean were unlocking the cage full of three human women, Sam went to freeing a woman who was tied to a post, blood all over her. She ended up screaming and alerting all the vampires that they were there, making them abort their mission.

After they got some dead man's blood, which will incapacitate a vampire for a while, and night fell, Julia and Dean were to be the trap for the vampires coming after them. They would make it look like the Impala had quit running, leaving them at the side of the road, looking for help.

Julia crossed her arms tightly over her chest as she watched Dean look over Baby's engine. She wrinkled her nose, trying not to think of what they were about to do; usually she was okay with anxiety before a hunt but she nor Dean had any experience with vampires. She didn't even know if she was strong enough to behead a vampire, for crying out loud.

Dean peeked over at her, giving her a cute smile. "Nervous, shortcake?"

"Yes," Julia didn't bother lying; he knew her tell anyway. "What about you?"

"Nah," he shook his head, his green eyes surprisingly soft. "And you don't have to worry, okay? As long as I'm around, nothing bad is ever going to happen to you."

Julia's heart fluttered in her chest and she couldn't help but grin at him. "Didn't you say that to Sam once?" she teased him. "Are you reusing one-liners, Dean? I never thought I'd see the day."

Dean chuckled and rolled his eyes. "Shuddup," he shook his head in amusement. "I distracted you, didn't I?"

"Yeah, I guess you did," she conceded, her eyes flickering to the right when she heard some branches snapping. "Oh, crap."

The smile left Dean's face as he concentrated on the engine again, acting like he had no idea what he was doing. Julia peered over his work, making it seem like she was paying attention to what he was doing.

"Car trouble?" they heard from behind them.

Julia and Dean turned around at the same time, coming face-to-face with an older woman dressed in tacky double denim. She was very obviously a vampire, especially since there was no car around that she would have used to get to them, were she a human.

"Let me give you a lift," the vampire insisted with a seductive smile "I'll take you two back to my place."

"Sorry, we don't do threesomes," Dean said sharply. "And we draw the line at necrophilia, anyway."

"Ooh," the vampire cooed before reaching out and backhanding Dean across the face.

Julia went to help him but another vampire walked over to them—this one was a huge guy—and grabbed her. She was forced to watch as the woman picked Dean up by the chin, raising him up until his feet were off the ground.

"Ugh," Dean grunted. "I don't usually get this friendly until the second date, but..."

While Julia struggled in the man's arms, the woman smirked up at Dean. "You know, we could have some fun," she tempted him. "I always like to make new friends."

The woman lowered her arm until Dean was level with her. She smashed her lips against Dean's, giving him no room to struggle. Julia pushed against the vampire holding her, anger welling in her chest, and shouted for the woman to stop.

"Get off of him!" she yelled at her, still trying to make her way out of the man's arms; he roughly took one of her arms and held it behind her back while placing his other arm in front of her mouth. "Ouch, hey! Let go of me, dammit!"

The woman pulled away from a disgusted Dean and smirked at Julia. "You got yourself a feisty one, don't you," she sent a dig toward Dean as she slowly walked toward Julia. "Mmm...Luther will like you, sweetheart."

Fed up with the talking, Julia kicked back her leg into the man's nuts, making him grunt and let her go. As soon as she was out of his arms, an arrow was shot through his heart and the woman's.

"Damn it," the woman grunted while Julia helped Dean up from where the vampire discarded him; Sam, John, and Luke came out of the woods where they were hiding, bows in their hands. "It barely even stings."

"Give it time, sweetheart," John smirked at her. "That arrow's soaked in dead man's blood. It's like poison to you, isn't it?"

Like clockwork, the woman stumbled and faltered, fainting to the ground. John handed Dean his bow and picked her up. "I'll load her up," John called out toward Luke. "You take care of that one."

Luke grinned and pulled out his machete, angrily leering down at the vampire who was holding Julia. "It'd be my pleasure."

As John went to toss the vampire in Impala's trunk, Luke swung his machete, slicing through the vampire's head with ease.

-

"I told you I'm okay," Julia assured her father as they sat around the campfire he had built.

"That vamp had you pretty tight, Jujube," Luke said worriedly.

"I've had worse," she told him; she had gotten injuries with almost every hunt that she had been on with Sam and Dean—some of them worse than others.

Luke nodded understandingly. "And how is the training going? Are Sam and Dean treating you all right?"

Julia looked over at the truck, where Sam and Dean were talking to their father about his weapon storage. "Yeah, they are," she nodded, turning back to Luke. "and training's going fine. I did an exorcism on an airplane, you know."

Luke grinned. "I know you did," he hesitated for a few seconds before continuing. "Listen, Julia, I'm sorry for not being there for you and your sisters. I've been with John on this from the very beginning and I got caught up in it. And, when Levi was killed," he shook his head and Julia was surprised to see him tearing up. "Well, I didn't want to face you girls."

"Why, though, Dad?" Julia didn't understand; a girl always needed her daddy.

"Because I was ashamed," Luke confessed. "We think that girl who was controlling the Daeva, the one who killed Levi, was working with the demon that killed Mary and Jessica. And, if she was, that meant that I brought her right to your brother. I'm the reason he's dead."

Julia grabbed Luke's left hand where his wedding ring was still wrapped around his fourth finger. "Dad, it's not your fault," she whispered, her eyes stinging with her own tears. "You couldn't have known that what happened to Levi would actually happen."

"I should have, though," Luke shook his head. "I've been hunting evil my whole life. I should have known that one of you—if not all of you—would pay the price."

"You can't think like that, Dad," Julia sniffed and wiped away some of her tears with her free hand. "You and Mom protected us the best you could."

Before they could talk anymore, the Winchester men walked over to the fire. John was holding a bundle of herbs, which he threw in the fire, immediately stinking up the vicinity.

"Gross," Julia wrinkled her nose at the smell. "What the hell is that?"

"Saffron, skunk's cabbage, a trillium," John informed her. "It'll block our scent and hers until we're ready."

Dean coughed and shook his head. "The stuff stinks."

"That's the idea," Luke let go of Julia's hand and stood up. "Dust your clothes with the ashes and you stand a chance of not being detected."

"And you're sure they'll come after her?" Sam questioned his father, nodding over to the vampire they had tied to a tree.

"Yeah," John confirmed. "Vampires mate for life. She means more to the leader than the gun but the blood sickness is going to wear off soon, so you don't have a lot of time."

"A half-hour ought to do it," Sam checked the machete in his holster.

"And then we want you three out of the area as fast as you can," Luke ordered.

Julia stood up and crossed her arms over her chest. "What?"

"You guys can't take care of them all," Dean protested.

"We'll have her and the colt," John placated him, pointing to the vampire.

"But after, we're gonna meet up, right?" Sam stared hard at his dad. "Use the gun together, right?"

John paused for a long moment, giving them the answer they needed.

Sam scoffed. "You're leaving again, aren't you?" he confronted John. "You still wanna go after the demon alone. You know, I don't get you. You can't treat us like this."

"Like what?"

"Like children."

"You are my children," John said firmly. "I'm trying to keep you safe."

"Dad, all due respect, but that's bullshit," Dean spoke up, earning shocked looks from Sam and Julia.

Never before had Julia heard Dean speak up to his dad like that; and, by the way Sam was looking at his brother, he hadn't heard it either. Julia was proud of him; he was finally sticking up for himself.

John blinked in disbelief at his oldest son. "Excuse me?"

"You know that Sammy, Jules, and I have been hunting," Dean stood his ground. "Hell, you sent us on a few hunting trips yourself. You can't be that worried about keeping us safe."

"It's not the same thing, Dean."

"Then what is it?" Dean asked him. "Why do you want us out of the big fight?"

"This demon is a bad son of a bitch," John told them slowly, like they were kids wouldn't couldn't understand evil and the danger it brings. "I can't make the same moves if I'm worried about keeping you alive."

"You mean you can't be as reckless," Dean retorted, seeing through his dad's bullshit.

"Look," John sighed. "I don't expect to make it out of this fight in one piece. You mother's death, it almost killed me. I can't watch my children die, too. I won't."

"What happens if you die?" Dean countered, his voice wavering. "Dad, what happens if you die and we could have done something about it? You know, I've been thinking and I...Maybe Sam's right about this one. We should do this together."

Sam nodded in agreement.

"We're stronger as a family, Dad. We just are," Dean continued. "You know it."

John shook his head. "We're running out of time," he changed the subject. "You do your job and you get out of the area. That's an order."

Luke tapped Julia's shoulder and when she turned to him, he nodded in Sam and Dean's direction. She knew that he was silently telling her to go with them but she agreed with the brothers; they should stick together. Sam and Dean had as much of a right to see this demon dead as John did.

"Go," Luke urged her. "Be careful."

-

While John and Luke left with the female vampire to lure out half of the nest, Julia, Dean, and Sam wiped out the rest of them who were left at the barn. It turned out that after a few tries, Julia did have enough strength to behead a vampire, which gave her much relief that she could defend herself.

After they freed the hostages, they made their way to where the fight between John and Luke and the vampires was going down. When they arrived, the vampires had John knocked out and Luke fighting a lost cause. But the tide turned in their favor when Dean shot an arrow drenched in dead man's blood into one of the vamps.

The three of them rushed at the vampires, their machetes drawn. Sam took out two vampires, one after another, while Dean killed the vampire that had Luke on the ropes. Julia was right behind him, ready to kill one of the last ones when another vampire came up behind her and forcefully pushed her to the ground.

The wind was knocked out of her as she hit the ground hard. The vampire who pushed her down stood over her, feet on either side of her body, and bent down, backhanding her face so hard she could taste blood. He wasn't finished with her, though; he grabbed her around the neck and lifted her with one hand, swinging her around so his arm could snap her neck and kill her within a second.

Julia's wide and fearful eyes were on a furious Dean, who was posed to attack the vampire, machete raised.

"Don't," the vampire warned him lowly. "I'll break her neck."

Julia inhaled deeply, silently panicking. This wouldn't have happened if she had been more careful.

"Put the blade down."

Dean hesitated, fire in his eyes, and when Julia grunted as the vampire squeezed her neck threateningly, he did as he was told. He raised his free hand and lowered the machete to the ground with the other. Sam dropped his blade as well, raising his hands in the air.

"You people," the vampire hissed as Julia wheezed in his hold. "Why can't you leave us alone? We have as much right to live as you do."

"I don't think so."

The vampire whipped around at John's voice, bringing Julia with him. John had the colt in his hand and waited for less than a second before aiming at the vampire and pulling the trigger. The bullet went right between the vampire's eyes, making him still.

Dean hurriedly pulled Julia into his arms, wrapping them tightly around her. Sam hovered near them, all three of them watching with wide eyes as the vampire slowly died.

The female that they had caught had tried to go after John but the last one wasn't having it. She dragged her into one of the vampire's cars and drove off, leaving Julia, Dean, Sam, Luke, and John to deal with the rest of them.

The vampire chapter of the story was done for now. They were safe and they had the colt. Now, all they had to do was track that demon down and kill it, just like it killed Mary and Jessica.

(Gif is not mine)

[poptod]

Baby, My Love is Yours (Kenny x Reader)

Description: His words make your heart ache, and you put the entirety of your trust in him.

Notes: Male coded/MLM. I’m a huge fan of gender neutral fics (as shown by my AO3) but, when it comes to gay characters, I don’t like taking that away from them. 

Words: 3.5k, sorry it’s so short

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23086324

Based off this song (I wrote and sung it)

In all honesty you haven’t known him for very long - at most, a few months, though your grasp on how time works is rather weak. If only you could pinpoint the exact date when you met. Of course, when you first met him, there wasn’t exactly a spark, or a flame, between the two of you; not even within you alone. He spoke anxious but excited, every topic lighting an excitement in his eyes, but you didn’t notice. Not until your fifth meeting.

You’d moved back to your hometown after a long trip of moving around the world, and found yourself not fitting in at all like you had before. At the age of seven, close to every kid had the same interests - having fun, playing, simply burning away the energy till that joy couldn’t come so easily. Nearly ten years later you find yourself in a place you know so well but would never again understand. You were probably the only family in town that had left the state, and that difference cut a deep separation between you and your classmates. You saw the world, and every person in it as entirely different and wonderfully unique from yourself, while many others only knew the people they’d known all their life.

Luckily, there was one person who welcomed you back rather warmly - your old friend, one of your best friends: Larry Gold. An enthusiastic boy too deep in fiction to see that the world didn’t revolve around the stories he knew, but the best shot you had at having any sort of friendships in your old, unfamiliar town. Second day back at the school he came up to you, frowning somewhat.

“You look sorta… familiar. Did we - did - were you here a few years ago?” He asks, gesturing vaguely with his hands at the mostly empty classroom, the students having long gone with the ring of the bell. “Sorry, if not,” he adds. “I just can’t shake the feeling.”

“No, uh, yeah. I was here, like ten years ago? I dunno. I’m (Y/N), you’re…” you blank for a second, before remembering his name. “Larry, right?”

“Yeah! Wow, I… wow. It’s been a while. Where’d you go?”

You catch him up on the way to the lunchroom - Montana, then to Switzerland, then to Korea, to Scotland, before moving to Italy - then Germany, and finally back to the States.

“Holy shit,” he laughs, filling his tray up with the horrid looking lunch ‘meat’.

“It was a bit tough, to be honest. How do you fare?”

“Could be better, could be worse,” he admits with a shrug of his shoulders. “I got a best friend at least, he’s probably sitting over…” he looks over the crowd, before settling on a boy sitting alone in a  corner, “there. That’s Kenny.”

