#i had a vague sense of deja vu the whole time but i know for a fact it wasn't on this blog so i did it anyway it was fun

[lighthouseborn]

Character Survey

basics.

name: Henry James (Swann) Turner (and I'm not sure he'd have much reason to give it this way but if you were to throw a 'Sparrow' in there he would not object)

nicname/s: I have yet to encounter any, actually. His name doesn't really lend to it? and I don't think anyone has chosen anything that isn't one of his given names, yet? If they have I forgot it I'm so sorry.

age: mid-twenties vibes these days, 23-25 thereabout

species: Human (...son of a psychopomp, which sometimes seems like a Something, but also not really? Blurry. Human and mundane and normal in all the ways you need to worry about.)

personal.

morality: lawful / chaotic / good / neutral / evil / true

religion: No formal adherence to any structures, and he's not much of a praying type either. He's got some superstitions and general beliefs, they just... don't necessarily steer him into thinking any of the things that exist are things he would give sway of his choices to.

sins: greed / gluttony / sloth / lust / pride / envy / wrath

virtues: chastity / charity / diligence / humility / kindness / patience / justice

known languages: English, Mandarin & Malay, Shipwreck's Pidgin, Latin (or some bastard form of it, at least), Greek, many many many partials via a mixture of exposure, study, and educated guesses based on the languages he has a firm grip on. Loves loves loves languages. Descendants verse has a sign language he's getting good at. Modern verses,,, I don't know if he knows any sign languages but he'd be excited to learn if he doesn't!

secrets:  

physical.

build: scrawny / bony / slender / fit /athletic / curvy / herculean / pudgy / average

height: 6'0" (1.83m)

scars / birthmarks: So many. Most tend to be covered, except the ones on his face and neck and hands. And the one on his face is fairly faint. I have not moved the scar chart to this blog yet (and I've been thinking of redoing it) but it is viewable [here.] [And also here for the D:BH verse, which is different, but it definitely needs updating.] I think there's also a Descendants verse one but I've lost it. It's around somewhere.

abilities / powers: Disarming puppy dog energy. (That's a joke it's not a real superpower or anything but it is true he's got a knack for being just. very earnest in a way that encourages people around him to put down their guard (or at least let him, specifically, through it.) This is not an intentional effort on his part. Like I mean sure he wants to be trustworthy but I mean he's not purposefully trying to trip or trick or manipulate people into liking him he just. Is how he is and it's very open, and it tends to endear people. (Or drive them crazy, or both s;ldkfjg;dlkfgj.))

restrictions: Hates feeling trapped or cornered into things and will bite and claw and kick about it; not a huge fan of enclosed spaces for this reason (it looks like claustrophobia sometimes and it's technically true he doesn't enjoy little bity tiny spaces, but it's less about them being small than it is about the enclosed/trapped feeling.) "How is this a restriction" it makes commitments something of a challenge and also literally being trapped or tied down, etc., can cause legitimate panic if he can't see a way out of it.

favorites. 

food: Curry! He's not especially picky about what kind, he's always interested in a curry. Also most fruit! But specifically a big fan of mango and lychee.

drink: Spiced tea. (Like, true teas blended with spices, not teas mostly made of spices, but that second thing is cool too.)

pizza topping: I sincerely doubt he's picky at all in any way about pizza.

color: He's got a lean for jewel tones and earth tones, especially blues and greens, a measure of gold, and the occasional red or burgundy. 

music genre: He's not crazy into music but generally prefers simple vibes, vocal pieces and acoustic guitar and memorable verses, stuff you can hum and carry around in your head.

book genre: Myth stuff for sure. I think even before he became obsessed with the Trident he was just into stories and legends as a kid, the kind of stuff that makes the world seem mysterious and magical, and he just. Never outgrew it. He's got a liiiiittle bit of a history lean, but more for sociology-esque things than like, foreign policy and infrastructure and war facts. The things that unite people, rather than push them apart.

movie genre: Modern Henry is a tv/movie hater sry (he gets bored with it really easily.) 

curse word: Despite what people say of sailors he really doesn't tend to swear very much? Typically only if he's very frustrated, which usually ends up aimed at an inanimate object, which usually means he's saying something along the lines of "this BLOODY (thing)" which is fairly mild all things considered. He's definitely dropped a few 'damn [it]'s and the occasional "for fucks sake". Arse is probably part of his lexicon but I feel stupid/wrong when I try to use it lmfao 

scents: Fresh outdoor air, especially coastal. Florals are nice! (Plumeria & hibiscus & orchids & irises) Brewing tea. Book smell is a good smell. He doesn't know this is what it is but cocoa butter.

fun stuff.

songs: [There's a a whole playlist for this] but big ones include: Wild I Am by Vocal Few , Eulogy by Charlie Allen , Seven by Sleeping at Last, Rubik's Cube by Athlete, Give It Up by Cody Fry, Here I Am by Brian Adams. [There's also actually a second playlist for this.] ...[And this one too.] ;dkjg;ldkfjg;kj (There's reasons for them to be on separate playsts it's just. very hard for me to articulate why.) [This is the angsty one] though that's pretty straightforward.

aesthetic: patches of sunlight and coastal winds and waist high grass waving in the wind and lanterns and lamplight and tropical flowers and the heights of a ship's rigging and adventure through uncharted places and books and sketches and maps and shells and walls papered with thoughts and trinkets and hammocks and humming and cliffsides and dancing and stories by the fire and port wine and rum and spiced tea and warm sturdy hugs and light linen shirts dried in the sun and flushed sunkissed skin and. more but my brain stopped working and this is already quite a list. you get it though you get the energy,,

sings in the shower: Hmmmm I feel it's unlikely but humming is possible?

likes puns: ..Neutral about them? (Hetty thinks they're funny though she likes to harass him with puns sometimes.)

[inbarfink]

One common Undertale misconception that really frustrates me is when Sans is portrayed with a strong innate sense for RESETs and alternative timelines. Like, that he remembers the RESET timelines better than the other characters who only have occasional feelings of deja vu or even that he can sense when a timeline is RESET.

And that’s, like, almost the opposite of the actual text of the game. While pretty much every main character can have slightly-different dialogue in a Not-True-RESET, especially if the Player had previously befriended them, based on the idea that they have lingering memories/feelings from before the RESET - 

Sans has no real dialogue changes based on this conceit. All of his changes are based around noticing Frisk has different reactions based on their memories of the precious timelines. 

Other characters do also make observations like that about Frisk, like Mettaton and Toriel. But Sans is distinctive because this is the only way his comments change between RESETs and there are a lot of them from him.

Because that is what really frustrates me about this misconception. People mention it as one more thing that makes Sans cool - but the actual truth is far more badass. Sans is one of the people in the Underground who remembers RESETs the least. I think memory-resistance to RESETs is probably tied to Determination. Flowey, the second-most Determined person in the Underground after Frisk, can remember everything perfectly.

Everyone else has some vague feelings and deja vus. And Sans, he’s the least motivated person in the Underground - both in the sense he’s lazy and in the sense he’s fucking depressed.

That probably means he has very little Determination. Thus, he doesn’t remember anything that happens between RESETs.

And yet, he is still the character most aware of them. Because he has the technological know-how to read and analyze timelines.

And because he has the observation and analytical skill to notice a RESET from other people’s reactions and behavior. Whatever it’s Papyrus thinking he recognizes someone or Frisk’s behavior implying that they know something they shouldn’t have. Sans main RESET-related skill is just being able to identify these moments and come to the correct conclusion about them. And with that he manages to be the most aware character in the entire Underground.

Like, the one point where it might seem like Sans remembers something from a previous Timeline is the Fake Spare scene during his boss battle. 

But it’s all pretend. Unlike the previous lines from other characters that I mentioned, this dialogue plays even if the Murder Route is the first time the player touched the game. Sans isn’t remembering anything in this scene. But he makes an educated guess that the Immoral Time God probably tried using their powers for good at first, so they were likely ‘friends’ in a previous timeline. And in most cases, his guess is right on the money - tricking many players into thinking this is another case of the game actually reacting to their past actions.

And as always, Sans can only tell if his lil’ trick worked or not based on the expression of the Player Character.

Arguably, Sans even uses his lack of Determination and cross-RESET memory to his advantage in his boss battle. After all, the whole point of this fight isn’t to kill the Player - Sans understands this is impossible. This is a war of attrition, trying to get the Player so frustrated and annoyed with the unfair fight that they just ragequit or RESET the Timeline. And this war of the Player’s patience versus Sans’ stamina and will is infinitely easier for him when he doesn’t actually perceive all the Player’s previous attempts against him.

Like, for the Player this might be the billion time they go up against him, they’re aware of some of his patterns and tricks now but they’re probably also frustrated and angry and exhausted. Meanwhile, from Sans’ POV, this is still the first time this is happening. He knows it’s not from the Player’s behavior and Frisk’s expression - but he doesn’t feel it like the Player does. 

He doesn’t feel the frustration and repetition of the endless stalemate. So he’s always as fresh as a daisy no matter how rugged the Player is getting.

And that’s part of why Sans is so cool in the first place, like, in general. He’s technically the weakest person in the Underground, lacking in every standard evaluation of power in the setting - no ATK, no DEF, no HP, no DETERMINATION. But he’s darn clever enough to overcome these weaknesses and even use them in ways that make them into strengths, enough to be one of the most dangerous and most aware guys in this whole setting.

Sans can���t remember anything, and that makes him awesome.

[yellowjestertfs]

Just another ordinary day

Been busy working on a longer project (as in 40k+ words :0) but in the meantime decided to publish another older story of mine with revisions and images. AI was being especially tricky on me this time so the images are not quite what I pictured but good enough. If anyone has any tips for making better images or is interested in proofreading my longer story let me know!

I woke with a start, my mind still groggy from sleep my vision hazy. It was one of those sudden wake-ups that throws off your whole day, the kind usually prompted by some bad dream or loud noise. Only there had been no such occurrence; my sleep had been peaceful and from what I could remember dreamless, yet I couldn’t shake the feeling something had woken me. 

No matter the cause I was up, and judging by the daylight creeping through my shades there was no point falling back to sleep. With a groan, I lifted myself out of bed and made my way to the bathroom. The alarm on my bedside table informed me I had thirty extra minutes this morning to get ready for work. Never one to waste time I decided to have a quick wank with my extra time to try to release some of the stress my sudden wakeup had caused.

Something felt off as I pulled down my pants to reveal my dick, rock hard as it was most mornings. The type of feeling you get when you say a word over and over and it loses all meaning. Everything else seemed normal, my body was still just as average as when I went to bed, nice strong legs from a childhood of playing soccer and a slight beer belly from my time playing beer pong in college. My face looked the same as well, a generally generic face, adorned by light stubble which had grown in while I slept, and bags under my eyes from my draining corporate job. It was my dick that felt off, foreign, only that was ridiculous. It looked the same as it had since I finished puberty. Just over a foot long and proportionally thick, it was just as average as the rest of my body. Something about thinking of my third leg as average felt wrong but I chalked it up to the dregs of sleep. That was simply how men were, nothing strange about it.