You nod, not really seeing who exactly he’s looking at till he’s leading you over, and you sit across from him and Kenny.

“Hi, I’m (Y/N),” you start out with - simple enough. “I used to live here.”

Kenny doesn’t seem much for words, sitting straight up and stock still, before Larry nudges him with his elbow and whispers something indistinguishable above the raucous crowd. Stuttering he offers his hand, which you shake with a smile.

“Nice to meet you,” you say.

“I’m - Kenny.”

Lunch runs smoothly, and when it finishes Larry pulls you to the side of the rushing students.

“He’s usually not like that. But he is a weird guy, just a heads up.”

Chuckling you nod, not taking his advice. Weird never bothered you, as long as it didn’t harm anybody. In fact, it’d probably do you good - befriending someone unlike the other teenagers around you. Even if you weren’t ‘new,’ you still stick out like a plant amongst rubble, or a snowstorm in summer. Abnormally tall, with clothes too expensive for the school you attend and a very clear ‘Pridefully Gay’ patch on your jacket. Doesn’t bother Larry, that or he can’t see past the end of his nose; you went with the latter.

Kenny ended up being a joy to have around once he actually gained the nerve to start talking. The two of you bonded, rather unsurprisingly for you. A ‘gaydar’ wasn’t something you put much stock in, but there were obvious signs when someone was gay, and Kenny emitted near every sign of a boy so deep in the closet he’d find shoes from 1987. You didn’t bring it up, though, ever one for chivalry. If he wanted to come out, he could do it on his own time, and you certainly didn’t feel the need to talk to Larry about it - he’d asked about your patch, and expressed a decent amount of discomfort about homosexuality.

“I get it if you don’t want to be friends anymore, but that’s a dick move,” you told him, to which he quickly agreed.

“It’s not that I don’t want to be friends, it’s just… you aren’t gonna get, like, a crush on me or anything… right?”

“No. I only like attractive men,” you told him, sparking a snort from Kenny, whom you hadn’t realized was listening.

It wasn’t until the fifth time the three of you had decided to hang out outside of school that you suddenly fell under a charm you’d previously believed didn’t exist. Sitting in the middle of Larry’s living room (your house was too far away, and Kenny’s house was apparently too strict), you were simply doing homework, you working on English, Kenny on math, and Larry on history. Fiddling with his pencil, Kenny sits next to you, and across from the both of you sits Larry.

“Why do we have to write a poem for English? Isn’t it enough that we have to do presentations on friggin’ Jane Eyre?” You grumble, running your hands through your hair.

“Having trouble?” Kenny asks, leaning to look over your shoulder.

“Everything I write sounds stupid,” you mumble, your head falling from the grip of your hands and landing with a dull thud on the table.

“Then just write something stupid,” Larry adds, helpfully, but still engrossed in his own homework.

“Here, I, uh,” he looks at you, blushing (as usual; you’d gotten used to it) before digging into his backpack and pulling out a journal. “You can use one of mine.”

“What? No. That’s cheating,” you insist, turning back to your empty paper. Kenny and Larry share a glance, but his attention comes quickly back to you.

“At least take one of my ideas? They’re on the back page,” he says softly, pushing the notebook into your line of sight, giggling slightly as it comes to cover up the entirety of your own blank journal. With a sigh and a chuckle, you relent.

“Fine, but I owe you,” you mutter, looking over the ideas. Kenny just shrugs, and turns back to his math. You’re horrid at math, and the equations he’s completing in his head send you for a whirl. If you ever start failing that class, you know exactly who’d be the best tutor.

Notes made mostly of scribbles and vague definitions litter the back page - “Made of glass,” one corner says, but it’s missing the last s. ‘Mold and melt ‘neath such wretched hands,’ ‘searching for endless trivialities,’ ‘raised on masochism.’ It’s all rather dark, and when you’re sure Kenny is fully absorbed in his work, you flip through the pages to his poems. Not to steal them, that goes against your moral code; just to read. The poems are in an even messier fashion than the jotted notes - they’re put into blocks, numbered and unnamed. Arrows point to which part connects to which, and some have notes to the side, brackets combining them, and pencil scratches blurring out the wrong words. On a few pages he clearly attempted to write about women. There are scribbles about their beauty, but it’s so vague it could be about anything. Some of the fragments are simply fragments - unconnected lines of poetry.

‘I was love, helpless love,’ you read in your head. ‘And though I do care for you, I cannot put my shame on you, and I’ve lost all that matters.’ Helplessly you search for a clean poem, something you don’t need to piece together like a million letter puzzle. Continuing your search for an idea, an inspiration, or perhaps a glimpse into the elusive personality of your new friend, you find a poem that’s definitely about boys, and it’s more loving than any other that you’d read so far. In the first part of it, he describes the boy he pines for, but it’s not incredibly specific - it mentions hair color, eye color, some skin imperfections, but not enough to pinpoint who it’s about. Then, it gets dark.

‘How bold of me to dream, to wonder. I beg you to let me waste your time, and let me burn away in your light -‘ there’s a scribbled out part - ‘I thought by know’ (it’s misspelled) ‘I might hold you, like endless apologies of existence - feel my heat as your own. But as the sky descends in heaps of empty meanings, I found I said nothing to you at all.’ The last bit is hard to read - it either says ‘empty meanings’ and ‘I found,’ or ‘endless apologies,’ and ‘I fear.’ Either way, you’d seen enough - enough to make your heart race when he looks back up at you with a smile softer than anything you’d ever known, even in the entirety of all you’d travelled through. Your mind stutters, continuing to blank even as Kenny turns away. Had you just wandered through his soul? It felt a very private notebook. Turning back to the last page, you chose a random idea, ending up with, ‘I pray to thee, sweet love’s a parasite.’

From that moment on, your life continues on as normal, with one massive disruption - you’ve got a hideously thumping crush on one of your best friends.  That brings us to the present; he’s sitting far too close to you, emotionally ripe from getting kicked out of his house that afternoon, and he’s practically begging you for solace. Not with his words, thank God, but every movement he makes is needy and his chest weighs heavily against your own as he breathes softly. He’s barely touching you, but his heat manages to reach you, crowding your space without allowing himself the comfort of your touch. Larry’s mom had called you, rather late that evening, and explained the situation to you.

“I think he’s crying. I don’t want Larry helping him, I don’t think he’d help that much. Can I trust you?” She asked, and you agreed, taking your father’s pickup truck and driving it down from the mountains and into town. Once you made it to the basement, you saw the extent of his ruin.

“I don’t know what to do,” he admits, his eyes red and blotchy, matching his flushed cheeks. He’s still leaning over you on the basement couch.

“Just keep breathing,” you tell him, though you really don’t know what to do either. Your parents weren’t thrilled when you came out, but they certainly didn’t kick you out of the house. “Live day by day, hour by hour… minute by minute, if you have to.”

“They’re gonna take me back, right?” He says, practically pleading with you, as though you have any pull on what happens.

“I think they will,” you murmur, your eyes flickering down to his lips before meeting his eyes again. Truth wouldn’t help either of you in this situation, so you decide your soft lie would work best.

“Maybe I was wrong,” his head hangs low between his shoulders, “maybe I’m straight. I don’t wanna be gay. I - it’s wrong, isn’t it?”

“Kenny…” did you really have to come out to him? You had made no effort to hide it. Maybe he’d forgotten? “I’m gay, remember?”

“You’re not wrong, though, like I am,” his words start to come out choked, and he strains to keep talking through the tears burning his thoughts away. “Your parents still love you. Mine - I don’t want to… I don’t…” He doesn’t blink, hoping desperately that the gathering tears will recede but they fall nonetheless, one from each eye till he’s sniffing, cheeks burning as he tries to stop crying in front of you.

“Your parents still love you. Give them time,” you settle on. It’s a precarious situation, and you can’t tell what’s the right thing to say, or if saying anything at all will help.

At last he collapses, the strength of his arms giving out as he falls into you. Burying his face in the crook of your neck he hides away from the world, from his self-hating thoughts, from everything besides you. In a moment you’re all that exists to him, your arms wrapping around his waist and pulling him up so he doesn’t slide away. His warmth burns you, electrifying every nerve you have but you ignore it. There’s more important things to tend to. His breathing is uneven, so you slow your own breathing, instructing him to follow you. Half shivering he attempts to follow your lead, slowly calming from sobbing to napping away the mental exhaustion of the evening.

As he sleeps on top of you, you kiss his temple, running your hands through his hair in a fashion you hope is comforting. When your freezing fingers touch the back of his neck he shivers, so you try to keep away from his bare skin, till you fall asleep. the weight of his body lulling you into a doze.

He wakes up around 4AM, which you only know because when he wakes he jostles you, stuttering and mumbling to himself as he crawls off of you. With a deep breath you open your eyes, looking up at him, still sitting in your lap, but clearly embarrassed.

“Oh jeez. I’m, uh, really sorry for, um.. sleeping on top of you. Oh god,” he grumbles, switching between covering the lower and upper halves of his face.

“I don’t mind,” you mumble, still drowsy with sleep. Unsure of what exactly you’re doing you reach for him, grasping his wrist and pulling him close as you sit up. “How are you feeling?”

“Alright, I guess,” he says, just as soft as you, his expression falling. “I’m… glad you’re here. Less lonely.”

“’S what I’m here for. Did I tell you Valerius called me? She thought you liked me more than Larry,” you chuckled, the words escaping your mind before you gave them any thought.

“Who’s Valerius?”

“Larry’s mom.”

“You mean Victoria?”

“Mm… yeah.”

“I like both of you plenty,” he says, indignantly, a slight frown on his face that you can’t help but find adorable. It shows on your face, too, a smile too wide cracking open. He notices, and it only furthers his confusion. “What? I’m telling the truth.”

“I know. You’re just so adorable,” you admit, and when his eyes widen and he pales, you come back into yourself, and realize what you’d just said. “Oh, uh, you know what I, uh, mean. You know?” You stutter a lame excuse.

“I’m not adorable,” he whispers, staring straight into your eyes.

“No, handsome,” you correct yourself, making the situation infinitely worse.

“Handsome?” He practically wheezes out, losing his words and coherent thought.

You keep a firm hold on his wrist, making sure he doesn’t go anywhere. Instead he wraps his fingers round yours, and, staring at where you meet, he holds your hand. As enthralling as it is for you it soothes him, breath instantly slowing as the pressure of his fingers trills against the back of your hand. For the moment, you put away your anxieties, and let him relish in a comfort unknown. It wasn’t illogical to assume he’d never held hands, never kissed anyone, and certainly not a boy. You had experience with this - Europe was pretty gay, and Italy awarded you your first kiss. Yet somehow, your roles had reversed; the experienced a blushing mess, as the virgin held the others’ hand in a warm composure.

His eyes close slowly as he leans in, heading for a kiss you knew would be heart wrenchingly beautiful, but you pull away.

“You’re - no. I adore you but… I can’t complicate your life. Not now,” you murmur, pressing your hand against his chest and pushing him from you. In an instant, he thinks he’s entirely at fault, and he unwinds himself till the two of you sit on opposite ends of the couch, neither of you touching the other in any way.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, and you can tell he’s about to cry again.

“It’s not your fault,” you rush out, scooting closer to him, but he curls into himself, and you relent. “Kenny…”

He hides his face in his hands, and he’s definitely crying now. You wait a moment before you continue, waiting for the worst of it to be over, but seeing him in any kind of pain twists your gut.

“Kenny…” you slowly move his hands away from his face, and with a soft touch, you direct him to look at you. “I just don’t want to hurt you. You understand that… right?” He nods, and looks away. “There’s so much going on in your life. I don’t want to add to that.”

“But you make everything better,” he mumbles, crossing his arms over his knees raised to his chest, hiding his face again.

“I’m flattered you think that,” you reply quietly, at a loss for words. “I… how about.. I sit here, and you can do what you want, or make me do anything you want. For tonight.”

“What?” He sniffs, and looks back up at you.

“I’ll do anything you want. Anytime you ask. Starting tonight, my love is yours in any way you want it,” you tell him, eyes darting nervously around his face for any sign of agreement or disgust.

“Anything?”

“Yeah. Anytime.”

You’re trusting him with a lot, you both know that - but truly you do trust him, more than you trust yourself. He graces your cheek with his fingers, trailing across your imperfections as you close your eyes, melting into his touch. Shifting, he moves closer, till he’s once more sat in your lap, and you can feel his hot breath against your skin, electrifying you in the same way you keep ignoring. It’s about him, don’t ruin this with your anxiety, you tell yourself, but it gets harder to listen to that voice in your head when he begins to kiss at your bare neck. Your hands shoot up, grasping at his waist as he does this, dotting your skin, up to your jawline until he lands a peck at the side of your lips, so loving, as though you give him the only reason to breathe. At this time, he pulls away, and you open your eyes.

He’s examining you - just as you had done to him, waiting for any sign of renunciation of your promise. But you just sit there, gazing into his eyes like they hold the universe, every answer to be asked for swirling in the gold round his pupil. So he leans in, and at first it’s just a touch; you’re pressing your lips together, still and quiet. The time passes so slowly it might’ve not been passing at all, till he leans in, and you feel the pressure so intensely that a fire could be raging around you and you wouldn’t’ve noticed. You copy the feel of his adoration with just as much tenderness, and a tiny whimper escapes him. He pulls away blushing, leaving you with a dumbstruck smile on your face.

He does a lot more to you that night, and in every second of it you swear you’re in heaven. The memory of it trails you, constantly at the forefront of your thoughts at any given moment. When you meet in school again, he holds your hand like a comfort in a world of pain, and to him it is. You exist, and that’s enough to soothe the ache of rejection, but it doesn’t fully heal, not until his parents finally take him back.