Shanking myself out of my contemplative state I hopped into the shower and went about the act of washing away the sheen of sweat I had gained while I slept. I also took this time to rub one out, using the standard two-hand technique practiced by most men. My dick quickly rose to its full size, and within minutes, my tennis ball-sized balls were churning out cum. I thought back to an article I had read in high school that claimed the average male ejaculated a third a gallon of cum per climax, and judging by my admissions that seemed plausible. I supposed the amount coupled with the force accounted for the high rate of condom breakage, not that any but the bravest of women ever allowed for penetrative sex.

After maneuvering the shower head to force all the cum down the drain I turned off the water and wrapped a towel around my waist, paying special care to ensure that my dick didn’t cause the cloth to come undone. Suddenly I felt a wave pass over me. I felt immediately nauseous and light-headed and a strange sensation of deja vu. I realized this was the feeling that had woken me up this morning, then just as suddenly as it had come over me the queasiness vanished as did my memory of the event. I was left only with a vague sense of unease. Powering through the strange sensation I wiped down the mirror and was confronted once again with a visage that felt somehow off. It wasn’t my average face nor the obscene bulge hidden behind my towel, both of those were normal. My body too looked just as average as ever, thick cut pecs, prominent square abs, and bulging 22’’ biceps were nothing to write home about, although I supposed my time playing soccer had given my legs an extra boost elevating them from the standard 30-inch thickness to a respectable 35. Luckily for me, men are incapable of storing fat otherwise I might have a belly from all those beers I drank in college I thought to myself absentmindedly patting my six-pack. Still, in a world where most men have 250 pounds of walking muscle, I have always felt sort of insecure about my scrawny 230-pound body. 

Quickly forgetting about the strange sensation I finished my morning routine, electing to keep my stubble in the hopes of cultivating a more rugged look on my average face. I exited the bathroom and opened my closet, greeted by the sight of several rows of various dress shirts, embarrassingly all labeled as men's adult small. Putting on underwear was easy enough as with all menswear my boxers had a special compartment for my hose-like junk. A dress shirt too buttoned easily over my cabbage-sized pecs as of course all men's shirts were created for just the task. I was just in the process of squeezing my legs into billowing trousers when I felt another wave pass over me. My already precarious balance caused me to fall, and I caught myself on the edge of my dresser, only it wasn’t a dresser. Why would I have a dresser, I wasn’t a woman what would I do with clothing? Righting myself against what I realized was a workout bench I glanced down just to reassure myself of my nakedness. I wondered absently where the thought of me owning clothing had come from, what a preposterous idea, that would be like a woman walking around naked. I would be fired on the spot if I showed up in such an offensive garment. Casting the ridiculous idea out of my mind I grabbed my bag and headed off to work. 

Saying hello to my hunky neighbor as I passed I finally emerged onto the street. Despite my strange morning, the world outside my apartment appeared the same as it always was, men on their way to work naked, of course, pecs and dick bouncing as they walked, bare feet smacking against the smooth temperature-controlled cement. I joined the throngs of men crowding the sidewalks and waited at a crosswalk as men showing flesh drove by, their cars of course made specifically large enough to hold their bulk. I became just another face in the crowd, just another man on his way to work, bodybuilder frame revealed to the wind. The eye easily passed over my foot-long dick, the instrument not nearly long enough to garner any attention. Be they young or old, rich or poor every man was at least 200 pounds of muscle with a shlong to match and of course, all of them were naked, it was simply how the world was, how it had always been. Depending on the subway station I swiped my metro card and made my way to the appropriate train. As the train pulled I was buffeted by yet another wave and was instantly wracked with an intense pulse of nausea which disappeared just as suddenly as it had arrived. 

Releasing I had fallen down, but not knowing why, I stood back up to my full 7’10” hight and saw all around me men doing the same. For a moment the doors to the subway car in front of me looked strange, almost too tall but that didn’t make any sense. They stood just as tall as ever, the standard 9 foot hight, enough to allow most men to enter without hitting their heads. I knew of course that there were rare men who would still have to duck to enter the train car but for the vast majority of men who averaged around 8’0’’, ten feet was more than sufficient. I entered the car and sat down, my bare butt brushing up against the perky ass of a blond man with a round face on one side and a woman in expertly pressed dress slacks and a matching navy blazer on the other. As the train took off another wave stuck. This one merely caused me to clutch my head as a splitting headache appeared and then vanished in a second. The woman next to me was hit harder by the instantly forgotten wave of reality-altering force. Thrown off balance she bounced into my left pec, her head cushioned by the squishy yet firm muscle. Recovering immediately and feeling somewhat confused as to how she ended up pressed against me she apologized and distracted herself by pulling out her phone and flipping to the camera app to ensure her makeup was not smudged. Though the camera was pointed at herself I could see my reflection, my head towering over hers even in my sitting position. 

I certainly wasn’t ugly by any standard but I also wasn’t some model. My chiseled wide jaw was just about as handsome as every other man on the train, although the perfect coating of square stubble that had grown in during the night did lend me a rugged edge. The rest of my features were pretty mundane, clear and pore-less skin, thick square eyebrows and a dimpled wide chin were the default for men, as evidenced by the golden-haired Adonis that sat next to me. Even so, I always liked my piercing bright eyes and high cheekbones even though they were hardly rare in the world.

The blond man sitting next to me with the perfect lantern jaw got up at the next stop. Mine was the one after that. 

I exited the car and ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time to ensure I wasn’t late. My work building looked the same as it always did, with large doors to accommodate male employees and in the lobby a giant bronze statue of a man holding the earth, his body naked and extremely well muscled and hung of course for the sake of realism. Despite my relative scrawniness I still used a male-designated elevator, the female ones not made to handle my weight or height. The several other men in the elevator and I had only made it a few floors before we were subject to one final and seemingly extra powerful shockwave. The weight of the changes enacted easily caused all the men even with their rock-hard muscles to crumple and we collapsed onto each other. My hand somehow ended up gasping the long penis of a 40-year-old accountant with a perfectly maintained salt and pepper beard. For a moment I motioned to let go of his member before reality snapped back in and I remembered my manners. It would be incredibly rude for me to begin a morning grope and not bring him to completion. In fact,  I had already made a major faux pas by not kissing my coworker hello. This error in tact was quickly rectified as the rest of the elevator ride turned into a make-out session. By my floor the sexy accountant I was giving a handjob to reached completion and I took his load as my breakfast. As I left he spanked my ass and stuck his business card between my butt checks. Guess he liked my elevator pitch. 

I went straight to my boss's office as was customary and gave the 350-pound silver fox a quick blow job before he transferred his abnormally large penis into my ass and fucked me while we discussed business. Turns out the reality-warping machine he had invested in had been broken into this morning although as far as anyone could tell no damage had been done nor had the machine been used. 

“Makes sense I told him" In-between moans as he obliterated my prostate. “I imagine we would know if someone were to fuck with reality.” 

My boss clenched his superhumanly wide lantern jaw and straightened up to his full over eight-foot height, both football-sized biceps flexed behind his head. “You're right on that account kid, today is yet another ordinary day.

[mushroomwoods]

Sunflower Fields

the rustling wind was all too characteristic now, dream or not, he just wished to remember your voice...

character — wars, romantic or platonic

cw — mild angst with happy ending.

this is a gift i made for the loveliest @wayfayrr and took way too long to post because tumblr is a bitch, but since i am here now... enjoy! ps: i made an art commission from the dearest @h4wari. check it out, it's amazing!

The calm summer breeze blew, comforting and slightly humid as it ruffled his hair along with the scarf.

Blue star coloured eyes focused on the horizon, the chatting and bantering happening beside him barely catching his attention.

He looked lost.

As if chasing after something oh so far away, yet he didn't know what it was.

“Dozing off again, Link?” Impa voice resounded, breaking him off his stupor, gladiolus eyes thinning at the blank stare the warrior offered her.

“Let it be, Impa.” Zelda cut through, graciously stirring the tea before she poured one cup for herself.

“Ah, I can do it, Your Highness-” As Impa tried to stand up, the princess simply waved her hand.

Link took a sip of his own tea, already cold, though the gentle rosemary scent still filled his nostrils, a vague memory of Zelda telling him it was one of her favorite ones coming to mind, yet as the flavor seeped into his mouth he could only grimace.

Bitter.

The princess lightly pushed the sugar pot nearer to him, yet the hero refused, setting the porcelain cup back to the saucer with a muted clack.

“Excuse me, but I have to go back to my duties.” A blatant lie, he had been given a week off just the previous day.

Nonetheless, the princess nodded in understanding, barely looking his way as he made his way out of the garden. The gerbera daisies surrounded him the whole way out, as if mocking him, the sunny yellow shade only serving to make his mood worse.

He couldn’t understand why it was happening, why sometimes there were lapses of memories within him, the figments of a voice and a soft touch that caressed his cheeks with so much tenderness that he wanted to cry. He knew that such a thing could never have happened in the past as he spent most of his time in the war and taking care of his job as a commander.

His fists clenched when he finally reached the outer walls of the castle, the soldiers guarding the area bowed to him in respect, before opening the gates.

Freedom at last.

Somehow, after everything that happened, he couldn’t feel at ease while in that place, when near those people, when he got reminded of every single nightmare he had to push through, he felt as if drowning amidst the suffocating essence of abatina flowers, her image resurfacing to his mind even when he tried so hard to wipe it out of the memory.

With a sigh, he started heading back to his quarter, a vague sensation of deja vu overcoming his body, the rustling of the crisp summer air brushing his hair as if it was a loving hand.

The path home was quiet, some people greeting him here and there, to which was answered by his collected smile.

A fake.

Somehow nothing made sense, nothing seemed real, no amount of working or enjoyment made him feel at ease.

As the door to his house was opened, the red columbine in his stand shriveled, petals droopy, as thirst for a little drop of water, even then he ignored it, too aware of his own cowardice, hanging his uniform as he made his way to the bed.

The tired body just crumbled onto the bed, not trying to hold onto consciousness as he fell into a deep slumber.

…

He felt weightless, the usual tiredness not heaving into his shoulder.

A patch of small sunflowers surrounded him, someone sitting amidst it, a laughter familiar to him.

They said something that he couldn't quite understand, but before he could ask anything, they walked towards him, taking his hands into theirs, comforting and warm just as he remembered.

They laughed before bursting into hundreds of birds of paradise, colourful and filled with emotions.

Link didn't have any time to process it, however, as his eyes opened, the rays of light shone down on him as yet another day started.

Repeating it all once again.

He wished to sigh, but staying still at the same place for so long wouldn't do him any good, and only make him pity himself even more.

Just as he opened the curtains of his bedroom, his eyes widened, the place that should have been a vast open hill, was now covered in a patch of sunflowers, much like the dream he just had.