On that day, he asks, “Are… is… are you.. still mine?” He worries, needlessly, if your trust was only to comfort him in a hard time.

“I’ll be yours as long as you want me,” you tell him, and it ends up being a lot longer than you ever would have anticipated. You’re not that stupid, you know the statistics for high school relationships, but your love persists so long there’s no other word for your relationship other than soulmates. Life deals softer blows by his side, and love adores each of your imperfections till the days die away.

Baby, my love is yours

longer than words we adore -

So trust the tremor in my touch

Cause baby, my love is yours.

[coffeedrivenfiction]

Ba Sing Se Can Wait

"You know what the scary part of trying is?"

"Duh. Failing."

"I used to think that, I really did, but as we keep going… I've come to realize that the scary part about trying is actually succeeding."

"Succee—what? You're gonna have to explain that one to me. I was with you, for a good while, up until this point… I mean, I sorta get it—no, I get it… I do, I get it, I just wanna see where you're coming from with it. Just so we're on the same page. You and me. I. You and I…."

When Sokka glanced over at that the boy sitting next to him, the boy with the resplendently bald head adorned with a blue arrow tattoo, he could tell by the Avatar's quaint expression that his smooth talking had just bought him some time to figure out just what in the hell Aang was talking about.

The true fear of trying was... success?

How?

In what world?

The last he had heard, the last life had taught him, how he had been raised all throughout his short yet noble life, success was the manifestation of boundless trying, numerous attempts. The concept of being fearful of trying because it might—and should—lead to success was baffling.

More baffling than Katara still attempting to waterbend even at this late hour.

The sky was a twinkling landscape marked with stares and other wonders that seemed close enough to reach out for yet far enough to wish upon. Below that cosmic carpet, Toph had been the first to fall asleep, having crafted the most majestic castle along the shoreline, a castle with four bedrooms, one of which Appa occupied quite naturally, a built in jacuzzi, and this weird little effigy of Sokka that sat in the main hall that looked absolutely nothing like Sokka. The poor earthbender was knocked out, having been lulled into an early sleep by the sound of Katara relentlessly practicing a new waterbending maneuver.

Admittedly, the sight of Katara, free of her hair tie and bathed in the pale light of the moon on high, was an impressive one. Every one of her attempts at trying to combine twin ropes of water into one that would then split into four other tendrils was amazing, especially when she failed or lost focus and the water exploded into glistening sparkles so much like diamonds.

A few feet back, Sokka and Aang sat, previously in silence before the sound of Katara's enervated grunts and growls propelled them into subdued speech. Conversation that was by no means important or worth repeating, just something to break up the tension while occasionally yelling out an encouraging word or two.

An hour ago, Sokka had suggested calling it a night—"We're gonna need our strength for tomorrow, it's the biiiiig move, and we don't wanna take forever getting to Ba Sing Se and"—but after Katara whipped a lance of water at him, both he and Aang summarily decided that Ba Sing Se could probably wait another day or two.

It was part of the Earth Kingdom, after all; it wasn't going anywhere.

"Being taught by Master Pakku really lit a fire under her," Aang continued softly, observing the delicate yet fierce way Katara's arms flowed through every stance she stepped into. It was almost like witnessing a performance, one in its infantile stages to be sure, but the promise of something great was there, shining underneath all the sweat and failure.

Shifting somewhat on the boulder Aang had brought forth for them to use as a chair of sorts, Sokka scratched at his nose. To say Aang's words were an understatement would also, in itself, be an understatement; his sister might as well have turned into a firebender for all the flames he could see flickering just beyond those normally docile pupils of hers. There was unmistakable drive there, a hereto unforeseen degree of determination that was on full display tonight as they watched Katara step and shift and pivot, upsetting the ocean before them into a frothing, bubbling mass.

To tell her to stop now would be tantamount to ending his own life, he felt that much was certain.

Of course, Sokka knew he was stronger than his younger sister—everyone knew it, as a matter of fact—but even he knew better than to disturb her when she was focused.

"She wants to be better than the best waterbender," Sokka responded in a drone, legs drawn up and elbows to his knees. He swished a pine needle between his lips. "What's that got to do with what we were talking about, though?"

"How many times do you think she's gonna fail on the road to being a waterbending master?" For the first time in a long while, Aang adverted his gaze away from Katara's intricate dance and observed the sky. Despite the sparkling darkness above, it was a truly humid night, perfect for stargazing. "Becoming a master isn't something that comes in the span of days... or months... or even years. The title comes with decades of practice, combining wisdom and technique and power..." Something tight settled into his eyes, furrowing his brow. "How many failures is that?"

"How many...? Uhh..." Sokka glanced at his hands, flaring his fingers several times before his head started to hurt and he gave up with an exasperated shrug. "I... Aang, I don't know, probably a lot... a bunch of a lots, why?"

"Because..." Aang gripped himself by the shoulder, squeezing under his knuckles cracked. "Failing is... it's pretty easy."

"You're kidding." Sokka looked affronted and leaned in closer. "How is failing easier?"

"It really is, especially when it's something like this," and Aang indicated toward Katara, who was picking herself up off the sandy shore and brushing grit from her clothes for what seemed like the tenth time, "because nothing is for certain. When it comes to exploring new territory... learning something new... you don't know what you're doing, do you? There's no ingrained roadmap, it's not like you jump outta bed one day and you suddenly know every technique and every hand movement. It takes time."

On the verge of arguing, Sokka lowered the finger he had lifted and instead placed it on his temple. That... made sense. A little. After all, he was a bonafide master with his throwing hatchet—able to knock whatever food Momo had stolen from him right out of those greedy little paws—but as awe-inspiring as his talent was, Aang had a point. It took a lot of effort, many tosses, many fails, many lumps on the backs of the heads of the people from his village...

"Okay, I get that," Sokka started slowly, lifting that finger once more and prodding Aang in the cheek. "So... that's where success comes in! And there's no way that's a bad thing! It means you reached the goal you were striving f—GUH!"

A ball of concentrated water burst over Sokka's face and he flailed about, nearly toppling off the rock.

"Wh-what in the—"

Katara stood stock-still before them, leaning forward as though caught in a breeze and glaring out into the ocean just with one her arms aimed behind her, palm face-up and fingers joined together like that of a spear.

Scrunched up like he had been struck, too, Aang was wide-eyed, staring at the back of Katara's head.

"I need to concentrate," was all she ground out, through gritted teeth even, and neither Aang nor Sokka dared breathe until she had picked up her routine again, elegantly flicking her wrists and summoning great ribbons of water to her call.

"Your sister's pretty crazy, though," Aang whispered, lowly, behind his hand, and Sokka frantically nodded.

"You're telling me this like I wasn't raised with her," Sokka retorted under his breath, wringing out his sodden shirt. "Let's just keep it down, I don't wanna get lassoed into the sea..."

"Agreed."

The two waited for a few more tense moments, once more getting lost in the elegance that resonated from Katara's every move, before picking up their earlier conversation.

"When you fail, nothing really happens," Aang sighed, "except you get to learn. You get to learn from what caused you to fail... if you're lucky. You can take a misstep, a wrong chop, a mixed hand movement—you can take all of those things and smooth it out. Every fail is jagged until it's smoothed out with success."

"Exactly my point." Sokka spoke so lightly that his lips didn't move. "Success is easier because once you're there... you're there."

"Except... that's when everything changes, like when the fire nation attacked," Aang continued, almost as if Sokka hadn't spoken. "When you fail, okay, cool, you know what's going to come next. You're going to try again—"

Sokka nodded stoutly, wondering how much longer he would be able to take sitting on their borrowed boulder until his butt went completely numb.

"—but when you succeed, when you become that master? A whole list of new responsibilities open up like that"—Aang pantomimed snapping his fingers—"and nothing's the same."

Exhaling all the tension that came from anticipating Aang snapping his fingers out loud and suffering another strike from Katara, Sokka slouched forward, letting his arms dangle. "That's... but that's kinda how things go, isn't it?"

"I dunno. I think I'm figuring that out as we go," Aang admitted with a nervous grin. "I just know when you succeed, things can't be like how they were when you failed, can they? Like, look at Katara... she's failing pretty hard right now—"

"—please don't hear, please don't hear, please don't hear—"

"—but we know she's gonna make it. Course she is, she's Katara." It was barely noticeable, the soft smile that lifted the corners of Aangs mouth, but Sokka didn't miss it. "When she does, she's... there's gonna be expectations. With that knowledge and power, people are gonna wanna learn from you, they're gonna want you to teach, and lead, and—and help prosper. They're gonna come calling, near and far, everyday, looking for your services. That's... that's a lot to deal with, ain't it? More than just failing."

Beyond that smile, Sokka could see the trepidation settling into Aang's stare.

"It's just... when you fail, nobody expects nothing, you can keep on going like you were, semi-sorta free? The moment you succeed, though... you can't go back. You can't unlearn what you've mastered, you've got to... your road changes and you gotta walk it."

The night air was powerfully refreshing, and more than a little chilling while Sokka sat there in damp clothes. He stared out at his sister, silently observing... tracing her every step to memory. "I can see that," he said, pulling the pine needle from between his lips. "Yeah, I can see why that would be kinda..."

"Scary," Aang supplied hoarsely, bringing his own legs up and wrapping his arms around them. "I don't fear failure, Sokka. I fear success. I fear making it exactly where I need to be... and not being enough to stay there."

Of all the fears Sokka struggled with, known and unknown, a fear of success had never been one of them.

Until this very moment.

The grating splashes that signaled another failure on Katara's part were growing noticeably infrequent. If Sokka was developing a chill then Katara, weighed down by her waterlogged garments, had to be downright frozen, but she didn't drop her arms, she didn't relax her fingers or allow her aching legs to fold. Every breath she drew in was ragged and every exhale came out as a puff of visible air; she blinked like she had a tick, paying no mind to the streaks of sweat curving down her face, dripping off her chin; she paid no mind to the roaring fatigue settling into each of her limbs, invading her thought process, begging her to give in, to try again tomorrow—

"We're not a species meant to bask in failure," Sokka said, sporting a grin when Katara lifted her trembling arms up high, "that's not our style, it's not in our nature, Aang."

Growing wide-eyed, Aang watched as Katara flexed her fingers, once more drawing a great swell of water to her command before sharply shifting her body, bending it with her.

"Failure is... well, you're right. It is easy," Sokka admitted, feeling anticipation twist at his insides, knotting tighter and tighter as the rivulets of water under his sister's control shivered and twirled. "Which is why we can't settle there. We have to strive for success and all the terrifying new roads that it opens up for us... 'cause those roads will open up new roads for others who will go on to open even more roads. And yeah, success might lead to new opportunities to mess up, that's the cycle, ain't it? At least one thing's for certain..."

He suddenly threw an arm over Aang's shoulder the moment before Katara slammed a foot down, flexed her fingers, and made an intense tearing motion, one that caused the giant water whip overhead to lash apart into a flurry of thrashing tendrils.

"You won't be alone, Aang. We're gonna fail together and succeed together. A lot."

Almost immediately after its birth, the wild creation lost its form and fell apart into a torrent of water that splashed back to the sea. "YEEEESSSS!" A prideful cry left Katara in the same instant feeling left her knees and she hit the ground. But she didn't fall over. She refused.

"I DID IT! I REALLY, REALLY DID IT!" Face smeared with sweat and grime, Katara whirled around on her knees to the boys behind her and somehow, despite having no energy left, managed to punch the air with a tightly coiled fist. "Did you guys see that? I DID IT!"

"She did it!" Sokka cried, latching onto Aang. "Oh thank God, she did it! Now we can finally go to sleep!"

"Congratulations, Katara!" Aang yelled, thoroughly impressed while trying to shove a weeping Sokka off, and he would have showered the beaming waterbender with more well-earned praise if the boulder the two of them sat on hadn't suddenly been violently snatched out from underneath them.

As Sokka and Aang collided with the unyielding sand, Toph poked her head out the front of her sand castle, groggily rubbing sleep from her eye. "HEY! It's way-too-late-for-this-mess o'clock! Shuddup and go to bed!"

"Th-that chick has some serious anger issues," Sokka groaned, trying to untangle his limbs from Aang.

Katara just giggled tiredly, "I'll agree with you there...," then she fell out.

The End

[pandawritespoorly]

With Time: Chapter 7 - The Best Group Chat

Author’s Note: A short chapter - just a quick catch-up. Next update will be Saturday, and oh boy we've got another akuma. If I'm so insistent on writing them I should probably figure how to actually write fights.

Chapter Summary: Some text interactions of the Quantics and Felix and what they've thought of Marinette up to this point.

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Kid Mime: So!!!! Wat do you all think of our new frend that weve had 4 a weeekkkk!!! Because I love herrr!!! We r going to keep her right!!!????

  Melodie: Oh you bet we are. I’m a little worried about her though, I mean did you see that bruise? 

Melodie: Also she is precious and very sweet. If she doesn’t seem uncomfortable with the arrangement, we should keep hanging out with her. 

  Felix: Are you referring to the bruise on her face? It did seem unlikely to have been caused on accident.

  Melodie: WHAT BRUISE ON HER FACE?!

  Kid Mime: SHE HAS A BRUISE ON HER FACEEEEE?! MOMMM SOME1 HURT UR NEWEST CHILD!!!

  The Mom Friend: Wait wat? When did you see that Felix? r you sure?