Not even bothering to take his usual uniform, he headed out in a flurry, tripping over his own feet as he stumbled towards the door.

As he opened it, the sight that greeted him was a familiar, yet unknown figure, surrounded by the townsfolk, all carrying bouquets of sunflowers, and placing it around the now covered patch of land.

The mysterious person's eyes met his, and they didn't hesitate before approaching him, the white-pink valerians in their arms standing out among the bright yellow blooms everyone else held.

“I'm sure you didn't expect it, Link.” Their familiar voice rang inside his heart, and he unknowingly smiled at it.

“You… how..?” So many questions flooded his head, yet no coherent words came out.

Scalding hot tears brimmed around his eyes, and with a soft smile they brushed it out of his face.

“I'm sorry that it took me so long to get to you my dear.” They answered with a melancholic smile, offering him the valerian bouquet.

He hesitated for a second, yet the moment he saw the guilt in your eyes, he carefully took it, not wasting any more time before taking you into a warm embrace.

“I missed you so much…” Link said.

“Me too, Link.” You sobbed into his arms.

Blue Star — Strength, Resilience

Gladiolus — Victorious, Strength

Rosemary — Remembrance

Gerbera Daisies (Yellow) — Appreciation in relationships

Abatina — Fickleness

Red columbine — Anxious, Trembling

Dwarf Sunflower — Adoration

Bird of Paradise — Freedom

Valerian — Readiness

[nolongerhorrortale]

As we wait for the anticipated return of our artist, we wi be posting some written drabbles!! This one is currently unfinished (i lost motivation towards the end) but i might finish it if yall like it enough. It’s sans’ first (?) encounter w Aliza. Per usual, more under the cut.

A new human had fallen.

She was a small thing, the dress that swamped her likely weighing more than she did. Even without the customary stripes that indicated childhood -he vaguely remembers someone asking his age once, considering how small he was to his awesome brother, a human maybe? He waves the memory away. It was impossible for that to happen. After all, any human he met never lived long enough to ask questions- the new human was clearly a child.

He grimaced. The girl (?) -for a split second he swears that he sees a purple sweater - was clearly underfed. His memory may have been rattled by the gaping hole in his skull, but he could remember what the other humans looked like. Fat and meaty. Of course, he never ate the bodies. He looks again at the girl -she’s familiar, so, so familiar. She reminds him of someone whose name has been lost, but she herself seems familiar- his hand flies up to tug on his dead socket, a dull ache spreading across his skull. What was he thinking about again? The human. The girl. The next thing on his brother's menu. Not on his menu however, with his refusal to eat humans and instead sustain off his dying magic. He watches the kid, as she shivers and stumbles further down the path.

*Crunch*

..?

Oh. he teleported again. A waste of magic, the thing keeping him alive. He didn’t need to do it, but it seemed that every time a human came down, he would find himself following closely behind. He wasn’t sure why it kept happening, but every single stars-forsaken time, he would be hit with a strong sense of deja vu. The girl, like every other human that came down here, didn’t notice him till the bridge. And like every human that came down here, whirled around when she heard the branch snap. Sans wasn’t sure where the branch came from, but he always stepped on it. It didn’t feel right or anything, but he always did. -it was always the same branch. Over and over again, the same sense of this happening before- Sans glances down. The branch used to be whole, but after so many times, it was mostly splinters. Tibia honest -Sans snorts at his own internal pun- he thought about putting down a new branch, but he never figured out the significance of the current one to really put any effort into replacing it.

HE looks back up at the girl. She’s shivering, hands tinged blue. Her eyes were blown wide, and fear is prominent on her face, a clear indication she knows what's going on down here. Sans feels a twinge of guilt for scaring her, but quickly shakes it off. He doesn’t know this human -does he?- and she’s not going to be scared for much longer. Or alive. Still, he pities her, and there's a strange sense of familiarity. Suddenly, he remembers the old whoopie cushion that he almost always had strapped to his hand. He extends his arm, and for the first time in a long while, rasps out a few words.

“Won’t ya shake my hand, buddy?”

His voice sounds like he’s been gargling gravel. He internally winces at its cadence, but keeps his hand extended. The girl tentatively reaches out, and quickly shakes it.

.

..

…

*eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee*

The cushion gives out a depressing wheeze. Sans pulls his hand back and disappointedly looks at the cushion. He really hoped it would work, but sadly, its now deflated. R.I.P whoopie cushion, you served monsterkind well. As he stares wistfully at the faithful cushion, he suddenly hears a giggle. Its quiet, subdued, but it's definitely a giggle. He looks up,and the human is silently giggling.-flashes of a person run quickly through his mind, with hair the same tone as the woods of snowdin, and the smell of grass, with a similar smile to the child before him- he clutches at his eye socket again. His fractured mind racing, he tries to comprehend the memories, but it isn’t possible. Those memories aren’t real. There is no possible way he could be remembering the surface. Every magical neuron that still functions goes into overdrive- Suddenly he feels a nervous tug on his shoulder. He lunges mentally at the girl, but manages to restrain himself from physically moving. Sans doesn;t respond for a few moments, opting to instead stare down at the child, with its boney(heh) frame, oversized dress and nervous demeanor.

“Are yo-” the words seem to get caught in her throat, but she coughs and continues “are you okay, s-sir?” she puffs out. Sans thinks for a second about CHECKing her, but changes his mind. Once again, he would be wasting magic, and its not like such a small child could do much damage-you have no idea the agony one had created- Sans tugs harder, before acknowledging the child’s inquiry. “Yeah, m’ chill. Howzabout you, kid? You look chilled to the bone.” he grins, not quite a nice one per say, but also not the maniacal one he wore while hunting.

(This is, unfortunately the end, but we will come out with more!)

[hime98]

Lonely Escape in Seoul (Lee Dong Wook x Y/N)

Chapter 22 - Deja Vu and Roommate

Third Person POV

Meanwhile, outside the room, Dong Wook stood with his hands pressed against the wall, trying to calm himself. His heart still pounded in his chest. He had been holding his breath because of what just happened.

The doctor stood beside him, his face serious. “Mr. Lee, we need to give her some time to process everything. We didn't find any brain damage or internal issues but she’s been through a lot. She's probably suffering from a temporary memory loss which is normal for cases who suffered trauma. We need to make sure she’s physically stable before addressing anything else.”

Dong Wook nodded, running a hand through his hair. “I know… I just… didn't expect this.” His words trailed off as he thought about Y/N, still so fragile in her bed. He wanted to run back inside and hold her, to apologize for everything, but he knew, that needs to wait.

“Is she going to be okay?” Dong Wook asked, his voice low, filled with concern.

The doctor gave him a small, reassuring smile. “Physically, she’s doing fine. Mentally, she just needs time. You have probably heard of this before— but there are cases where our brain protects us from too much pain and shuts down a part of it, sometimes even whole. But we’ll make sure she gets all the support she needs.”

Dong Wook nodded again, his heart still heavy. The past few days had been hell for him, and he wasn’t sure what would happen next. But for now, he needed to focus on Y/N and help her heal—both physically and emotionally.

“Thank you,” Dong Wook said quietly to the doctor before turning back toward the door, knowing the road ahead wouldn’t be easy, but at least they were together now.

He pushed the door open slowly, entering the room to find Y/N lying in bed, still asking her bestfriends how are they here in Seoul and why is she in the hospital. Her expression a mix of confusion and curiosity.

“Y/N-ah,” he called softly, walking toward her.

She looked up at him, her eyes still wide with surprise. “Oh my god you're really here! Wait... You know me?” She asked with a bright smile reaching her eyes.

Dong Wook smiled, it was bittersweet. “Yes, I’m here. And yes, I know you. More than anyone else I would say.”

Y/N's eyes searched her bestfriends' face for a moment, all smiling at her but they look like they're trying not to cry, she ignored. With grin tugged at the corner of her lips. “I still can't believe Mr. Grim Reaper is here but oh well, I guess this is one way to meet my idol,” she joked, though her voice wavered slightly from exhaustion.

Dong Wook’s heart softened at the sight of her, and he sat down beside her bed, his hand gently brushing against hair.

“We’ll talk more later, okay?” he said quietly, his thumb brushing over her head comfortingly.

Y/N nodded slowly, her smile returning saying “I was right. This must be a dream hehe But I’m just glad you’re here…” before closing her eyes to sleep.

Dong Wook's heart feels heavier that night. He cursed and bitterly chuckled, “What kind of twisted fate is this..”

Waking up felt like swimming to the surface of a deep, murky lake. My body ached, my mind was hazy, and nothing made sense. Every time I opened my eyes, the pieces of reality around me seemed strange and out of place.

Y/N’s POV

But the biggest, strangest piece was him—Lee Dong Wook.

I mean, I’ve been a fan of his for years. Who hasn’t? He’s the epitome of elegance, talent, and that effortlessly swoon-worthy charisma, VISUAL. But now he was here, sitting by my bedside like some kind of guardian angel.

It didn’t stop there. He wasn’t just present; he seemed to know me. And not in the vague “celebrity meets fan” way, but intimately. Like we’d shared stories, memories, moments.

My confusion only grew when I noticed how my best friends—Taeyeon, Tiffany, and Sunny—acted around him. They were so… casual. Like it wasn’t a big deal that Lee Dong Wook was sitting next to them. It was driving me crazy.

“Yah! Why is he here?” I asked Tiffany one afternoon, lowering my voice as I peeked at him sitting across the room, talking to someone through his phone.

She just smiled enigmatically. “Don’t stress about it, Y/N. You’ll understand everything soon. For now, focus on getting better.”

I didn’t get it. None of this made sense. But every time I pushed too hard to understand, my head would pound, and I’d have to stop.

The doctor explained it to me one day during his rounds. “Your memories will return in time, but for now, it’s important not to strain yourself— let it heal itself first. Pushing too hard can trigger severe headaches and even fainting, as we’ve seen before.”

I sighed, leaning back against the pillows. “So I just… wait?”

“Yes,” he said firmly. “Focus on rest, eating well, and enjoying the company of your friends. Your body will heal, and your mind will follow.”

So, I took his advice, letting the questions float in the back of my mind while I focused on the present.

My best friends were a godsend during my recovery. They kept me laughing, which felt like the best medicine.

One evening, the four of us were lounging in my hospital room, sharing snacks smuggled in from outside. Taeyeon nudged Sunny with a mischievous grin. “Remember when Y/N tripped on the curb at that concert and told the security guard, ‘I meant to do that’?”

Tiffany burst out laughing. “Oh my God, yes! And the guard just stared at her like, ‘What is wrong with this woman?’”

“Hey!” I protested, pouting. “That was tactical. Confidence is key!”

“Sure, sure,” Sunny teased, leaning over to ruffle my hair. “Confidence is what you call it.”

We all burst into laughter, and for a moment, it felt like everything was normal.

But normalcy shattered again when they told me they had to leave.

“We need to head back home for work,” Taeyeon said one morning, her voice hesitant. “We’ve already stayed longer than planned.”