  Felix: On Thursday, when she seemed overly tired. She was falling asleep in class and her palm wiped some make-up off of her face. She excused herself to the bathroom when she realized, but I did see a rather concerning bruise on her face, and there seemed to be scratch above it. I assume you were referring to another bruise?

  Kid Mime: HOW MANY BRUSES DOES THS PRECIOUS ANGLE GIRL HAVE!!!?

  The Mom Friend: enuf that im concerned

  Melodie: The make-up means that she’s hiding it, and come to think of it, she is dressed rather warmly for the current weather.

Melodie: I meant the bruise on her arm, it was pretty big.

  The Mom Friend: yea long sleeves an pants in early spetember is kinda wierd

  Felix: While I find this to be disconcerting, we would do best to avoid jumping to conclusions. It would also be for the best to avoid mentions of her past school - when it was mentioned on Monday, she seemed rather uncomfortable.

  The Mom Friend: yea we don’t want to make assuptions and i don’t want to upset her

  Melodie: She’d better have just fallen…

  Kid Mime: Al’ no murder

  Melodie: … 

    Kid Mime: DOES ANY1 NO HOW 2 GET OUR AMAZING MARI TO HANG OUT W/ US??? I ONLY GET 2 SEE HER AT ACHOOL AND IT SADDENS MEEEEEE

  Felix: She may just be shy, it would be best to give her time to adjust to her new environment.

  Melodie: I do hope she decides to join us soon though. I think she seems like a pretty cool person, especially if she could get out of her shell.

  The Mom Friend: allegra, give er time dont want to force her it might make her uncomforable

  Melodie: I know, that’s not what I meant, I just worry about her. 

  Kid Mime: Im with u there. i wory about her sometimes something just… i dunno

  Felix: It is understandable to be concerned. It seems likely that she may have rather low self-esteem, and lacks confidence in herself. That, as well as the fact that we still do not know where she got so many bruises.

  Melodie: I think we were right about why she was wearing longer clothes, did you guys notice she’s wearing short sleeves now.

  The Mom Friend: poor thing at least she heeled now

    The Mom Friend: does anyone no y mari was so tired today

  Lovable Grump: I noticed, but she did not mention any reason in particular.

Lovable Grump: …

Lovable Grump: Claude, I’m changing my password again.

  Kid Mime: NOOOO pls we all have fun nicknamesssss

  Felix: Your nicknames have a tendency to be longer than my actual name, which makes them unnecessary.

  Melodie: Accept your fate Felix. Claude can not and will not be stopped. Also Allan, I don’t know know about Marinette. She did seem pretty tired today though….

  The Mom Friend: hmm…

  Kid Mime: FEEEELLLIXXXXXXX NOOOOO UR NAME IS SOO BORING NOWWWW!!!

  Felix: That is unfortunate for you.

Felix: It is not the first time that Marinette has seemed overly fatigued. She does commissions does she not? Perhaps one of her projects kept her up.

  The Mom Friend: maybe she should take on les if shes being overworked

  Kid Mime: *mom instincts activated*

  The Mom Friend: im just concerned about her health

  Melodie: He’s got you there, Allan.

    Kid Mime: I CANT WAIT IS SCOOL OVER YET

  The Mom Friend: only a little longer

The Mom Friend: then to mari’s

  Kid Mime: I KNOOOOOOOOO

Kid Mime: I CANT WAIIIIIITTTTTTTT

Kid Mime: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

  Felix: Claude, you should calm down. You do not want to overwhelm her.

  Melodie: I’m excited too! She actually wants to hang out with us after school and she invited us over to her house!

  Kid Mime: do u think i can finally get her number

  Felix: I doubt she’s interested in your memes Claude.

  Kid Mime: but i cant even send her cute baby animal oictures

Kid Mime: or texxt her good moring

  Melodie: You mean texting her good morning like five minutes before first hour? After you’ve already seen each of us in person anyways?

  Kid Mime: YES!

  The Mom Friend: all of u guys need to pay attention in class

  Kid Mime: :(((((( fine

    Melodie: Why did she give us a bunch of pastries and thank us?

  Felix: Perhaps she thought we were rather nice guests. Though I will admit I thought it rather odd as well.

  Kid Mime: as much as i like baked goods i don’t get it??? I feel like were missing something? It seemed liek she was thanking us for soemthing else????? all we did was come over

  The Mom Friend: did anyone notice that there was a school right across the street?

  Melodie: Hmmm.

  Felix: As much as I wish to get satisfactory answers, it is not our place if she does not wish to share.

  Melodie: Fine, switching topics: Thoughts on Adrien?

  The Mom Friend: u mean the boy you accused of bullying her

  Melodie: >:(  I just thought he seemed suspicious

  The Mom Friend: u meant well

  Kid Mime: PERSONALY I DONT NO Y SHE HID SOME1 SO GREAT FROM US

  Felix: Marinette was correct. The two of you should never have been introduced.

  Melodie: He seemed nice. (Besides the puns) I liked him

Melodie: He’s got my approval

  The Mom Friend: thats good i dont think it wood be good if two of her friends didnt get along. He seems to understand when shes upset so thats cool very good

  Kid Mime: does our mom have another child now?!

The Mom Friend: …

The Mom Friend: …maybe

  Kid Mime: :)

  Felix: Moving on, I’m impressed with the connections she has at such a young age.

  Melodie: RIGHT?! WHAT KIND OF BEAUTIFUL TALENTED STAR HAS BEEN GIFTED TO US?!

  The Mom Friend: allegra stop snooping on the internet we just agreed not to do that sort of thing

  Melodie: …

Melodie: Fine…

  Kid Mime: i still didnt get her number :(

  Felix: Perhaps you could ask her at school.

  Kid Mime: BUT THATS SO FAR AWAY

  Felix: It really is not.

  The Mom Friend: let him be dramatic

The Mom Friend: its his middle name

  Kid Mime: it is

Kid Mime: as my unofficial official mom, he wood no

---

Author’s Note: So basically, they're worried, but want to respect her privacy. I could have just said that, but I love their interactions.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  They're all just such sweethearts.

One thing I forgot to put in the note at the end of chapter 6 was my reasoning for Marinette getting to that point. I forgot one big reason (I'm sorry. This is why i need to write things down.) But for the most part it's that Marinette often takes the blame/apologizes for things that aren't her fault, so I feel she is quick to blame herself. That, combined with how she sees the good in people, I think she could have trouble identifying that she isn't at fault for how things turned out at her old school.

Okay, so this past weekend I was struck with the ability to write - don't ask I don't understand either - so basically now I'm writing chapter 11. Yeah, I managed to write the next 4+ chapters in a day. As much as I'd love to post them all now, I need to keep a regular schedule for the sake of my sanity and still need to edit them a bit. But hey, at least there's no chance of waiting too long now.

I really love seeing your comments so don't be scared to write one! I can assure you that it's one of my favorite parts of this.

Thanks for reading, and constructive criticism is welcomed! See (well, not 'see') you guys Saturday, with an akuma that doesn't like being lied to.

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[skyedragonwrites]

goodbye to a world

Fandom: Original Work TWS: tragedy, child death, global warming bad ending, slight talk of gore? no actual description, just POV character thinking about it Summary: The world is ending, and she knows it. 

I am one of the lucky ones.

Some wouldn’t consider me lucky. Some consider the ones born wrong, missing half a head, too broken to even draw a first breath to be the lucky ones. They say they’re lucky – those beings are never forced to experience this shattered, horrific world.

And you know, they’re not entirely wrong.

Our world is shattered, broken, destroyed. The sands – not a desert, a desert has life, this is just empty, dry sand – have overtaken every livable place in the world.

The water is gone. The heat is unbearable. Oppressive, forcing even the lucky ones into heavy clothing to avoid having our skin scorched to the bone.

It’s horrible.

But I am one of the lucky ones. My legs work, my hands – all four of them – are semi-functional. I can see (not well, but I can see), and although I lack a sense of smell, I can still taste.

That is far more than most of the others.

We’re all twisted and broken – a combination of radiation and the Shattering has seen to that – but I am one of the least broken.

So you see, I really am one of the lucky ones.

I bring the stub of my cigarette to my mouth and breathe in.

There will be no long-term here. I know that. I do not care, because it doesn’t matter. The world is ending, and I will bear witness to it, for all those who could not.

My antennae twitch. Footsteps. Insider or Outsider? I am an Outcast, an easy target. No pack to back me up in a fight, no consequences for taking out your fear, your frustration, your rage on me.

I still do not care. The world will end at sunrise. I know.

I have heard stories, of the Shattering, of the way people reacted when they realized all hope was gone.

I was born after that. Long after that. It has been generations, since we saw the ships take off and realized that we had been abandoned.

Abandoned here to die, to slowly burn to death as it got hotter, and hotter, and hotter. The planet is scorching, unlivable.

Yesterday, so many died. We have no water. We have no food.

When the sun rises, the remaining survivors will be dead by midday.

Humanity, if you can even call us that anymore, will be wiped off this hell planet, and everything will be taken with it.

The cigarette is burning my fingers. I do not care. I cannot care. I do not deserve to care. So many fell before today. I am one of the last. I do not care.

I am not imagining how it will feel as my flesh boils away, my hoodie no longer being protection enough for me.

The footsteps draw closer.

It does not matter. Nothing matters.

“Hello?”

A voice. Young, younger than I am. I look around, and then glance down. The person standing before me is short, shorter than I am.

Large mouse-like ears frame her sunburnt face. She’s got whiskers and a tail too, and the appendages clutching a small scrap of cloth to her chest are more claw then hand.

Her nose twitches nervously. “Miss?”

“Yeah, kid?”

It does not matter, it should not matter. She won’t remember by this time next evening. Neither will I. We’ll both be sun-bleached piles of bones on the ground, if even that is left of us. The world will get hotter, and nothing we did will matter.  

“What time is it?”

Ah. She knows. Thank fuck, I don’t have it in me to explain it to a ten-year-old. Granted, that’s only five years younger than me, but so much changes between ten and fifteen.

I glance at the watch on my wrist. It’s the only thing that works in this world, a little miracle of mechanics and luck. “Six. We have… about an hour until sunrise.”

The sky is already lightening, and I can feel the heat beginning to sink into my skin.

Her ears droop. “Oh… I thought it was earlier. Thank you, miss.” She turns to go, tail dragging on the rough concrete.

Something stirs in me. It does not matter, should not matter.

“Hey- hey kid, hold on a sec.” The words are out before I can stop myself. What am I doing?

“Yeah?”

“You got parents?”

“Nah.” I can hear the disappointment in her tone. I feel her. Everybody older than you always asks about your parents. Never about you.

“Wanna go climbing with me?”

She spins on her heel, ears perking up. “I’ve never been climbing before!” She skitters over to my side, peering curiously up at me. “Why?”

I shrug. “I dunno. It’s something to do, I guess? It doesn’t matter.” I throw my cigarette to the ground and step on it. “Nothing matters - or really, nothing will matter this time tomorrow.”

“Yeah…” she says quietly. “It really won’t, will it?”

She looks so young, so sad. Before I know what I’m doing, her hand is in mine.

“Nah. It won’t,” I say, leading her towards a nearby fire escape. It’s rusted and bent, melting against the wall. Perfect for a first climb. “It really won’t.”

Her hand tightens on mine, her tiny claws scratching against my carapace-like skin. “I’m Minn! What’s your name?”

It really doesn’t matter, but I give it anyway. “Tess. Was my ma’s name.”

“Did you know your ma?” Minn asks as I boost her up. She holds the little ragged scrap of cloth in her teeth to keep her hands free. It looks like there might have been stuffing in it at one point, but I can’t tell what it’s supposed to be.

“Nah,” I say, hauling myself up after her. “But that’s what they said her name was. It doesn’t matter.”

“It won’t matter,” Minn says fiercely.

“Same difference.”

She stamps her foot and pouts at me. “Is not!”

“Whatever, kid.”

Minn rolls her eyes, but accepts the offered hand. I pull her onto the next ledge. We have to rest for a moment. The lack of water is getting to us.

I haven’t had a drop in nearly a week, but I’m not a mammal. I can go without. Minn… Minn must have had some sort of stash. It’s the only way she could have survived yesterday.

The sky is lightening rapidly as we reach the top of the building.

We only have a few minutes before sunrise.

I know it. She knows it.

Minn says, “I think… this mattered.”

“It won’t.” I say. “It won’t.”

“But it does,” she says. “It does right now.”

It…

It does matter.

I pull her into a hug, with all four of my hands. I take in a breath, to tell her she’s right, that it does matter, but I am out of time.

The sun crests the horizon, and the world ends.

It doesn’t matter now.

But it did.

[rainoverthemountains]

Twist story chapter 8

Twistfell and Swaptwistfell belong to @itsladykit

Summary: There’s a cure for LV (probably). It’s completely safe (probably). It’s a highly unpleasant experience (definitely). Twist only cares about that first statement. He probably should have paid a little more attention to the other two. But what does it matter? He’s getting what he wants, and he has the best friends and family in any universe to help along the way.

chapter 1, chapter 7

Chapter 8

A door slamming open startles Iggy out of her chair. For a moment, she thinks it’s Twist, but he couldn’t possibly have gotten out of bed and besides, the sound came from outside the lab. Another door slams, and then it’s her office door slamming open as a skeleton steps through. Well, shit.

“where is he?”

“Who are you?” she counters. He has a lot of nerve, storming into her lab like he has a right to be here!

“i go by cash. where’s twist?” Shit, shit, shit. He knows! Or maybe he’s just guessing somehow. Who is he to barge in here anyway?

“Look, Cash, I don’t know who you are or why you think you can come into my lab without permission like this, but I’d suggest you leave before I have you removed.”

“answer the question. i know twist is here. you have him for the lv project. take me to him, now.”

“You can’t just come in here and demand to see details of my projects. That’s proprietary work and certainly not open to the general public!” It’s at least not available to interfering skeletons who are definitely going to object to certain necessary parts of the experiment.

“you told me about it yesterday. now i want to see twist.” What? She didn’t tell anyone anything yesterday. Except… no. He can’t be. Her luck is not that bad.

“You’re not…” it seems ludicrous to even suggest, but the universes can be very different and he did say his nickname was Cash…

“the person who’s paying for all this? yes. now that we have that out of the way, where’s twist?”

Shit shit shit shit shit. Ok, time for damage control. He must agree with the goals of the project or he wouldn’t be paying for it, so she just needs to make him understand that she has everything under control and it should be fine. 

“He’s resting right now. I’m sure you know from the reports that the treatment can be hard on the patients and they need lots of rest. He’s happiest when I just leave him alone to sleep.” He looks skeptical, but he’s listening, so she continues. “I’m so grateful that he volunteered to participate in this study, as I’m sure you are too! He’s just what we need to get past the review board, and it’s great for him too because he gets the treatment early!”

“he volunteered, huh? and how did he know there was something to volunteer for?”

“Oh, word gets around.” Technically. People do know the project exists, and someone might have heard about the problems it’s been having.

“word gets around that the only thing standing between you and full approval of the lv cure was needing a research subject exactly like twist.” Skepticism drips from every word.

“Well ok, not exactly like that, but you have to agree that he’s perfect for what we need, and he jumped right on the idea the second I mentioned it. It’s not like I forced him into it. Once he knew about it, I probably couldn’t have kept him away from it if I tried! He knew it was a win-win situation.”

“and how has this ‘win-win situation’ turned out for him?”

“It’s going great!” Cash raises a browbone. “I mean, he’s not really feeling that great right now, I’ve told you how the side effects are, but he’s hanging in there and I’m taking good care of him. Like I said in my report, I’ve already seen some EXP destabilization, which is pretty good considering just how much of it we’re dealing with. I think he’s getting frustrated by how long it’s taking to get any results, but he was really happy about the destabilization too, and I’ve told him that it could take a while with how high his LV is. Mostly he’s grumpy, and a little uncooperative, but he agrees with my goals and I have everything managed!”

“so you won’t mind if i talk to him myself, then?” Are all skeletons this difficult? Letting this one talk to Twist will be nothing but trouble.

“I don’t think he’s really up to talking right now. He’s pretty tired, and he needs his energy for the treatment, so I don’t want to disturb his rest.” All technically true, just leaving out a few unpleasant details that someone too close to the subject isn’t going to understand. How close is this Cash to Twist, anyway? She doesn’t know anything about him, but the skeletons all seem to flock together, and he obviously at least knows him.

“i won’t wake him up, then, but i am going to see him.”

“There’s really no need for that! He’s fine. He just needs to rest.” This project does not need interfering friends and family. It could derail the whole thing. Especially friends and family who are apparently the source of most of the project’s money.

“the longer we argue, the more suspicious i get. i suggest you quit while you’re already behind. is that your lab?” He gestures towards the door opposite the one he entered. “i’m guessing yes.” Without waiting for any response from Iggy, he heads through the door. Panicked, and hoping Twist is having a relatively good afternoon, Iggy rushes after him, only to have her own door slammed in her face and locked. Damn excessive security measures. This door shouldn’t be so easily lockable.

***

Cash doesn’t know what he was expecting to see upon entering the lab, but Twist lying naked on a bed in the middle of the room wasn’t it. He approaches the bed cautiously. 

Twist looks terrible. He’s sleeping on his back with both arms tied to the bed. She fucking didn’t! He’ll kill her. Wires trail out of his ribcage, the ends buried in a soul that glows a pale, sickly yellow, the surface raw and somehow rough looking, like pieces have been scooped out. The rest of his magic is the same color as his soul, glowing around each joint like it never should in a healthy sleeping skeleton. Partially healed scratches cover his ribs, and inside his ribcage are what look like scorch marks. Scorch marks?! His breathing is shallow, and he’s twitching in his sleep. Honestly, he looks like he’s about to dust. A quick check reveals that his HP is fine, but it’s hard to discount the sight in front of him. Nausea and rage rise simultaneously, but he forces them both down to deal with the situation in front of him. Figure out what’s going on first. Don’t do anything that might screw up the treatment.

Trying to convince himself that Twist isn’t about to shatter any second now, Cash reaches out to touch his arm. The response is immediate. Twist startles awake and stares at him through frightened, hollow sockets. Then he blinks, and recognition sets in.

“Patches?” Cash never thought he’d be so glad to hear that ridiculous nickname, even in a voice that sounds like sandpaper. “Patches!” A grin lights up Twist’s face, bringing life back into his whole demeanor. He starts to reach for Cash, only to have the movement stopped by the straps around his arms. He deflates, looking as bad as he did when Cash first entered the room. Oh, right, someone strapped him to the bed. There better be a damn good explanation for that, but Cash isn’t feeling optimistic.

“what are those for?” He gestures to the straps.

“Dunno. Pissed her off, maybe.” Twist’s voice is flat, like he doesn’t have any strong opinions about it. Or like he won’t let himself have an opinion.

“she strapped you to the bed because you maybe pissed her off?”

“Dunno.” 

“did she at least tell you why she was strapping you to the bed?”

“Maybe. Dunno.” Twist pauses to catch his breath. “Don’ think ’m thinkin’ real good right now, Patches.” His voice is getting stronger with use, but doesn’t lose its raspy quality.

“because you’re normally known for your clear thinking.” The jab gets a faint grin.

“Good ta see ya too, Patches. Patches.” His smile widens.

“yeah, that’s the name you, and only you, like to call me. glad you’re enjoying it.” All sarcasm aside, Twist seems incredibly happy to see him. Not that Twist is ever lacking in enthusiasm, but something seems off about it, especially when combined with everything else about his current state.

“So good ta see ya, darlin. Can’t even tell ya. ‘s great. Patches. Patches!”

“no need to yell. i’m right here. not that that usually stops you.”

“Jus’ haven’ seen ya in so long, Patches. ‘s nice ta see ya again.”

“twist, it’s been a week, maybe a little longer. that’s not that long.” 

Twist’s browbones furrow in confusion. “That can’t be right, sweetheart. Been here a lot longer ‘n that.”

“you’ve been here six days.”

“Nah, couldn’ta been six days. Cause I remember… Lots’a stuff.” He shakes his head. “Not sure, ‘s all kinda a mess, but she’s had me a lot longer ‘n six days.”

“twist. i have access to your treatment report. you’ve been here six days. you were bothering me at home eight days ago.”

“Nah, can’t be right. Too many things’ve happened, an’ some’a them couldn’ta happened in six days. I remember ‘em.” He sounds certain, but Cash definitely saw him eight days ago. It’s hard to forget a tall, loud skeleton showing up on your couch and refusing to leave until you watch some stupid sort of entertaining show with him.

Twist must sense his disbelief. “‘m tellin’ ya, darlin, I’ve been here awhile. Don’ really wanna talk ‘bout it, but jus’ believe me. Wait!” Twist’s sockets widen. “Why’re you here? Ya shouldn’t be here. ‘s not safe. She’ll get you too!” This is clearly a horrifying thought from Twist’s perspective, but Cash has no idea what he’s talking about.

“who’ll get me? Iggy?” Twist nods, then shakes his head, then starts to nod again, then shrugs.

“Dunno. Just… ‘s not good. Ya don’ wanna be here, darlin’. Go home.” Twist’s expression darkens as he speaks. So does Cash’s. The things Twist is saying don’t paint a positive picture of his time here. Cash knows about the side effects of the treatment. Iggy detailed them extensively with some of the earlier research subjects, and her report mentioned that Twist was experiencing some of them. But how he’s acting combined with his physical condition, combined with the restraints around his arms, and then Iggy’s attempts to keep Cash from seeing Twist… He doesn’t like how it’s all coming together.

“why don’t I want to be here?” Twist just shakes his head. 

“twisted. answer me. why don’t i want to be here? do you want to be here?”

“Dunno. No, that’s… Yes! Darlin’, do ya know what she’s doin’? She’s curin’ LV!”

“i know, and that’s great, but-”

“Doncha un’erstand, sweetheart? My LV’ll be gone! Er, prob’ly. Might not work, ‘m not really sure, but ‘s doing somethin’, so I wanna stay, ‘cause it don’ matter what else happens if it works, an’ it’s workin! Prob’ly. I think. But I dunno. Think tha’s it, but it don’t really make sense, an’ I don’ know why she’d do that ‘cause she don’ do things like that, but she is so I thought maybe it wasn’ her, but they’re kinda the same but she’s helpin’ me so I jus’ need ta go along wit’ it an’ cooperate, ‘cause she said do that, but now yer here an’ I don’ think you should be around her ‘cause I’m stuck but you don’ gotta be here so I wish you’d go home an’ be safe, darlin.”

“um. what?” Twist looks very serious, like he’s just conveyed some important information, but Cash is lost.

“Go home, darlin. ‘s not good ta be here. Fer you. Uh… go home.” Well that clarifies nothing. Twist might not be the best source of information at the moment. The problem is, Iggy isn’t either, and any reports she might give him access to probably aren’t any better.

“i’m not leaving until i know what’s going on here. why are you in this condition?”

“Sweetheart, Patches, um, Cash… uh… It’s a cure! Didn’ I tell ya? Thought I did. Could be wrong. ‘m not thinkin’ that great.”

“i know it’s a cure for lv. what i don’t understand is how curing lv involves you being strapped to a hospital bed, naked, alone, with a medicine that’s dissolving parts of your soul, causes sudden HP drops, and is apparently scorching your ribs. and now you want me to leave you here.”

“‘s ok. See, ‘ve got…” he gestures vaguely towards the monitor, “that thing. ‘an I had another one when I had a bath so we wouldn’t haveta drag that thing in the water an break it, an’ it says my HP all the time so Iggy knows if it drops so she c’n gimme more.” Cash mentally notes the existence of something less cumbersome than the giant monitor that Twist is plugged into, but avoids interrupting the most useful information he’s gotten out of Twist. “She always fixes anythin’ that goes wrong. See, ’m doin’ fine.” By what definition of fine? He’s alive and speaking, but that’s about it. “I don’ mind, really. ‘s nice ta be left alone. Relaxin’.” Now that just doesn’t fit with anything he’s ever known about the other skeleton.

“twist. you love being around people. when you aren’t around people, you find people to be around, even if they’re just trying to have a peaceful afternoon at home and didn’t really want someone breaking into their living room to take over their couch and make them watch tv with you. you can’t expect me to believe that you’ve suddenly started enjoying quiet solitary reflection.”

“Eh, it’s fine. ‘sa nice break.”

“a break from what?”

“Ya know, treatment stuff. Not really a nice treatment, an’ Iggy’s kinda-” his jaw slams shut.

“iggy’s kind of what?” What has she been doing?! He paid for this shit, and now she’s using it to hurt one of the few people in the whole fucking multiverse he cares about? Stop. Calm down. Twist doesn’t need this, and he hasn’t actually said anything specific, or at least not anything coherent.

“It’s fine. She don’ gotta be nice. Not her job. She’s helpin’ me an’ I don’ need her ta be nice about it.” She fucking made it her job when she – Stop. First figure out what’s going on, then help Twist, then deal with Iggy. Not the other way around.

“what ‘not nice’ things has she done?” Something, anything, specific would be helpful.

“Look, sweetheart, I don’ even know. Most’a the time I’m so caught up in the shit in my own head that I don’ even know what’s happenin’. Fer all I know, I could jus’ be imaginin’ talkin’ ta you an’ really be ramblin’ at the ceiling. ‘s real nice ta see ya either way, though.” So Twist isn’t always aware of reality but is aware that he isn’t always aware of it. That probably means something, but Cash is no psychologist, or doctor, or whatever else Twist needs. Cash probably isn’t anything that Twist needs, but he’s what they’ve got at the moment so he’ll try to do something helpful.

“twist. listen to me. i know about the lv treatment. i have a general idea of how it’s supposed to work. none of what i know explains the situation i found you in, or why no one knows you’re here, for that matter. you need to tell me what’s going on.”

“Nothin’s goin’ on. It’s jus’ the treatment. I got my LV too high so it’s harder ta make it work on me, an’ Iggy’s makin’ it work but it don’ feel good, tha’s all. Sometimes I think she’s doin’ somethin’ but then she’s not, an’ she doesn’ know if somethin’s botherin’ me cause I’m usually too messed up ta tell her, but tha’s not her fault, s’just the shit in my own fucked up skull.”

“for someone tied to a bed who can’t tell whether i’m actually here or not, you seem to be taking the blame for a lot of things. it looks more like-” he’s interrupted by the door slamming open and a voice he’s not in the mood to hear.

“Finally! That door drives me crazy. I should have replaced it a long time ago. Now as I was saying, everything is under control and there’s no reason for you to be back here disturbing my patient-”

“Leave him alone.” Startled, Cash turns back to Twist. Gone is the confused monster smiling at seeing a friend and defending the person who’s obviously been doing something to him for the past week. This is the monster who earned every bit of that 17 LV. For the first time, Cash can see a slight justification for keeping him tied up. But no, there’s a reason he’s acting like this, and Cash doubts it’s just from the LV.