“What about me?” I asked, frowning. “We'll go home together, right?”

The room went quiet.

The doctor cleared his throat. “You’re not fit to travel yet. A plane ride could be risky in your condition.”

“Then what?” I asked, my frustration bubbling. “I can’t just stay here alone.”

“That’s why Dong Wook Oppa will take care of you,” Taeyeon said with a grin, like this was no big deal.

My jaw dropped. “What? Why would he take care of me?”

“He offered,” Tiffany said, shrugging. “He’s been here this whole time anyway. Trust us—it’s fine.”

I gawked at them, utterly baffled. “But he’s… LEE DONG WOOK! A famous actor! Why would he take care of someone like me?”

Sunny just patted my shoulder. “You’ll know soon. For now, trust us. You’re in good hands.”

They hugged me goodbye, leaving me alone with my swirling thoughts and even more questions.

Dong Wook returned shortly after they left, holding a bag of takeout. The room felt… different with just the two of us.

“Hungry?” he asked, holding up the bag.

I nodded, sitting up. As he unpacked the food, I couldn’t help but blurt out, “You’re really handsome.”

He froze for a moment, then looked up with a small, amused smile. “Thank you?”

“No, like, really handsome,” I said, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. “It’s kind of unfair, actually.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Still blunt, aren’t you?”

“Always,” I said with a grin. “But seriously, why are you here? Shouldn’t you be off filming some drama or photoshoots?”

His expression softened, but instead of answering, he simply said, “Eat first. Then we’ll talk.” The talk never happened.

A few days later, the doctor declared me fit enough to leave the hospital, though he was adamant I stay in Korea until I fully recovered.

Dong Wook assured me everything had been taken care of. “Your work and family know you’re safe. I’ve made sure of it. You’ll stay in your booked place for now.”

When we arrived at the building, I felt a strange sense of familiarity.

“I know this place!” I exclaimed as we stepped into the elevator. “This is the Airbnb my friends and I booked, right?”

Dong Wook nodded, smiling faintly.

As we entered the penthouse, I gasped. The space was stunning, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking view of the Han River. I wandered around, taking it all in, marveling at how luxurious it was.

“This view…” I murmured, pressing my hands against the glass. “It’s incredible.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dong Wook watching me, a faraway look in his eyes.

“What?” I asked, turning to him.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, though his voice was tinged with something I couldn’t place. “Just… déjà vu.”

I frowned. “Déjà vu?”

He shook his head. “Never mind.”

Shrugging, I continued exploring until I noticed him standing near the kitchen. “Wait,” I said, pointing at him. “If this is my place, where are you staying?”

He hesitated for a moment before saying, “Here.”

My jaw dropped. “Here?! As in… here here?”

He smiled sheepishly. “I’m your roommate. and Welcome Home.”

And just like that, my confusion skyrocketed.

(To be continued)

Previous — Chapter 22 — Next

[gennyanydots]

Take Me With You Ch. 2

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x f!reader

Take me with you masterlist

Top Gun Biker!au

Chapter summary: It happens again….. wait…. What happens again?

Slight overlap with my Biker Bradley fic This is love I just can’t live without

Ch. 2 “Let’s make trouble in the dream world”

He opens his eyes and looks around. Everything is vaguely familiar but it feels off. Something is different. He can’t quite put his finger on it. He can feel his chest tightening with anxiety.

“What’s with the face, handsome?” He knows the voice. Right? His princess. He knows it better than he knows his own voice. That’s probably due to the whole can’t quite hear yourself talk thing due to your ear being so close to your mouth but that doesn’t matter, he still knows everything about her better than himself. Everything.

He clears his throat. How does one explain how he’s feeling? He doesn’t even know how he’s feeling but it's beginning to make his skin crawl. Something is wrong. What could be wrong? Nothing could be wrong if his princess is here.

He looks around. Nothing around him seems off. He knows this place. He’s seen it enough times. Every night. Right?

But why? Why does he see this every night? Why this exact scene? And how long? How long has he been here? Is he trapped? He doesn’t feel trapped. What's happening? Why here? Why this spot?

He shakes his head turning to his love with a wide smile, “There’s nothing with my face, princess. Especially if you ask that and then call me handsome. That’s counterintuitive, pretty girl.”

She giggles and cups his cheek, “I wasn’t saying you weren’t handsome. You just had a weird look on your face. Is something wrong? I hope not. Wouldn’t ever want something to be wrong with you.”

He shook his head again. He doesn’t want to worry her. There’s nothing wrong. Nothing. Can’t be. He has his princess here and that’s all he needs anyway. Why does it matter that he's here every night? It doesn’t if it means he’s with her. He would do anything to stay with her. Anything.

“Have you ever felt like you’ve been here before?” He asked her while gazing into her eyes. God, she’s beautiful. He could die here happy.

She shrugs then buries her face in his chest, nuzzling in close, “Like deja vu? I guess. Doesn’t everyone?”

He wraps his arms around her, holding her close to his body, “Maybe. Should we canvas the area and find out?”

He hears her snort and snickers, “What in the hell was that, princess?”

She pulls away slightly to be able to look up at him with a pretend cross look on her face, “Shut up! Don’t bring it up! Never happened!”

He laughs before leaning down to kiss her forehead, “Never happened. Don’t know what I thought I heard. Must have been the wind.”

She nodded, “You’re exactly right it was the wind.”

Jake grinned. He loved this. Just hanging out with his best girl. Goofing around. See? He knew nothing was wrong. What was he even worried about?

“Hey Jakey?”

“Yeah, princess?”

“I hear people,” Jake looked down at her and she had a worried look on her face as she said that.

Jake shook his head, “Ignore them. It’s not time yet. I’m not done with you yet. Let me have this. Please.” Time for what? What was happening? Why did he say that? And have what?

“They’re getting louder,” she cuddled closer to him.

“It’s okay. We won’t pay attention to them. We don’t have to leave. We don’t have to,” he said, not entirely sure why they would have to leave. Somewhere in his brain he was making sense of this all. If only it was shared with the rest of the class. Who was coming? He racked his brain trying to remember this day. He couldn’t remember this part. He didn’t seem to remember any part of it at all but he should! He was there! Or well here or whatever. This happened. He can’t forget this. He has to hold onto this. He needs to remember when he wakes up.

He whimpers. He can’t keep losing her every day. It hurts. So much. Why does this keep happening?

“Jakey, I think it’s time,” she says, reaching up to place her hands on either side of his face.

He shakes his head back and forth squeezing his eyes shut. If he doesn’t wake up he doesn’t lose her. It’s foolproof. It’ll work. He tries to drown out the voices he hears. Is that Bradley? Doesn’t matter. He’s not waking up.

She leans up and kisses his lips softly, “I gotta go, handsome. I love you.”

“No, no, no, no, stay with me. Don’t go. Please…..please….please,” Jake whines clutching her to him.

“Wake up, babe,” she whispers in his ear before he’s shooting up into a sitting position, panting.

Baby Ice yelps and pulls her hand back away from Jake while Bradley grabs her shoulders to pull her away from him.

“What…what happened?” Jake asks while panting and looking over at Bradley and Baby Ice.

“You were whimpering and shaking your head in your sleep. Then you started to talk,” Baby Ice explained as she took a step back towards Jake.

Jake groans and wipes a hand down his face, “Any clue what I was sayin’?”

Bradley nodded, “You were saying no and please a lot. You also said ‘stay with me’ and ‘don’t go’ , nothing else I don’t think.”

Baby Ice shook her head agreeing with Bradley that there was nothing else.

Jake takes a deep breath, “Okay, cool. Thanks. Soooooo what’s up with all this?” He points to the two of them.

“We’re heading out. Got some stuff to do,” Bradley says as he waves and grabs her hand to pull her with him towards the door.

“Have fun!” Jake calls from his position on the couch.

Once they're gone Jake swings his legs to the side to sit on the couch normally.

Why does it feel like things are getting worse when he’s sleeping? He doesn’t remember his dreams still but something has to be happening in them, right? It can’t be normal to wake up like this.

Maybe he should talk to someone but who? Maybe a sleep doctor? Maybe the doctor he saw for his accident? He needs answers.

[turian]

got tagged by @greenecreek to take part in wip wednesday and i happened to be working on something in the moment that i don't know i'll be publishing anywhere else so ( also, tagging whatever writer mutuals are in the mood! i know that's cheating but <3 ) . actually edit. @anoramactir @bloodmagehawke hello >:)

so yeah this was going to be wyll/tav/astarion (? i don't even know what it started out as) time loop with the next chapter being wyll pov. warnings for body horror and ? a lot of death ? but idk if i'll rework it or scrap it or whatever. + this tav is a vague and deeply unserious construct thus far. and i began this so directionlessly and i think it really shows. tbh i think if i was to rewrite it i'd just start with wyll's point of view and have it center him. uuuh and yeah it's a first draft - here there be monsters and all that

Everything's going fine until Tav shoots some flaming fist bastard right in the arse and they turn their blade on him.

There's an attempt to explain himself (he's generally good at this) but they're on the second level of a burning building and a lot gets lost in translation. His voice, strangled by smoke, will not save him here.

As he falls, he hears Astarion object, which is interesting because Tav had been under the impression that, while he and the pale elf were certainly friends, they hadn't been as close as all that.

Then he feels Karlach topple over onto him, blood leaking, and all coherent thought is replaced by the sensation of burning alive.

-

Tav is in a pod.

Tav is in a pod, and that pod is on a nautiloid.

Tav is missing his sword, his scavenged outfit - and that had taken ages to dye to his specifications, hells - but his flesh is on his body, and does not look charred.

He lies there dazed for a moment, remembering burning.

Then he clambers out of the pod - kind of it to open for him - and makes an attempt at orienting himself.

He needn't strain so hard to remember burning - this nautiloid is, like the first he'd woken on, lit by the flickering amber of a hundred fires. Tav picks his way around them, tentatively at first, until he is better able to withstand the heat from them without getting lost in the burning of his own person.

He's alive, isn't he? So he'll just have to stow burning alive away and unpack it later. Much later, away from the eyes of his allies, especially since he has the sense Karlach will be feeling frightfully guilty about the whole thing. Karlach feeling guilty is terrible for morale, and must therefore be minimized.

Besides, someone's done a bang up job healing him. Nary a burn in sight. A brief swell of hope as he raises his hand to his face and-

Nope, that burn's still there. It feels sore. Fresher than it had been. But that must just be his imagination - and that happens, sometimes, doesn't it? Phantom pains are most certainly and certifiably a thing.

There's one of them blue glowing things at the edge of the room. He stops in front of it and wastes a moment or two on further inspection.

Interesting that all nautiloids have seemingly identical layouts. Then again, they are a hivemind, aren't they?

Are they just the one hivemind, or are there multiple hives? Is there some biological illithid layout imperative?

Is the nautiloid a species within itself? It looks organic. But a lot of things are technically organic.

Anyway, this is only one room. Perhaps he's being too hasty in his judgment of illithid architecture.

Tav moves on.

Just like on the nautiloid that had seen to his infection, this room opens into another, larger room, about - if not exactly - the same shape and size as what he'd previously experienced.

Tav's head is swimming in a pool of deja vu.

Perhaps not all nautiloids are alike, but this one was clearly born of the same production line as the one in which Tav had taken that first doomed voyage. And that's interesting, but it's not something he ought to be wasting time on at the moment, so he continues his march forward.

It occurs to him that he should be very frightened. A bit of desperation would help here. Ironically, that he feels steady at all - though it's more like a daze has settled over him, Tav would argue it is a very steady daze, so it counts - unnerves him.

We are here.

The familiar landscape is apparently so familiar that he's hearing echoes now. But Us can't be here. Us is dead, or maybe just elsewhere.

We are trapped. Help us.

Tav gazes pensively upward.

Or, more accurately, Usward.

Could Tav be dreaming?

Could Tav be dead?

Tav may be dead. Tav's life may be flashing before his eyes at the speed of geriatric molasses.

He takes issue with it starting at the nautiloid, but maybe when life flashes before one's eyes it has to start at the beginning of the end. So as not to over-complicate things or bore anyone or (ye gods) remind them of the moment of their birth.

But. No. The voice of Us is probably just an auditory hallucination. Tav should keep moving. Tav should find the others, if the others can be found.

Tav's legs do not move. Tav continues gazing Usward.

Curiosity is known to be a passionate supporter of bard mortality. It is, according to recent research overseen by a small faction of wizards who claim adherence to the scientific method but have never proven it, sixth in the running for most prolific Faerûnian bard killer. Per capita or whatever.

In other words, Tav takes the neural apparatus to the second floor.

He steps off it neatly, and beholds the nameless corpse from which Us was born.

Here is where Tav begins to speculate a bit more wildly on what exactly is happening to his own brain.

Tav could be in a coma. Oh, or Tav could be a proper illithid now. Perhaps this is what happens to souls once their bodies have gone all squiddy - they end up haunting their own memories. Maybe for eternity, maybe for however long illithids live.

How long do illithids live? And should the natural lifespan of the host body be taken into account? Will Tav be stuck in memory for upwards of a hundred years?

Gods, he should've listened to Gale more.

You've come to save us from this place, says Us upon approach. From this place you'll free us.

Tav sighs. "Might as well."

Pulling a brain from a skull is easier the second time around, which is nice. Tav would expect a memory or afterlife or whatever this is to put up more of a fight, because his brain has, in the past, has demonstrated a pattern of inconveniencing him whenever possible, but he's not going to complain if it wants to give him an easy time now. Honestly, he thinks he deserves it.

"Onwards, then," he tells Us, once they've finished sprouting legs.

They will go to the helm.

They wander down leathery steps. Tav pays special attention, this time, on the off chance that there might be some way out of this memory-dream-afterlife, but all he gets are the halls of the ship leaking nautiloid goo. Were he less distantly stressed, he might be more interested in all the valves and membranes, but upon rescuing Us a sense of urgency emerged within Tav. It is dim, but it is there, and it moves him forward quicker than before.

Onto the exposed walkway. A dragon flies past, the sight captivating enough that Lae'zel manages to startle him.

She lands. He stares. She raises her sword, threats flying from her lips, and then-

Cue the unpleasantness of parasites meeting.

"You know me," says Lae'zel, breaking the script, and Tav blinks in surprise.

"Yes," he says. "I assumed you wouldn't notice. To be honest, that is quite the relief. I feel a great deal less solipsistic now."

"Ghaik deception." Lae'zel's sword swings in what Tav feels is an unfairly targeted arc.

"Wait!" He jumps back, quick as he can, dodging her sword by only a hair's breadth. "I'm not-"

Shit.

Is that blood?

Yes.

Tav was mistaken in thinking he'd dodged Lae'zel's sword by a hair's breadth.

He falls to his knees, and then he topples over unceremoniously. His eyes stay open long enough to watch Lae'zel's retreating form.

Us, on the other hand, stands beside him until what is presumably the end.

Kind of them. Comforting, really.

But, comforted or not, Tav dies faintly irritated with himself for not having seen this coming.

-

Tav is in a pod.

Tav is... not dead?

Tav is in a pod, and Tav is not dead.

Tav is without his rapier, but Tav has his hand crossbow, and once Tav has climbed free of said pod and wandered to the second room, Tav has Us, which is sort of like having a decent weapon. A little pink fleshy weapon with legs. Claws, too, and aren't claws multiple weapons? Or do they just count as one?

Tav decides they just count as one.

Instead of going the same way he'd come this time, he busies himself looking for someone who won't immediately stab him. Shadowheart is further ahead and therefore inaccessible, but Astarion and Gale and Karlach and Wyll had all been on the ship as well, hadn't they? Astarion had complained of Tav running straight by his pod, and Karlach and Gale had seen him.

Unless Tav's memories are playing tricks on him. All of this may just be Tav's memories playing tricks on him.

Gods, their pods must all be past Lae'zel too.

Can he sneak past Lae'zel?

No. No, he definitely can't.

Waiting for Lae'zel to go on ahead of him is an option, though. He can wait in this room and watch until she flips through the air and into battle. And then he can follow after her, and...

Catch up. Eventually. Yes.

And not get his throat cut this time.

Or Tav can come up with a way to demonstrate to Lae'zel that there is no ghaik trickery in play here.

The trouble is Tav personally also suspects ghaik trickery, which limits his ability to sell the story somewhat.

Tav is a very good liar when he can convince himself he's telling the truth, but he can't quite get his head right at the moment. Probably because of all the dying. Tav's not sure. He's invested in psychology because he's invested in charlatanism, not because he's invested in mental wellness.

Suspicion of ghaik trickery is some common ground, though, isn't it? And where there is common ground there is leverage.

Right, so. Lead with the ghaik trickery, appeal to Lae'zel's team spirit, get Shadowheart and possibly the others. And then... profit.

Tav isn't sure this is a good plan, but that might just be a confidence issue.

Tav tries very hard to drum up some confidence.

We are going to the helm, Us reminds him.

"Right. Yes. We are going to the fucking helm," Tav agrees. "Tymora willing." He takes a deep breath, steels himself, and goes.

They wander out onto the open walkway.

This time Tav is ready for Lae'zel, and when she comes whipping through the air and lands before him, he holds up his hands in a gesture of peace and steps out of sword-reach.

"Hello, Lae'zel. I think we may be in an illithid memory prison. You likely don't remember me, but we need to get off of this ship, and I know the way out. I also know of several allies who are likely either on the ship or trapped in the same, er, memory prison that I and perhaps also you are."

He's missing something.

Oh, right. "The intellect devourer is not currently a threat," Tav adds hastily.

Lae'zel sneers at him. "You are mad." She seems at war with herself for a moment. Tav assumes the war is between killing him and using him as cannon fodder. It seems cannon fodder wins out, because Lae'zel offers Tav a nod, even as her eyes remain narrowed in suspicion. "Very well. We are wasting time. Forward."

The bard moves forward.

Lae'zel moves forward directly behind him.

Now three in number, they make quick work of the imps in play. And then forward again, and-

Tav makes a beeline for the pod currently host to Karlach.

This is good. This is progress.

"I need leverage." Tav pulls off saying this like a professional. He is not an artificer, but he has impersonated one before, and likes sometimes to slip back into that brusque engineering persona. Tav likes to think that was him in another life, before most of the honesty left him. He gestures to the groove on the pod in which the aforementioned leverage might fit. "Lae'zel, could you pry this open with your sword?"

"We are wasting time," says Lae'zel.

"No you're bloody not wasting your bloody time," says Karlach, muffled by pod. She bangs her horns against the transparent pane, and it cracks.

"Or just smash it, Lae'zel," Tav says. "Come on, I know you can do it. You won't even have to break a sweat. You will bring honour to your queen!"

Lae'zel shoots him an absolutely foul look tinged with even more suspicion than before, but she does smash the pod.

From it bursts one leather-clad fiery tiefling. "Gods, thought that was going to be the end of me." Her golden eyes fix on Tav. "You know a way out of this mess, soldier? Oh, shit, introductions. Name's Karlach."

Tav is very glad Karlach can't remember possibly burning him to death that one time. He offers her one of his most winning smiles (he has a whole closet full, organized from least to most winning) and sticks his hand out (reflex) before putting it back into his pocket (sense has kicked in). "I'm Tav, that's Lae'zel, this is Us. And... yes, actually. We were just on our way to the helm."

Friend! Us skitters in a little circle around Karlach, wide enough that they are not burnt. To the helm we go! We are going to the helm!

Tav wants to keep them. Tav wants to carry them around in his bag like a little lapdog and feed them only the best-

What do intellect devourers eat?

Only the best intellect, he supposes. Academics and suchlike.

"Helm it is, then." And with that, Karlach's off at a brisk pace.

Then she's back. "Helm's this way, yeah?"

Tav frowns. "I think... yes. Yes, that's the way."

"To the helm," says Karlach. She begins again to move.

Lae'zel follows efficiently, Us jauntily, Tav somewhat pathetically. Tav's day job is the sale of snake oil, which doesn't demand much cardio. He has, by now, worked up a sweat.

He keeps an eye out for Gale or Wyll or Astarion as they go, but no other pods bear familiar faces.

For reasons mostly related to being a selfish bastard, it does not occur to Tav to save the unfamiliar ones until they're already in the room with Shadowheart's pod.

But then it does occur to him, and he's about to say something about it to Karlach, who is certainly the only one present who'll sympathize, but she's found Shadowheart's pod already and is seemingly searching for a way to crack it open.

"There's a key thing in the-" Tav says, but he's struck silent by awe mid-sentence as Karlach takes the roof of Shadowheart's pod in both hands and gives a great wrench and-

"Wow," says Tav.

Karlach grins at him. Prying the pod open seems to have left her slightly electrocuted. Her hair's a little spikier than it was before, and she's swaying a bit.

Shadowheart pushes herself up off the ground. "Than-"

Tadpoles meet.

Not Tav's tadpole, this time. Tav is uninvolved. So while Karlach and Shadowheart have their moment, he leaves them to it, and gets to sifting through the other pods in the room.

Quite a few of the people interned are entirely unconscious. None thus far are Gale or Astarion (or Wyll, for that matter, though Tav's not sure Wyll got a pod. Had Wyll seen him on the ship? He hadn't, had he?)

Whatever. He'll find who he'll find. Wyll included, hopefully. Or Wyll will find them. That'll work too.

Tav continues into an adjoining room, quick as can be. He searches pod after pod, until-

Wide red eyes meet Tav's.

"I'll get you out in a moment," he tells Astarion. "Just let me figure out how." There are some wrong moves he's willing to make, but any that might run the risk of turning one of his allies illithid are off limits.

Actually-

"Karlach? Do you think you could-"

Oh, right. Karlach isn't in the room.