Iggy, meanwhile, seems oblivious. She walks right up to both of them, fully focused on Cash. A small, sharpened bone appears at her throat, but dissolves before she notices. Twist winces, but refocuses with a shake of his head and locks his furious gaze back on Iggy. Iggy just keeps talking.

“It’s great to have such a wonderful financial supporter taking such an interest in the project, but it would really be best if you would leave the scientific work to the scientists. Just come on back to my office and I’ll explain anything you want to know, and we can let the patient rest. He’s a little confused, and having someone new around will just confuse him more.” She reaches a hand towards Cash’s arm, presumably to lead him out of the lab, but stops at his forbidding expression. 

Twist lunges at her, snarling. “Don’ touch him!” He’s stopped by the straps on his arms and collapses back on the bed, but continues to glare, good eyelight intent and magic building in the broken socket. Holy fucking stars, how does he even have the magic to attack with? He sure has the intent to put behind it. Iggy steps back, finally noticing the problem.

“C’n have me but ya can’t have him.” Magic leaks from Twist’s broken socket. Shit, he can’t just-! That half of his face crinkles up in a wince, and he makes an aborted effort to bring his hand to his face, blocked by the strap on his arm. 

“twisted, stop, you shouldn’t be using your magic-”

“What did I say about threatening me?” Iggy demands. Twist shrinks back, but continues to glare. Cash turns to Iggy, furious.

“what did you say about him threatening you?”

“Oh come on, nothing that bad! Did you see what he just tried to do? Look, back before the treatment started and right after it was administered he was very aggressive. He almost killed me when I first started preparing his soul for the injection! He’s mostly behaved since then, but his self-control is terrible and I never know what’s going to set him off.” This gets a raised browbone from Cash. 

“i’m sure he’s very dangerous.” What with being tied to the bed, still wincing from accidentally using his magic, and looking back and forth between the two of them in complete confusion as the protective anger is replaced by bewilderment.

“You should have seen what he did to my arm this morning just because I gave him a bath. Completely unprovoked, too! I’m sure some of it has to do with side effects of the treatment, but that doesn’t mean I have to just let him tear my arms apart! He’s way too aggressive, and doesn’t cooperate with anything I need to do, and I’m trying to make this treatment work out but he’s doing everything he can to make my job difficult.” Twist, being difficult? Who’d have thought. But the way she’s describing it…

“did you ever make any effort to figure out why he was being so ‘uncooperative’ and ‘aggressive’? he seems to think he needs to protect me from you. if you want me to believe that he’s here voluntarily, i’d think you’d have made some effort to figure out why he’s acting like he’s not.”

“Patches?” Twist sounds hesitant. Twist, one of the loudest, boldest, most impulsive, most overenthusiastic, least hesitant people Cash has ever met, sounds like he’s afraid to fucking speak. Cash doesn’t even know what to do with that.

He makes an effort to gentle his voice. Being gentle with Twist, of all people. “what is it?” So he sucks at being gentle. Sue him.

“Don’ argue with her. ‘s jus’… ‘s better not to.” Do not murder the only monster who can keep Twist from losing his mind. Do not. Even if she seems to have made a damn good effort to fuck up that mind, they still need her. Focus on Twist, what Twist needs. What does Twist need? He turns to Iggy.

“you. get out.”

“What? You can’t kick me out of my own lab! You’re not-”

“out. i want to talk to twist.”

“You can talk to him with me here.”

“out.” Something in his expression must reflect how he’s feeling, because Iggy shuts her mouth and walks through the door, muttering something under her breath about the whole group of them being psychotic. Cash tunes her out.

“there, she’s gone. now what has been going on here?”

“Sure listens ta you better’n she does ta me.” There’s a hint of irritation in his voice, which Cash is relieved to hear. Twist being timid isn’t something he can deal with.

“what doesn’t she listen about?” Asking again and again isn’t the best strategy he’s ever come up with, but Twist is so disoriented that he might let a little more information slip. Assuming he even knows it.

“Lotsa things. Don’t matter, though. She’s jus’ doin’ what’s necessary, an’ I ain’t gonna complain if it gets me a cure. Doncha see, darlin’? ‘s worth it. Nothin’s so bad that it’s not worth getting’ rid a’ LV. ‘s not even that bad.”

“Which is why you’re scared of her and don’t want her anywhere near me.”

“No… jus’… I’m jus’ bein’ stupid.” He pauses to catch his breath. “Swear ‘m fine, sweetheart.” He gasps, but keeps talking like nothing happened. “Jus’ stupid shit in my head, jus’...” There are little sweat drops on his face. They’re on his ribs too, and the sickly glow in his soul and joints has intensified.

“twist? what’s going on?”

“Hot. ‘s hot,” he whimpers.

“it’s not hot in here. If anything, it’s cold, and you’re not wearing anything, which is another point against-”

Twist’s spine arches off the bed, and he screams.

chapter 9

[anarchist-puppet-on-strings]

Stories Worth Telling

SUMMARY: Jackie only said yes to this interview in hopes of getting people to hate him less.

TW - VERY BRIEF MENTION OF PEDOPHILIA

Jackie’s nervous. He hopes to any higher being that may hear this that he doesn’t look as anxious as he feels. When people see him from afar they see someone calm and collected, a joke or witty comment at the ready. He prays this interview doesn’t reveal what a dorky mess he actually is to the public.

He watches with vague interest as the reporter he’d saved a week ago—Danny—got ready. A notebook was pulled out of her bag, pencil pulled from behind her ear, phone opened to the voice memo app and set on the table between them…. It seems like she really thought this whole thing through huh. Maybe she knew he'd say yes.

He fidgeted uncomfortably. He'd never done this sort of thing before. He’s talked to few people for extended amounts of time as Jackieboy Man and that was to calm a few victims, most being children—this is a journalist. The voice in his mind told him he'd mess this all up and make even more people hate him. Oddly enough, that thought is scarier than some criminals he's fought.

The phone sitting on the table, ready to record their whole conversation is more like a viper than a phone at this point. It stares at him like it’s waiting for him to fuck up once.

“Alrighty then looks like we're nearly ready!” Danny chirped happily. “I’m going to start recording our conversation—if that's okay with you,” she said, shooting him a questioning glance.

Against his better judgement, he swallowed and nodded nervously.

She tapped the screen and suddenly the interview had begun.

“So Jackieboy Man—can I call you Jackie?”

He nodded before catching his mistake. “Err yeah. Go for it.”

“Great,” she said absentmindedly, flipping through her small notebook. “First off: why’d you agree to this interview? You’ve shied away from reporters before.”

His mind blanked and he’s left struggling to pick out coherent thoughts. “Uh, well, I was kinda hoping this would clear up some questions people might have about me? I dunno, make them hate me less? And you seem less demanding and invasive than the other ones who’ve asked.”

She hummed, glancing up at him with a soft smile as she scribbled something down and flipped back a few pages. “What makes you think people hate you?”

He scoffed. “Oh please, I’ve seen the looks I get. And I can hear all the rumors.”

Someone started something saying he’s a leader of some new gang or something. While it’s kinda amusing, it hurts his fragile reputation of being the new hero in the city. Enough people didn’t trust him as it was and he didn’t need some stupid rumor messing things up even worse than they already were.

“Well, what you’re doing is illegal,” she pointed out dryly, giving him a look that he’s all too familiar with. Stay in your lane; it’s not your job. That look always pissed him off.

Jackie couldn’t help but bark a sardonic laugh, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes. “Yeah, well, the cops aren’t doing shit, so I’m steppin’ up instead.”

Perhaps he shouldn’t have said that because now her interest is peaked. Her hazel eyes were glittering in excitement as she leaned forward.

“Ah, I’m sorry; that was uncalled for-”

“No, no,” she said eagerly. “Go ahead. What’re your opinions on the cops?”

Relax, Jay; this is an interview. It’s all about you. You’re not gonna get in trouble… yet.

“Well, I don’t really needta tell anybody how corrupt this city’s justice system is. All I see when I turn on the news is about how some cop abused their power and aren’t gettin’ charged blah blah blah.” Now that he’s clearly listening to himself, he realized how bitter and… sad he sounded.

“It happens pretty often,” Danny noted, pencil scratching against paper.

“Christ, it’s like this happens every few weeks!” He complained, running a hand down his face and over his mask. “It’s stupid! I mean, it’s not hard to be a good person!”

“Is that why you’re doing this?” She cut in. “Because of all the corruption?”

“Well, yeah, why else would I be doin’ all this shit?” He asked. “I have a job and stuff to do. Why would I want to be doin’ something I don’t needta be doin’?”

“People can argue that you don’t have the right to do that. There’s law enforcement after all.”

“Technically we just talked about why we can’t trust the cops but I’ll humor you. Ya can’t just sit around, twiddling your thumbs while you wait for someone to stop the people everyone put in power cuz nobody’s gonna stop them. Sometimes ya have to step up and be karma.”

“That’s… that’s quite the statement. Very raw.”

Jackie hummed.

Silence fell for a minute until Danny spoke again. “A while ago, one of my coworkers caught a video of you stumbling into an alley after a gunfight between two gangs when she arrived on the scene. Did you get hurt?”

Shrugging helplessly, he glanced down at the ground. ”Maybe.”

“Do you… do you get hurt often?” She asked. To Jackie’s disbelief, he heard genuine concern in her voice.

“I mean, yeah… not too often for bad injuries but normally scrapes and bruises here and there every night.” He chuckled. “Most the minor ones are my fault anyways. I’m not exactly graceful.”

More writing.

“Aren’t you scared?” She asked.

“Of what?”

“Getting hurt.”

“Oh, nah, not really,” he said dismissively. “What happens happens. I just brush it off and keep going.”

“Do your family and friends know you’re doing this?” She asked.

He blinked. “What?”

She repeated the question.

“Uh—no. I don’t have any family or friends.” It slipped out before he could stop it.

The look he received was of pure pity. He hated it.

Danny tapped her pencil against the edge of the table, watching as his leg bounced up and down.

“So… tell me about your spray painting.”

“Uhm, what d’ya wanna know?” His brows furrowed. Of all the things she could’ve asked, she asked about that?

She hummed. “Well, what’s with all the messages? You have some pretty meaningful ones plastered across the walls.”

Trying to recall any only resulted in a jumble of memories. All he could really remember is the fumes of paint and the dark shielding him from prying eyes.

“Which ones? I’ve done a lot.”

She flipped through her notes again and pulled out a few pictures stuck between some pages. A bright green eyeball with the optic nerve hanging down with a blue iris and a black pupil was present in every picture but...

Danny spoke before he could examine them of them close enough. “‘Don’t tell me what you want to be; tell me what you want to do.’”

He shrugged. “It’s always what d’ya wanna be when you grow up. I think what you’re gonna do is much more important.”

She furrowed her brows while nodding before moving onto the next one.

“‘Respect existence or expect resistance,’” she read aloud.

“I think that’s pretty self explanatory.”

She gave him a patient smile. “Tell me anyway.”

Jackie sighed heavily. “People don’t respect one another and then suddenly everyone is surprised when others start to say something about it or try to do something. It’s hypocritical.”

Once he made it clear he wasn’t going any further, she continued down the line. “‘Smile because you’re loved.’”

That one made him smile slightly. It’s one of his favorites. “I think reminders are nice. People always have someone who cares, even if they don’t think so.”

She stared at him for a moment before smiling gently. “That’s a nice message.”

“Yeah, I wish people told each other more often.”

“‘Stop being silent.’” She tapped the mute button drawn next to the phrase.

He stared her in the eyes. “Citizens have power. They’re just not using it. They’re trying to scare us into silence and it’s working. We need to do something.

“‘How many have to die?’” She turned the paper towards herself and rattled off, “‘Charlie Unger, Hailey Davis, Michael Crow, Thomas Marsh, Cale Sanders, Macy Parish, Gail Sullivan…’ and there’s many more. These are names of protesters.”

“And people who the cops killed,” Jackie added steelily.

“Why those names?”

“People have argued whether some of these people were “good” or not, but here’s the thing: most of them were children. I know Macy was 16 and the others were mainly older highschool or college students. You can say they were adults but they were still in school. They had things they’ll never get to do now, and they’re not getting their justice. It isn’t fair.”

Danny’s silent as she slid the picture back into her bag. She turned her attention on the next one. “‘Divided we stand, united we fall.’ This is pretty similar to the American motto.”

“Mmm it’s switched around.”

“Why this one? Are you bashing America?”

“Nope,” he said, popping the p. “I’m bashing this city. We all have our differences, opinions, and stories, and we let those define us. But when we fall down, we fall together. We have the same fate eventually. We stand divided but we fall united.”

She hummed again (she did that a lot). “What about this one? ‘Always watching?’”

“I don’t remember doing that one.”

Danny frowned. “It has your calling card by it. Or, at least, what looks like it.”

He frowned, turning the picture to face him. The words were jagged and sloppy with little care for how it appeared. But the eye by the words was… wrong. It was black with a combined neon green iris and pupil. It looked… ominous.

“That’s not mine,” he said. He picked it up, trying to figure out where this was. “Do you know where this is?”

She reached over and plucked the photo out of his hand and flipped it over.

In scrawling letters it read: 65830 Detroit Boulevard

Drumming his fingers on his leg, he hummed.

“Can I, ah, take a picture of this?” He asked, flipping it back over and staring at the cryptic words.

“Go ahead.”

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he snapped a picture of the graffiti. He copied the address into the notes app before turning it off and putting it away. He slid the photo back to her so she could shuffle them back into her notebook.