Tav jogs back into the Shadowheart zone, miserable at the exertion. He'd been athletic once, but that was another buried personality that had fallen out of favour with his criminal lifestyle. Gods, he could have been an acrobat.

Now is not a good time to get bogged down in regrettable life choices, though, is it? Onward.

Karlach spots Tav the moment he's through the illithid sphincter-door. She's standing by the door that leads to the helm. Shadowheart and Lae'zel are already out of sight, no doubt prioritizing the helm over newfound bards. "Coming, soldier? Got to land this thing."

"Actually-"

"Come on! Don't want you getting left behind."

"I need help. My-"

"Your what?" Karlach takes a step toward him. She seems a bit concerned. Well, a lot concerned, but there's a fresh bit of it directed solely at Tav instead of at the situation at large now.

"My friend," says Tav. Calling Astarion a friend seems like the sort of thing that should be a lie, but doesn't really feel like one. "He's in a pod. I need your help getting him out and then we can-"

"Shit." Karlach casts a look over her shoulder. "Gimme a minute, yeah?" she calls.

Objections from Shadowheart and Lae'zel are voiced, but Karlach's already running Tav's way.

"Where's your friend?" she asks.

Tav shows her.

Karlach makes quick work of Astarion's pod, just as she had before with Shadowheart's. This is, however, the second time she's been electrocuted on behalf of rescues, and when she stumbles back there is a moment Tav is genuinely afraid for her.

But she steadies herself, and as soon as she has, Tav heals her.

The trouble with healing your allies is that it takes your attention off of people who do not yet know they are your allies.

Distraction is known to be a passionate supporter of bard mortality. It is, according to recent research overseen by a small faction of wizards who claim adherence to the scientific method but have never proven it, fifth in the running for most prolific Faerûnian bard killer.

Per capita.

Astarion's dagger is at Tav's throat now. "No sudden moves, now. Best we preserve that darling little neck of yours."

"For Tymora's sake," Tav hisses. He tries to wriggle out of the hold, but his dexterity fails him, as does his wit. There is a sharp pain at his throat.

"What part of no sudden moves don't you understand?" Astarion barks at Tav.

Tav slides slowly to the ground. I wasn't thinking, he wants to say. Because Tav is choking on blood, he doesn't quite manage.

-

Tav wakes in his pod.

"For Tymora's sake."

He goes through the motions again at a run. A very uncomfortable run. Dying in the midst of your cardio ensures you reap none of its benefits.

Grab Us, convince Lae'zel not to kill you, get Karlach, Shadowheart, bring Karlach on the little search for Astarion's pod this time and shave a little time off that way-

So far so good. Tav and Karlach stand before the pod that holds one sunless magistrate.

Tav's a bit cross, throat still phantom smarting, so this time his first words to Astarion are as follows: "Do not slit my fucking throat," all but shouted through the panel between them.

"Er, Tav?" Karlach's eyeing him.

"Yes, Karlach?"

"Thought you said this was your friend...?"

"Well." Tav shrugs. "Usually. Yes."

Karlach nods. "Got a few like that myself. Right, here goes nothing."

She yanks the pod open and stumbles back. Tav heals her before Astarion can get his bearings and - this is important - without turning his back on the elf.

Astarion keeps his eyes on Tav, though Tav can tell the elf is also holding Karlach in his peripheral vision. "I think you've fallen victim to a case of mistaken identity, my dear."

"Mm." Tav crosses his arms. "Yes. You may simply have generic features."

Astarion smirks at him. "Ever heard the one about pots and kettles, darling?"

Karlach clears her throat loudly. "Ship's crashing. Do this later, yeah?" She looks around, and then at Tav. "Think there's a way to get the rest of these people out of their pods?"

Tav tears his eyes away from Astarion for a fraction of a second before thinking better of it and whipping his neck back in the vigilant direction quick as he can. Astarion hasn't moved. Thank Tymora.

Astarion is still glaring at Tav.

"We could try, but... are they conscious?" The bard's teeth worry at his bottom lip. "Let's... land the ship properly this time. And then we can get them all out."

That'll be great. They'll have a little army of tadpoled individuals.

"Brilliant. Well, come on, then. 'Fore Shadowheart 'n' Lae'zel wander off without us." And with that, Karlach's turned on her heal and zoomed back helmward.

Tav keeps his eyes on Astarion.

The elf rolls his eyes. "I'm not going to slit your throat. Stop wasting time."

For a beat, neither of them move. Their eyes narrow. The air is tense, as are rogue and bard respectively.

But then Astarion throws his hands up in the air, exasperated, and follows Karlach, and Tav follows Astarion in kind.

Shadowheart and Lae'zel are ahead. Karlach catches up first - just in time for Lae'zel to stop them all and make it known that once at the helm, all must do as she says.

Shadowheart, unsurprisingly, objects.

Tav casts an eye over at Astarion while this objection is taking place, expecting a quip of some sort, but Astarion's eyes are dark and his mouth is set in a grim line and he looks past Shadowheart and Lae'zel, perhaps imagining the battle ahead. Perhaps calculating his chance of survival.

Tav nudges him gently. "It'll be alright. Just- get behind me if you need to."

Astarion scoffs at him. "The devil would make a better shield. But thank you. I suppose."

Tav is too busy feeling insulted to point out that Karlach is actually a tiefling.

Astarion takes a steeling breath. "Forward, then," he says, as far as Tav can make out - the words are barely a murmur.

Tav watches the elf. He's about to say something encouraging, but his tongue ends up in knots instead, and by the time speech is possible again Astarion has already gone after the others and into the fray.

Forward.

Tav moves forward.

From that point on things go from middling, and then to bad, and then to very bad, and then to worse, and then finally to the worst. This all happens in the span of half a minute.

Middling: Tav moves toward the helm.

Bad: Tav must somehow glide through a caustic puddle of brine.

Very bad: Tav slips in the brine and falls.

Worse: Tav cracks his head on the ground and blacks out for a moment.

The worst: An imp shoots fire at him, which is when Tav realizes this brine is flammable.

He writhes around a bit until death shows up for its petty little reset by way of a sharp pressure to his brain.

-

Tav is roused from fiery blankness to find he is once again in his pod on the nautiloid.

He feels rather like an arrow's just gone through his head. There's no arrow now, of course. There is only the suggestion of an arrow. The extremely strong implication of an arrow.

He excavates himself from his pod with considerably more malaise than last time.

That he's begun to think of it as his pod in the way one might think of a pestilent little hovel as their pestilent little hovel is disturbing. Tav had until now been likening the pod to a conversation he'd not yet worked out how to leave.

Not a home. Not a place in which he's doomed to live. He prefers his actual pestilent little hovel, which was in a breakneck little alley not far from a tavern or two. That hovel had been a colleague rather than an unwanted housemate, whereas this pod clings to Tav. This pod won't even do the bloody dishes, and yet still it fucking clings.

Tav is a believer in the Baldurian dream, when it suits him. He is a believer in having nowhere to go but up. He is a believer in trying the broken ladder again, even after the thousandth time you've fallen off of it.

Or, well, some of him believes in such things. The rest of Tav has more sense. The rest of Tav also isn't currently interested in dying again.

But you will die, says one of Tav's inner voices. Regardless of your participation in the loop, it will kill you.

But, Tav argues, I will then be given another chance to participate in the loop. Presumably. Or I won't, and that will have solved the problem of my being trapped in it.

He wanders into the next room and breaks Us out of cranial prison. Tav has by this point grown to think of Us as a dear friend and the only one he can really trust to have his back. Us is ever present. Us will remain ever present if Tav never makes it onto the beach again.

Tav could just enjoy eternity here.

We must go to the helm, Us says.

"I'm actually just going to relax a bit," Tav explains to them. "You're welcome to go on ahead, but there's a- er, someone in the hall over there that might kill you if you wander around unaccompanied, so I might advise against that." He leans back on the leathery ground and sprawls his limbs out like a starfish and pretends he's staring at the stars.

We must connect the nerves, Us insists.

"Someone else will connect the nerves. She's very enterprising. I have the utmost faith in her."

Us nudges him. You are being somewhat unprofessional, friend.

"Oh." Tav weighs the accusation. "Yes, I suppose I am. I'd apologize but, well. I've actually been to the helm before. I'm getting a bit annoyed by it."

Us is quiet for a long moment. I do not understand.

"Have a look through my memories if you like. I'm just going to have a nap while you do that, though. Night, kid."

Tav shuts his eyes. Dozes. Drifts.

He's just awake enough to enjoy dreams and reality simultaneously after the gentle pressure of Us taking him up on the offer to peruse his thoughts fades out.

This dream is sort of a nice one. Wyll's in it. Tav sits at his side, mug of ale in hand.

It occurs to him to show off a bit. "Hold my ale," he tells Wyll, and then he begins to hover.

But someone's hands are on Tav's shoulder, trying to pull him back to the ground. "Quit it," Tav hisses, and tries to knock those hands away.

"Wake up," says Wyll. "Tav, this is not the time to sleep in!"

Strange. Wyll's voice is coming from behind Tav, not from Wyll's seat on the riverbank.

"Do you hear that?" Tav asks Wyll. "That ghost is very good at impersonating you."

Wyll looks confused. "If there is a ghost, Tav, I can neither see nor hear it."

"It's right behind me," Tav insists. "It's trying to fuck up my flight trajectory."

"Is it a flight trajectory if you're only hovering?" Wyll asks.

"They're definitely the same thing."

"I think you'll find they have different connotations," Wyll says, finger raised. Wyll often raises a finger when dispensing wisdom.

It's quite endearing. Tav is oft endeared.

The ghost gives another tug. "Please wake up. I would rather you not perish in the wreck."

This is when Tav wakes up. He makes a noise befitting someone just waking up which is mostly made of consonants and confusion.

Then he sits up, eyes wide. "Wyll?"

"The very same," says Wyll, with about as much good humour warranted in such circumstances. "Good to have you with us. I fear we are in dire straits - but there is a chance we right this ship, and I would see us take it."

"Yeah. Yeah, I was going to sit this round ou-" But Tav can't do that to Wyll. It's Wyll.

Wyll - and also Karlach, come to think of it - are some of those rare examples of good people that do not make Tav want to electrocute himself. Instead they make him want to do better.

Tav believes this is what is known as "cruel and unusual punishment."

Thing is, Tav's done a lot of work to accept being as horrible as he is, to hone his horrible qualities, to keep them sharp as a githyanki blade, and here Wyll and Karlach are being good bloody examples who don't even have the grace to be annoying about it.

Well, here Wyll is. Karlach's in the general vicinity, but her hereness is less... here.

"Never mind what I was just saying," says Tav wearily. "I know the way to the helm. I'll show you, shall I?"

Wyll looks about to laugh, but before Tav can get to wondering why, he nods, and makes a rather princely gesture in what is actually precisely the right direction. "By all means, lead the way."

Perhaps Wyll studied illithid architecture at some point.

Or could just be a coincidence. Who knows.

Tav's pace is tethered to his malaise. He drags himself through the ship like a weight chained to his own leg.

Wyll is ahead at first. Lae'zel is gone and the imps are already dead - there is no barrier between Wyll, those trailing him, and the fulfillment of their helmic aspirations.

No barrier save Tav.

Wyll turns at first with impatience. "I beg you keep up. Our time here is short, and we have already been delayed."

"Sure." Tav tries to force pep into his step. Pep doesn't take, so he tries next for urgency.

Urgency doesn't take. Wyll casts a glance over his shoulder again.

Tav expects another round of impatience. But no, this is a different side of the hero - Wyll looks perturbed.

There is a pause of the sort that makes Tav squirm. He senses he is being worried about. Likely sincerely, hence the squirming.

"Are you injured, Tav?"

"Physically? No." Tav pushes himself into a very light jog. I am not stuck in a time loop, says the jog. All is well, says the jog. Please continue on without me if need be, as I am far less in shape than I look, says the jog. "Er. Fight or flight instinct might be on vacation."

"I am familiar with the feeling," Wyll admits. "When one spends much of their time courting danger, I fear one risks becoming inured to it."

"You don't know the half of it," Tav says. He would sigh, but he's trying to preserve his energy. Speaking is enough trouble as it is. "We should get As- Assistance. Er. Break some more people out of pods...?"

Imps materialize in their path.

Wyll stabs one aspect of the imp blockade through the heart, and over his shoulder, as easily as he were not exerting himself at all, says: "If we see any other captives are conscious, we may free them. I wish that we could do more, but we have little time. The ship is falling fast."

Tav has the grace to feel a bit of nap related guilt just then. Most of his guilt is busy elsewhere, though, because he's just realized he must have left his flute and little crossbow where he'd been taking said nap. Which is sort of nap related guilt, but only tangentially. "I know where someone is. Couple rooms away. I... was moved."

Us savages an imp with their claws.

Wyll skewers another. "They will have a better chance of survival if the ship does not dash itself on the rocks of Avernus."

"They're claustrophobic," Tav lies. Well, he isn't certain it's a lie.

"And how would being buried in rubble serve them?" The imps have been dealt with. Wyll places a hand on Tav's shoulder.

It is firm. Reassuring.

If Tav didn't know Wyll, he'd feel a bit condescended to.

"Your friend will be alright, Tav. I swear it."

"Ally," Tav corrects out of reflex.

Wyll's lips twitch with amusement. "Very well. Your ally will be alright. Eventually."

And then Wyll takes Tav's hand, and their pace grows breakneck. A rush to the helm. Tav has barely the time passing through room after room to note that Shadowheart has been freed from her pod.

That's something. That's-

They reach the helm and ah, good. There's Shadowheart, there's Lae'zel, there's-

Cambions. Two whole extra bloody cambions.

They'd been advancing on the others but now they turn on Wyll and Tav.

Wyll is ready. Tav not so much.

The whole left the flute and crossbow somewhere else problem rears its ugly head yet again.

Fuck it. Bard mode. He can still whistle. Or sing, if everyone he's loyal to in this fight ends up killed or deafened.

Tav can in fact sing quite well. It's only out of an interest in the preservation of allied hearing and sanity that he doesn't.

It's not that his vocals are discordant, exactly. It's more that they're a bit maddening. Tav might have had a great great grandmother that was a harpy or something. Some gene that opted out of the family line until the time came for him to be born. He's not worked out how to control it yet.

He's actually given up on working out how to control it.

So. Whistling. Whistling is bad, but not as bad. It helps that Tav is legitimately sort of terrible at whistling. He can pull it off six times out of ten.

He's about to start when a fireball comes out of nowhere.

-

"Pod. Hello, pod. You're supposed to be opening."

The pod doesn't listen.

"Excuse me, pod." Tav bangs on the glass.

Yet again, no response from the pod.

"Well. Fine. See if I care."

Tav sits in his pod for the duration of this loop. It's... not great, but it's a little novel. Good to know random things can go wrong that hadn't before.

-

Tav wakes in his pod.

Tav thinks alright, might as well give it another go.

Tav gets into a fight with an illithid he's never seen before and loses.

The novelty of loops being a tad unpredictable wears off quick.

-

Tav wakes in his pod.

Tav makes a beeline for Lae'zel. He looks for Wyll all the while, hoping he might come out of the woodwork early or something. Hoping unpredictability might work in Tav's favour for once.

No such luck.

Tav and the company he and Lae'zel gather go to the helm.

Tav gets gored by some porcine hellion's tusks.

Tav bleeds out on the floor.

-

Tav wakes in his pod.

Tav is knocked off the ship by turbulence before he can even say hello to Lae'zel.

As he falls, he gets to wondering if maybe novelty is actually a bad thing. Maybe the fact that this can get worse is not something Tav should be happy about.

-

Tav wakes in his pod.

Tav goes through the motions.

Tav and company go to the helm.

Tav only gets shot a little bit.

Shadowheart connects the nerves.

So far so good.

Tav falls, and wakes on the beach.

It seems they've all been scattered by the crash. Lae'zel's nowhere to be seen. The others aren't either. Tav is about to wake Shadowheart when he remembers the predicament Gale was in the first time they'd all met, and that becomes his top priority.

Unfortunately Tav has forgotten about the intellect devourers milling about in the ship's burning remains.

He doesn't keep his distance.

It is a very short fight.

-

Tav wakes in his pod.

Things are a bit tenser than usual this time. Because Tav knows he can make it to the beach, at least in theory, he is determined to do so. He is also a bit devastated at his prior inability to remain alive on the beach, which manages to throw him off enough that there are several near misses as he makes his way there this time.

Someone (Tav isn't even certain who, as he's busy trying not to die when it happens) does manage to connect the nerves of the transponder, and the ship goes crashing onto the beach.

Tav goes crashing with it.

Thank Tymora, he thinks, when he opens his eyes to find he is once again somewhat covered in sand.

With some effort - his muscles ache, his bones creak, he feels a hundred years older than he is - Tav pushes himself into a sitting position.

There's Wyll. Wyll is running toward him.

Tav blinks. More novelty, it seems. At least this is the good sort.

Wyll stops at where Shadowheart lies first. He kneels to rouse her.

Tav decides he's not really needed for this and slumps backward onto the sand. Then Tav remembers the plight of Gale and sits bolt upright again. Pushes himself to his feet.

He sways a bit. Not because he's infirm, but because his balance hasn't really come back yet.

Gods, he used to be so poised. So bloody catlike. And now look at him.

"Excuse me! Hi, we haven't met before, but I happen to know of someone nearby in need of our assistance." He recalls Lae'zel in the tiefling trap. "A few someones, actually."

Wyll smiles. It's an interesting smile. Some combination of amusement and relief, or else just amusement born of relief. "Of course. Allow me to introduce myself. The Blade of Frontiers, at your service."

"Charmed. I'm Tav. Let's get to it, shall we?"

"Of course. I take it you're unharmed?"

"Mm. Mhm. Bit groggy, but. No rest for the wicked," Tav tells him sagely. "You know."

"No rest for the wicked indeed. I suppose you're casting yourself as the wicked, then?"

"It's all about perspective," says Tav sagely, as if this means anything at all. Sometimes Tav just says things. If one says things with enough conviction they tend to go unchallenged, either because you've been believed by default or because people don't feel arguing with you is worth the headache. "You're good to travel together, yes?"

"It would be my honour."

"Great," says Tav. "I'm sure it would be my honour too, if I had any. Let's get moving. There's some-"

"Intellect devourers?" Wyll shakes his head. "Cleared out. Before you awoke, I imagine."

"Oh. Good. Well, there's also a wi-"

"The wizard trapped in the rune? He and another ally of ours have gone on ahead to free Lae'zel."

"Oh. Well, we should go and free our gi- Hm? What?"

"All of our band is present and accounted for save one," Wyll tells him. "And we will find her at first light, I swear it. She must not face violence at the hands of her pursuers."

"Hm." Tav kicks a rock. It rolls about a foot before coming to a stop by the unseeing eyes of some mangled fisherman. "Right. Okay."

"We must first see to the safety of the grove."

Tav frowns. "Yeah." His mental processors are working overtime. Something is... weird.

Wait a fucking moment.

"How do you know my name?"

Wyll blinks. Smiles at Tav. "You just introduced yourself."

"But I mean-"

The Blade ducks his head. He still looks amused, but Tav catches the way his eyes dart behind him to where Shadowheart stands listening. "Let us speak on it later. The safety of the grove must be our priority."

And then Wyll offers Tav a hand and Tav, after a moment of undignified staring, takes it.

[spotsupstuff]

How did Sparrows’s past incarnations exactly assist with her ‘current’ one as Sparrows? Was it like a sense of deja vu like how Tinker knew Eurus vaguely? And with Tarrows, does she have any knowledge from Tinkerer, Sparrows, and any other incarnations now?

the only effect that a past incarnation had on the Three Sparrows life was Sparrows' unnatural insane skill with technology without learning anything from anyone. when she was a kid she basically just opened stuff up and messed with the hardware until she made it better or fixed it up. stuff just made sense to her. and this was the case because her previous life was tech focused, who knows how. maybe she used to be a scientist working on developing Iterator technology, maybe a very passionate watchmaker that reached out of his field often, maybe the thing that got her there was innovation. i don't really have it figured out

she didn't really have any deja vus because of her lack of religious involvement. the more an Ancient is involved with religion, the more deja vus they get and the more conscious they are of it being their previous life. the really enlightened ones can consciously reach into their spirit's memory to pull knowledge of the previous life (sometimes lives) to the fore front of their mind. to cultivate a self is to wield and understand a self and the self lies within the spirit

Tinkerer had deja vus while visiting Euros because animals are naturally more open to the spirit world than sapient minds. the less logic, the less cloud of thought is present, the more instinct based a creature is, the easier it is to understand the subtlety of the world. this isn't equal to cultivation or enlightenment. and the deja vus also happened because Euros was pretty much Sparrows' whole life. both physically as his Mechanic and emotionally as his wife

to love someone so openly and dearly is to open up their spirit to the love and let it flow between the individuals, creating that strong connection. that connection is rooted within the spirit and so Tinkerer understands that even though this mechanical god is scary with his desperation and pain, he wouldn't ever actually inflict any harm upon her

Tarrows is specifically a mix of Tinkerer and Sparrows (no other incarnation), with Sparrows in the forefront most of the time. you can be basically free to imagine Tarrows as Just Heavily Traumatized Sparrows and you'd be good 95% of time! Tinkerer is based in the subconsciousness of Tarrows, being loud rather there. she's like a survival-based intrusive thought that Sparrows usually shoves into the background. granted, sometimes the Tinkerer is better equiped to deal with a situation than Sparrows, sometimes Sparrows is too busy panicking or succumbs to instinct in an especially stressful situation and that's when the Tinkerer takes the reins to keep them safe

then knowledge about the current fauna and flora, different in some cases from Sparrows' time, is there available to her, as well as the ability to understand slugcat chatter and sort of understand the scavengers too

[kades-rp-lore-hell]

i'm planning on recycling oliver's blog into something else soon, since that blog served it's purpose and then died, like i expected. (arguably the blog wasn't really alive in the first place, haha.)

but i wanna make ultra super duper sure that the oliver and sylvan reunion remains intact and stuff because it's important lore, so i'm pasting the whole thing here. if you've already read the thread where oliver and sylvan meet at vernon's house, this is just that again.