She cleared her throat after a minute and continued. “Your latest stunt caused some controversy. People say you have no right to reveal people’s personal information like you did.”

“I’d say those rights are forfeited when you’re caught doin’ illegal things.”

“So it can be argued that your rights are forfeited as well?” She pointed out, jabbing her pencil at him.

He shrugged again. “I mean, yeah, sure.”

The answer must’ve let Danny down. “You’re pretty nonchalant about all this.”

He smiled. “Well, at least I know where my morals lie. I’m happy to say I’m not on the deep web watching little kids like McCallister was.”

At the mention of that, she became uncomfortable. “Why’d you reveal that information to the public?”

Jackie grinned. “Because he couldn’t be left off the hook with the whole city angry, no matter how corrupt the cops are. Even if he escapes criminal charges—which I doubt—people’ll throw him outta office. You have ta get people’s attention for them to listen.”

“I… I think that’s enough for now…” She said weakly.

“Oh? Am I free to go?” He asked.

She shoved her notebook into her bag and picked up her phone. “Sure, just give me some contact info, so I can get in touch to ask follow up questions.” It sounded like she didn’t realize what she’s saying. Contact info from a hero? Psssh.

He laughed as he made his way to the open window. “Nah, you’ll see me around. Just holler.”

“Hey! Wait!” She sputtered.

It’s too late—he’d already swung his legs over the windowsill and dropped down onto the fire escape.

Danny rushed to the window and peered out, watching him vault over the railing and drop into the darkness of the alleyway. She sighed, phone clutched in her hand. She looked at the new recording named by the date and time. “Oh well, at least I have this.”

This would be the biggest story since Jackie’s appearance—maybe even bigger! She could feel it.

(A/N) I’VE WORKED ON THIS FOR  D A Y S  AND IT’S FINALLY DONE!!!

Tag list: @assbutt-of-the-readers, @stuck-in-a-l-o-o-p, @bloodsoakedheretic 

[paigesturning]

The Grandiose Burden of Being my Caretaker - 2

(Author’s Note: This chapter makes reference to eye trauma, and mentions self-harm in humans, specifically the chemical effects of it on human brains. Also there’s lots of blood, though no graphic violence. If this is not something you want to deal with, the unbolded part of this is a summary: In this chapter, things are getting weirder. In addition to Caret apparently being able to feel the movement of grass, Partridge’s old scars begin to bleed. Throughout the chapter, something mysterious seems to be stalking them. Partridge begins harvesting the blood she’s loosing, and designs a magical dagger, one that keeps the user alive during bloodletting, while inhibiting any biological responses that would cause them to become addicted. Caret learns to smell things. When Partridge and Caret head into the woods to activate the dagger, they come across the creature that has been stalking them, and discover it was a benevolent-yet-ominous collection of souls that call themselves We-are-the-Dead.) 

"Hey, Caret, could you come take a look at this?" I shouted behind me while I looked in the mirror. 

No response.

"Caret?" I looked around and left the changing room I had built. She wasn't in the living room/bedroom/dining room either. 

I found her outside, working on the cave she was carving into the cliff face.

“Hey, Caret!” 

She stopped mining and turned toward me, before dropping hard off the wall. “What’s up?”

“Look at my hair.”

“...Mhm?”

“How much longer is it than when we first met?” 

She blinked, “Uh, 2.3 centimeters? About? Was that all you wanted, or....?”

“Well, look at the color of it.”

“Liiiiiiiiiiiight blue?”

“And I don’t have any roots!”

She didn’t seem as stoked about my discovery as I was. “And, I’m to take it that you don’t usually grow blue hair?”

“I… I dye it, Caret.”

She crossed her arms, “Well, excuse me, you come from a weird magical dimension. How was I supposed to know that?”

I must have recoiled or something, because she softened, “I’m sorry, it’s just that I’m distracted. I’m running the calculations for my generator, tracking something, and trying to talk to you. I didn’t mean to snap.”

I took a step closer and worried my fingers together. “It’s fine. What are you tracking?”

“There’s a… something? I dunno, it’s hard to explain. It’s kind of like when you feel the wind move differently through your neckhair when someone gets close to you, even if you can’t describe why you know someone’s behind you. Except it’s like the grass around the house is moving differently.”

“You can sense grass movement?”

“Well, that’s the weirdest part: no.”

“Uh huh.”

“There’s something really strange about this place,” she said, scratching her eye, “Your hair, being able to feel the grass around me. Like, that’s weird, right? Plus, your stigmata.”

I shrugged. She’s tried to explain what exactly stigmata is to me, but frankly it seems far fetched. Only about three days after I met Caret, the scars on my hands and chest would occasionally start bleeding again, even though there wasn’t a proper wound. Just blood. “Sure, it’s not something I’ve seen before, but blood magic is weird. On one hand, it could be something about the world, but it could also be a combination of the residual blood magic and something about the world. Sort of like... “ I squished my fingers to interlock, “Baking Soda and Vinegar.”

“Were you planning on starting the blood magic back up soon?”

“Basically as soon as I can find a ruby, yeah. I need one for the knife.”

She made a face and stuck out her tongue, and climbed back up the cliff. I’m pretty sure she muttered “gross” under her breath. 

I almost missed the smell, like ash, coming from the woods, as a cloud passed overhead. 

“You smell that?” I asked, basically to myself, as Caret returned to drilling her hands into the stone above. I started moving toward the tree line. I was… drawn to an old, dead tree. It had been there since I began building my cabin. At the time, I hadn't noticed anything about it, but now there was something about it that stood out to me, a quality about it that I hadn't recognised before. Yes, I decided, this tree had allowed itself to be hit by lightning, to save the other trees. I didn't even think about how strange that thought was until I heard Caret's voice shouting at me.

"I am trying to focus, can you please get out of the grass?"

-

Caret and I were laying on the ground, listening to music. 

By which I mean, taking turns singing songs at the other. She was way better at it than I was at it, but I think having a music library built into your brain, with speakers in your neck is cheating, honestly. 

"No, no, the guitar was more like a… Wubwubwubwubwubwub, you know?"

"Nah," she said, "I think you might be thinking of like, a brass instrument or something? Maybe a tuba?"

I laughed, and wiped some blood out of my eye. "It was a guitar, I swear to Kom."

I heard her fans kick on, and when I glanced over to her she was looking at me intensely. "You're bleeding again."

"I… yeah, but it's fine." 

Suddenly she was upon me, one hand on my cheek and pushing down, the other on my eyelid and pushing up to get a better look at the blood. "I can't believe you," she said. 

"Ow!" I cried, "can you plea-" 

"When did you do this to yourself?" She interrupted, "When and why?"

"I… the bleeding happens automatically, you can't get mad at me just because the world is weird."

"Do you think I don't notice? That the blood comes from old scars?"

"Well, sure, it’s from my work at-" 

"I know."

"... Okay so," I hesitated, "why?"

"I don't know how anyone can do this to themselves, even for power. I," she cringed, "I don't even feel the way you do, and I still couldn't do it."

"It's just… normal where I'm from. Some people integrate stone into their flesh, some people take on animal aspects, some people drown themselves… some people do bloodletting," I put on an affectation, "that's magic baybey!"

"Well that's not how it is in Third York," her hands loosened up, just cupping my face. I could feel myself warming up and started to wish i had lost a little more blood.

"In Third York, before I was decommissioned, there was a wave of deaths from self inflicted wounds. People would get high off their own endorphins and endocannabinoids and accidentally kill themselves.”

I put my hand on her’s, and barely got out a soft, “well, duh,” before her head snapped like she was looking through the wall. “Shh!” she said, as her fans sped up further. Something black and fluid blasted past our window and chills went down my spine. I tried to move but even though Caret wasn’t pressing hard on me, she was immovable as a statue. 

“Plea-”

“Shh.”

“Please let go.” I whispered. One of her eyes glanced down at me, and she let go and stood, before grabbing a sword off of the table. 

Slam

Slam

I turned to look at the door. It was quiet again.

Slam

Sl-TANG, Caret’s sword pierced the door, followed by a loud scuttling. Caret audibly relaxed, her fans spinning down to a more reasonable level. 

“Is it gone?” I whispered. She nodded and walked toward me, before wrapping her arms around me and laying the two of us down on a bed. I was glad for the company. After that, I wasn’t going to fall asleep alone. 

-

Water flowed all around me, while I floated on my back. “Thanks for doing this with me,” I said to Caret as the blood flowed from my neigh-unopened skin, and into the basking pool.

She shrugged from her place next to the slate container I created. “Oh, it’s whatever, you know?”

“Nah,” I said, “I know it bothers you. But I don’t super like being alone when I do this.”

“Why not?”

“I’m always worried I’m going to get too relaxed and fall asleep and drown.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment. I closed my eyes and laid back. “Well, if you want to stay awake, how about I explain what I’m doing with my cave?”

“Sure!” I said, enjoying the water swirling around my body, the quiet darkness of the whole experience, as Caret started in on explaining the cavern.

It was… complicated. I got the sense that if I was from her universe I would have understood it. There is, apparently, a stream in the mountian, which she has powering a turbine, which helps run a screen, which she’s using to run diagnostics on her senses, I think? She also said that something about this process is making plants grow everywhere. I got the sense that she wasn’t sure why though.

“Think you’re done?” she asked at the end of her explanation.

I cracked an eye open, and lifted an arm out of the water. No blood, just scars. As usual. I nodded and closed my eyes again. "We're good."

"Can we please wash the blood off you?” 

I stood up and stretched a bit, “Mhm, yeah.”

“You smell… I mean, like blood.”

I stopped. “You can smell now?” 

She waved her hands around, “This place wants me to smell, I guess?”

“Yeah, uh, that checks out, I guess. Makes about as much sense as any other damn thing that’s happened this whole time.” I rubbed a temple. “Right. To the shower?”

She nodded and we went up the stairs, out of the house, and around the back to where the “shower” was. Honestly, it was just a hose that led up to her cave. I have no clue what it hooked up to. 

She turned it on, and blasted me straight in the face. “You know, I’m going to have to make some bandages. This is getting ridiculous.” 

“Aackpffthpfth,” I said, before she moved the stream off my mouth, “Tha-that’s true.”

She ran it up and down my body. “Honestly, I still don’t completely understand why blood magic. It just seems so high-risk. What even is the point of it?”

“Well, like… It’s hard to describe. For one thing, it’s a power source, you can make lights, weapons, pepple-”

“People?”

I shook my head. “No, they’re called Pepple? They’re… vaguely person shaped, but made of, you know. Viscera?”  

“Dear God,” She deadpanned, “Go on?”

“Well, all of that’s fairly advanced. On a micro level, it makes you like, way harder to kill? A lot of soldiers get into it. Adventurers, rune disposers too.”

She made a face, “You weren’t a soldier, were you?”

“No! Hell no. I,” I felt my face warming up, “Actually, I was trying to impress a girl?”

“Get on your knees, I need to wash your hair,” I did as I was told, and she came up behind me as I tilted my head back, spraying water through my undercut, running her fingers through my hair. Her voice was close to me now, a sensation that I seemed to always find out I was way less used to than I thought. “Did it work?”, she asked quietly.

I flushed. “Oh, uh. No. Turns out I uh, wasn’t her type.”

“What was her type?” 

“Not… uh. Trans?”

“Oh. Screw her.” 

I laughed a little too loud, but… who can blame me, it cut the tension. I may have snorted. Accounts differ. “It was fine, honest. It just got kinda awkward. And I was just... Young. Kinda stupid. I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up, and I shouldn’t have chosen a field of work just to impress someone. Buuut at least now I bleed randomly and freak out my only friend, so. Put one in the win column?” I said sarcastically.

She got really quiet and furrowed her brow. 

“Did I… We are friends, right?”

“I…” she said, trailing off.

“Oh god, I was joking but we are, right? Like, I won’t even be mad just surprised.”

“I really… Love you. Like a lot.”

“Oh. Woah. I love you too. You’re my best friend.”

“Ditto,” she replied. I didn’t often see her flustered, but I was pretty sure this had done it. She sprayed me in the face again as I sputtered, before she dropped it. “Alright get your bits clean. I’m not doing those.” 

-

I found a ruby. The knife had been made, along with the necessary preparations. It was a full moon that night. I had a pig. I had some blood saved from my basking pool. We were in a clearing in the woods. 

“I’m still… fuzzy on why we have to do this,” Caret said, trudging along behind me.

“Well, it’s partially tradition. But it also helps to activate the knife itself. It’s good to charge it a touch before you use it on yourself.”

“I don’t love that you’re testing it on an animal.”

“I mean, if all goes well it shouldn’t feel anything. Or even die,” I turned back toward her, “Theoretically you could do it on me. Wanna do some stabbing?” Her face said no. “I’m just saying, it’s an option.” The first time a new knife is used, it’s easy to be overzealous. Mostly because the anesthetic affect takes a moment to get calibrated for the first time. It’s meant to just make it so you don’t feel any pain and stay lucid, but some people have reported passing out from it their first time using a new one. Not a risk you want to take, especially with a knife in your arm. Even one that doesn't let you die.

“Really it’s not testing anyway. It’ll work, it just needs to get started up. This is how we do it.”

Cerat raised an eyebrow, "and the black robes, those were super-duper necessary, I guess?"

"It's just… the uniform they had us in back at the academy. It's comfortable. In more ways than one."

“Can we just get it over with?”

I nodded, and drew my blade. It was fairly simple. I won’t go into detail. I cut into it, filled a bowl, poured it over the knife. Just as I was finishing up, I heard a spinning up over from Caret’s direction. 

I saw her before I saw the other thing. In her hand was an oak wood crossbow which I had the privilege of watching her carve, and decorate with pink dye. What she was pointing at was far less adorable. 

It seemed humanoid, mostly. It was naked, with pallored, greenish skin, skin swirling around itself, with weird, empty faces appearing and disappearing, each frozen in a wail for the half-second they were around. The face was similar, so big, with sagging meat, that it almost seemed larger than the body, the eyes and mouth were huge and empty, cartoonishly so, the gape of it staring me down, as a bolt entered the eye. The eye-hole. The hole where the eye ought have been. 

It didn’t seem to get a reaction, but the mouth waggled, and the creature began to make a noise.

“Hhhhhhhhihhhhhhhhhhhhh”

“Caret?” I shouted, panic mounting.

“I’m thinking,” She replied coolly, as she loaded another bolt.

Another bolt loosened, this time into it’s endless dark maw.

“Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-”

“It’s still not working!” I said, raising my dagger.

“Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii”

Caret's stance changed as she held up a fist and shouted, "Hold!"

Everyone was motionless, apart from the swirling faces of the figure. Caret spoke up again. “Clarify your name and intentions,” she commanded. 

“We are We-are-the-Dead. We have been meaning to introduce ourselves,” they said, stretching each word out, as if it was a labor.

“So should I call you like… We?” I muttered to myself.

“To what end?” Caret asked. 

“To get to know those what live.” they said.

“Why’d you wait until now?”

“We are shy,” they said simply. 

“And that’s why you’ve been following us around?” she asked.

I blinked.

“Yes. We have been… unsure of how to introduce ourselves. We are the collection of those who have passed on,” I realized the looks on each face wasn’t some horrible wail, but an expression of extreme nervousness. They seemed far more comfortable now, though their presence hadn’t become comforting. “Someday, all will be part of us. It is only sensible that you should know us first.”

Caret narrowed her eyes, “Is that a threat?”

They shook their collective head, “An observation. A philosophy, perhaps. Everything joins the collection eventually. We-are-the-Dead. We all will someday be… the dead.”

Caret seemed to loosen up a touch, pointing the crossbow towards the ground. “Right. Are you staying some place?”

“We are staying… Around. Not many things die. We welcome anything that joins. We were about to welcome a brand new soul,” They gestured toward the pig, “or so we thought. But we travel, and meet the others.”

“Others?” I asked.

“To the sunrise. Away from the woods. Into the sand. Into the mountains. Even in the great empty space, someone roams.”

“So… What now?”

“What are your names?”

“Partridge,” I said pointing at myself, “Caret,” I pointed at her. 

“It is nice to see other faces. We remember…” They trailed off.

“Yes?” I asked. 

They shrugged, “It’s no matter. We shall leave you be.” 

They turned to walk back toward the woods, their body flopping and wriggling as they moved. Over their shoulder they called, “We shall see who else we can meet. And then, we shall all meet again… One way, or another.”

Like that they were gone, returned to the darkness. I looked at the knife I was holding, and tucked it into my bag. I looked at the pig, and untied it’s harness. As it ran off, I headed over to where Caret was poised. She seemed not-quite-ready to relax. 

“So that was fucked up.”

She nodded.

“Think they’re dangerous?”

“Who knows. How’s your knife?”

“It worked. Pig survived it, it should work for me now.”

“Great. Let’s head back. I want to lie down.”

We started walking back home. “‘Clarify your name and intentions,’ though?” I asked

“Oh, hush. Old habits.”

[wavemaker9]

Just something short as a follow up to the idea of gil getting toni to realize that he’s built a lot of his personality based on other people’s wants. Lead in is basically Toni comes to the realization that his belief about being the most comfortable and himself with his friends could also be bullshit and Francis tries to reassure him he hasn’t noticed a change like that + toni’s an adult who knows how to not hang out with people he doesn’t like, so he really shouldn’t worry about secretly not liking his best friends.

Title: Existential Characters: Antonio, Francis

Antonio nods, his stare still a little distant, and acknowledges the point that his friend has made. It’s reassuring, in a way, but not in all the ways he could use right now. Still, he’d rather not drag down his friend with his own, weird sort of existential crisis he’s dealing with at the moment. Thus, his eyes finally flick back to Francis’, and he smiles at the other, something that feels more fake in the fact that he knows it’s fake. “That makes sense; thank you.”

Francis’ eyes rest on him for a long beat. There’s a glass of wine in his hand, one that seems to feel more posed than held there. Then those brown eyes close with a faint shrug and a sigh. “Yet your concern don’t seem that reassured?” His voice balances the phrase delicately on the fence between statement and question. It’s not a question in the way that Francis is uncertain if it’s true, but it’s not a statement either, given how he raises his tone on the end and gives a pause after the words to sip at his drink. He wants to confirm why the statement is true, rather than simply that it is.

Antonio catches on after a few moments and grimaces slightly at being caught. He feels it was the smile, but he’s not sure if that’s because that was the actual weak link or if it feels to him to have been the weak link. He guesses, though, that either way he’s been outed, so he might as well confess. “Well, I mean-.”

“Or rather,” Francis speaks up, catching on himself as he lowers the glass from his lips, “You have more than just that concern?” This time it is a question in its most basic state. Francis is relatively confident in his guess; it’d make the most sense given what he can tell about his friend. However, he’s not certain, especially in the more detailed point of what other concerns Antonio could have, and so he waits for confirmation.

Antonio sighs softly, nodding and sinking a little in his seat. His own drink of wine, a deep rich red filling a quarter of the glass, is set aside so that he can bring his hands together in his lap. “I guess it’s just-... I can’t get what he said outta my head, y’know?” One hand comes up, running roughly through chocolate locks, the soft curls bouncing at the disturbance. He scratches at his hair as a way to burn through some energy, before adjusting his already comfortable enough seat on the couch for a similar reason. “Everything I do, I hear Gilbert in my head asking if I really like it or if I just think I do.”

Here he leans back with another, harsher sigh. His arms reach out, stretching to lay across the back of the sofa as he tilts his head back further so that he’s staring at the part of the room behind him instead of at Francis. “I know I like hanging out with you two- I love it! But what if I’ve just convinced myself that I do? I know I like cooking and dancing and- and a lot of things, but maybe I don’t know that? Maybe I don’t know on any of them? Maybe I don’t know anything at all?” He leans forward again and releases another sigh, each one filling itself with more and more frustration. “I’m second guessing everything I say and do- I question my actions even when alone now! It’s-,” he cuts off to let out a guttural sort of breath, a more fitting word of his struggles than any others he could come up with. “I used to be so confident in everything I did. Since before I even left my aunt’s house, I thought I knew who I was and what I wanted in this world; I never had any doubts- not like this.”

Here the breath he releases feels more worn, half-defeated in tone. “I know Gilbert wasn’t trying to fuck me over when he said that, but he kinda did?” Sharply, his eyes lift up from where they’d ended up, staring across the room at a far shelf and its items. They connect with Francis’ as he adds a reassurance that he’s not mad at Gilbert for saying anything though. “I’m glad to know that I do this. That I mold my personality so much based on others, but- but now I don’t know how to stop knowing, y’know?”

Francis nods, but can tell that Antonio is not fully finished speaking, and so he allows himself another drink from his glass instead as he continues to listen.

“I just don’t know what to do about it! I dunno how to do anything anymore without questioning it all. I feel like I don’t know who I am anymore, Franics. I feel like my whole identity has been shaken down to- to grains with those words.” He lifts the hand that had been in his hair back to it again, but this time it holds in the strands a little longer, fingers tangling in the waves and curls, tugging slightly, a mild show of how he’s feeling that lasts as long as it takes for him to lean back into his seat again. “I knew I wore a mask with most people. I very carefully crafted it! But Gilbert’s pulled it off and pulled another one underneath it off that I didn’t know I was wearing and now I’m- I’m- I’m struggling to find a mirror, y’know? I just wanna see what I look like underneath and I can’t find a goddamn mirror!”

There’s no anger in his words, but the rushed volume behind them still lashes out into the air with a force not entirely intended. It’s enough to get Francis to finally set his own drink down, fully recognizing the trouble his friend seems to be going through. With easy, fluid movements, he stands, steps across the space between the two pieces of furniture, and sinks back down onto the seat next to Toni. Antonio takes a deep breath as Francis’ hand lifts to rest on one of his shoulders, patting gently in reassurance. Francis waits, giving room for the other to settle his fraying state and get back to some place more stable, before speaking up.

“Antonio,” he finally says, his voice a little softer and gentler than it usually is, “you are the mirror, my friend.”

Green eyes fall on Francis with a raised eyebrow resting above one, but he isn’t intimidated by the initial doubt. “I’m serious,” he continues, “you don’t realize how much who you try to be reflects on who you actually are.” He pulls his hand back at this, but only so that he can use it in combination with the other hand to gesture a little as he speaks.

“Everyone does this to some extent, y’know? Admittedly, probably not to the level you have, but everyone is influenced in some way by those around them. You know, I changed the style of my handwriting more times than I could count when I was a teen, trying to copy ones that I’d seen and thought looked nice.” He gives a soft smile to accompany the soothing tone he’s trying to keep, tilting his head enough to make better eye contact with the other as he speaks. “People change their hair or clothing to appeal to those they look up to or respect. They work out bad habits around people who would look down on them for having them. People change for others, often-.”

“Yes, yes, I know but-.”

“No, no, no,” Francis counterinterupts, “see I don’t think you do. My point here is not, ‘Everyone does this so you don’t need to feel uncertain about it.’ I understand that’s not what’s upsetting you.”

“So what is your point, then?” Antonio asks, though his tone and body language are eased enough where it’s clear there’s no intent to rush the other along out of frustration or impatience. It’s a genuine question, and so Francis genuinely answers.

“My point is that doing these things, even to the extreme you have, doesn’t reduce your identity as a person to any lesser extent than my own or Gilbert’s or anyone else’s.” One of his arms slip back up, looping around Antonio’s back so a hand can carefully, supportively grip at a red-clad shoulder. “Gilbert is the most honest of us, sure, but that hasn’t stopped him from second guessing himself often enough.” Francis leans in so his mouth is a little closer to Antonio’s ear, the corners of his lips pulling a touch wide as he whispers, “Don’t spread this around, but even I’ve been guilty of it.”

Antonio laughs sharply, bending over a little in his seat before letting the hold his friend has on him help right him once more. “No! That’s surely impossible!” he counters back with a heavy flare of sarcastic dramatics added to his words, mimicking an expression of shock while turning to more fully face the other.

Francis himself lifts a shoulder and tilts his head in the same direction, both leaning to the side away from Antonio, a pose of lamenting the fact that’s been revealed. “Ah, but it’s true!” He closes his eyes to really hit that look of remorse before sparing a laugh, too. His holds a smoother quality to it than Antonio’s laughs tend to have, though both are better off than some of the genuine, hearty laughs that Gilbert tends to give. When the chuckles end, Francis returns to his point. “I don’t let it bother me for too long, though; do you know why?”

It takes a few moments before Antonio realizes that Francis is actually waiting for a response, rather than just letting a slight pause follow a rhetorical question. He shakes his head, considering trying to offer up a suggestion, but ultimately figuring it’d be better to just let Francis give the right answer than hold them both up to give him time to figure out what would work as a guess.

“Because,” Francis continues once given that headshake, “whether you wear a mask or not is not what’s important.” He’s quiet for a half beat, before quickly adding, “Not that I’m saying we don’t prefer when you’re more honest with us, but-,” which gets another short chuckle out of Antonio. “No, seriously though,” he continues, smile widening again as Antonio’s soft laughter slips away to just a grin. “It’s not. You can wear a mask if that’s what makes you feel more comfortable; it only matters what you make that mask look like.

“Truly,” he presses further on, “what is more telling about who you are as a person is not that you are honest with everyone or that you are honest with nobody. It’s what those truths or lies are saying.” Francis’ grip on Antonio’s arm eases with a couple gentle pats, arms folding casually across his body instead. “You have arranged so many things together to make this mask, but you haven’t borrowed everything to do it, right?” This time the question is entirely rhetorical, not even a breath of space left following it for Antonio to say anything. “I know your standards are high and I know that, whatever traits you’ve picked to make this mask, they were chosen because you thought they were important; you thought they would make things better. Antonio, you try to be determined and clever and strong and confident and caring and a million other good qualities to have. You’ve picked the qualities you show based on the qualities you value, and that is the Antonio that we know and like. That’s the mirror you’re looking for.”

Antonio is quiet, eyes drifting from staring directly at Francis to somewhere vaguely to the side of him. Francis is quiet, too, watching Antonio to see what his reaction will be. There’s a worry that the long delay is from Antonio trying to break down everything Francis said, and that Francis will have to try and explain it again if it becomes too much of a challenge to work out, but then his own concern is reassured by arms pulling him into a tight hug.

“Thank you,” Antonio says, squeezing the other tightly, to the point where Francis lets out a breath of discomfort at the tightness. “That helped a lot, truly.” He pulls away when he can feel Francis patting at his shoulder, but his grin stays open and wide.

Francis smiles, too, sparing a few words to dismiss the importance of the help, before standing again to return to his seat. Both of them reach for drinks at about the same time, but only Francis actually gets a taste of his, with Antonio touching glass to lip, but stopping in thought before he could finish the action. After a beat, he turns to look back to Francis, allowing the glass in his grip to drift slightly, though still hovering in the air a little below the line of his chin.

“Y’know, Francis, I gotta say, given everything?” And he grins wide at the other once more. “I’m glad that I don’t ever gotta doubt having you two as friends.”