'Amarena' stands at the door of a house he hasn't seen in many years. Despite the vague sense of dread tugging at him, he knocks on the door. Here, in his hometown, his internet persona is dropped. Online, he's Amarena, but in the real world, he's...

"Oliver!" A man says after opening the door.

"Vernon." Oliver replies dryly.

"Come on in."

The two men enter the house and sit down in the living room.

"It's... good to see you." Vernon says. "How have you been?"

"Fine." Oliver replies curtly.

Vernon sighs. "Y'know, I... I'm real sorry about how things were between us when you were a kid. You were under a lot of stress, and I was supposed to be the adult, I shouldn't have stooped to your level so often."

"'Stooped to my level?'" Oliver responds, glowering.

"That's... not what I meant. I just mean... you were the kid and I was the parent, and I should've acted like it."

"You're not my dad."

"I know. But I agreed to act the part as well as I could... and I didn't do very well."

"Fine, yeah, whatever. When's Heather getting here?"

"Sylvan."

"Sylvan. When's he getting here?"

"Soon. I don't know when exactly. How about we watch some TV or something while we wait?"

"Fine by me."

Not much time passes before Sylvan arrives at his father's house, N by his side. Sylvan knocks on the door and then sighs nervously while he waits for his father to answer.

"I'm getting a sense of deja vu..." Sylvan remarks.

N smirks amusedly. He takes Sylvan's hand in his own, rubbing his thumb over Sylvan's. Then Vernon answers the door.

"Sylvan! Good to see you!" Vernon says. "...And you brought N."

"Yup!" Sylvan replies, grinning.

"Why...?" Vernon asks.

"Hello to you, too..." N grumbles.

"Moral support." Sylvan answers.

"If you say so... You two come in."

The three of them walk inside and make their way to the living room, where Oliver is waiting.

Sylvan and Oliver make eye contact, and within a split second Oliver is on his feet and eagerly enveloping his younger brother in a tight hug.

"Oh—" Sylvan says under his breath, taken off guard by the sudden embrace.

"Sylvan!" Oliver cheers. He backs up to look at his brother. "My, how you've grown, mon frère!"

"Uhh..." Sylvan is rendered somewhat speechless by this encounter.

"How old are you now, anyway?"

"Um... Twenty-three."

"TWENTY-THREE! Oh, it's been far too long!" Oliver once again pulls Sylvan into a hug. "I'm so sorry... For everything."

"Uhh. Yeah, um... don't... don't worry about it, man."

Sylvan mentally stows this away in a list of things to talk about in more detail later. It'll come up at some point, right...?

In this moment, Oliver and N catch each other's glance. Oliver stands up straight, eyes widened slightly.

Sylvan, confused, looks in the direction Oliver is staring.

"Oh!" He says. "Uh, Oliver, this is my partner, N!"

"Nice to meet you." N says.

Oliver's eyes have widened even further.

"N Harmonia!?" Oliver exclaims.

"Um." Sylvan says. He and N look to each other.

"Yes?" N says, looking back to Oliver in sync with Sylvan.

"Mon dieu!" Oliver gasps. "You're dating the king of Team Plasma?!"

"That's—" Sylvan starts.

"What?" Vernon interrupts sternly, raising his voice.

Sylvan and N freeze.

"You!" Vernon shouts, quickly approaching N. "I knew I had seen you before! What do you think you're doing hanging around my family!?"

"I— You don't understand!" N asserts.

"Damn right I don't understand! I don't ever want to understand someone with a warped mind like yours!" Vernon says.

"That's—"

"Shut up!"

N flinches away when Vernon gets in his face. His bravery in the face of this father's explosive anger seems to give out and he panics, faintly muttering "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

"You BETTER be sorry, you—"

"Dad, back off!" Sylvan says, attempting to come between the two of them.

"And what do YOU think you're doing, dating some Plasma scumbag?!" Vernon asks his son.

"You have no idea what you're talking about!" Sylvan responds.

"Oho, oh yeah, tell me all the reasons he gave you that explain why he's not a bad guy!"

"What happened with Plasma wasn't his fault!"

"Oh, is that so?" Vernon asks in a demeaning tone.

Sylvan silently glares at Vernon, knowing he isn't being taken seriously.

"What other lies has this insane freak told you!?" Vernon continues.

"SHUT UP!" Sylvan yells, his anger boiling over and his fist flying towards his father's face.

...But then he's stopped.

In a split second, Oliver inserts himself between Vernon and Sylvan. One hand pushing against Vernon's chest, and the other grabbing Sylvan's wrist.

"Both of you need to calm down before you do something you'll regret!" Oliver declares.

"YOU'RE the one who started this mess!" Sylvan hisses at Oliver.

"I know, I'm sorry. I'm a little surprised Vernon didn't already know this, though?" Oliver muses.

"We didn't wanna tell him 'cuz I knew he'd freak out about it! Sylvan says.

"Who wouldn't freak out about that?!" Vernon retorts.

"Okay, okay!" Oliver shouts. "You guys need to, like, go into seperate rooms or something and cool off!"

"Hmph. Fine.” Sylvan says, yanking his wrist out of Oliver's hand, though he's only able to do so because Oliver releases his grip.

Sylvan looks to N, who's clearly still shaken. "I'm going outside." He says. "You coming?"

N silently responds by taking Sylvan's hand and following him outside.

Sylvan sits down outside. He pats the ground next to him, inviting N to sit. After doing so, N tilts his head towards the sky, taking in deep breaths of the outdoor air. It's silent for a moment, both of them trying to soothe their pounding hearts.

"Are you alright?" Sylvan eventually asks.

N shrugs slightly and says, "I could be worse."

Sylvan nods solemnly, replying, "...I don't know what to say. Um... I'm- sorry about... you know, my dad."

N shakes his head. "You don't need to apologize."

"You didn't need to either."

"What?"

"When we were inside. What on Earth were you apologizing to Dad for?"

"I don't know. I... I guess I just panicked..."

Sylvan wraps an arm around N's waist, and in turn N rests his head on Sylvan's shoulder. The couple go silent again, their minds individually wandering. A minute or two later, N breaks the silence.

"I just don't get it." He says.

"Get what?" Sylvan replies.

"Two years ago, I was able to confront Ghetsis while he had the power of Kyurem on his side. But just now... I practically cowered in fear when your father got angry at me. It doesn't make sense."

"Ah. Well, it's— just... the brain's inconsistent like that, you know? It's a weird meat blob, it's not always logical."

N laughs slightly. "Weird meat blob..."

Sylvan smiles, glad his silly remark was able to make his partner laugh. Then he thinks a little more.

"Maybe part of it was about like— preparation?" Sylvan ponders.

"Hm?"

"Like, back then, we came to Unova knowing you'd probably have to face Ghetsis, and it most likely wasn't gonna be pleasant. You, like, had time to be ready for it. Or... as ready as you could be for something like that. But you didn't come with me to meet my brother today knowing my dad was gonna scream in your face."

"Interesting theory... It does seem to make sense."

"Anyway. I wonder how things are going inside."

Meanwhile...

"...And uh, yeah. That's the whole story, I think. Thanks for finally shutting up and letting me tell it." Oliver says, idly tapping his fingertips on the dining room table.

Vernon sits across from him, deep in thought. After a moment of thinking, he speaks.

"That's fucked up." Vernon says.

"Yeah." Oliver replies.

"To be honest, I didn't really know much of anything about Team Plasma, except that they were running around taking people's Pokémon. I didn't know about... all THAT."

"Why do I know more about Plasma than you? I haven't lived here in years. Literally none of what I just told you has affected me in the slightest."

"Ah, I guess I just don't pay much mind to the news nowadays."

Oliver rolls his eyes. "You can say that again, sheesh."

Vernon sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "I really made an ass of myself, huh?"

"Yup. Good thing you're about to apologize." Oliver says assertively. He gets up and heads towards the front door.

"...Hey. When did you get so good at breaking up a fight, anyway?" Vernon asks.

Oliver glances over his shoulder at Vernon. "I'm a bartender." He says. Shrugging, he continues, "It's part of the job."

Oliver continues to the door and opens it. He peers outside, Sylvan and N turn to look back at him.

"Hey." Oliver says. "We're ready for you guys inside."

N and Sylvan look at each other with a bit of hesitation in their expression. Then Sylvan looks to Oliver, nods, and stands up. He then offers N his hand and pulls him up as well. Everyone goes back inside and sits at the table. Vernon sighs.

"So. It seems like some apologies are in order." Vernon says.

"I... I'm sorry to both of ya, for blowin' up at you like that. And N, I'm sorry I insulted you and such. Oliver filled me in on what happened with Team Plasma... showed me how much of an ass I was being."

"Thank you." N says.

"So, am I forgiven?"

"...I don't know." N says, brows furrowed. "You haven't treated me well today, and you didn't treat me well last time I was here. So I suppose it's just a little hard to take you at your word."

"I gotcha. 'Actions speak louder than words' and all that. I'll keep it in mind."

"Good."

"...Sorry for trying to punch you in the face." Sylvan says to his dad, who shakes his head.

"Don't worry about that. No harm done. And I kinda had it comin', haha!" Vernon responds.

"Ha..."

A somewhat uncomfortable silence falls over the group, no one entirely sure what to say next. But then, Oliver gets an idea.

"Hey, Vernon, do you still have our old board games?" He asks.

"Uh... as long as Sylvan didn't take them, yeah." Vernon replies.

"Didn't touch 'em. Kinda forgot we had them." Sylvan says.

"Excellent!" Oliver says, before getting up to retrieve a board game.

In the midst of playing the board game Oliver chose, Sylvan has an epiphany.

"Hey, Oliver..." Sylvan starts.

"Yes?" Oliver responds.

"Why do you call Dad by his first name?"

Oliver looks confused for a moment, before looking to Vernon.

"You didn't tell him?" Oliver asks.

"...It never came up..." Vernon replies, scratching the back of his head sheepishly.

"What never came up?" Sylvan asks.

"Vernon's not my dad." Oliver says bluntly.

"...Huh?!"

"I was eleven when Mom and Vernon met. I'm not his kid."

"But— you— your eyes! You have similar eyes!" Sylvan says, pointing at his own eye for emphasis.

"And Laelia had similar hair. Mom had a type, I suppose."

"L-Laelia's not...?"

"Laelia's not my kid either." Vernon says. "It's... part of why your mother and I split up."

"I... I'm your son... right?" Sylvan mutters.

"Yes." Vernon replies. "My only son."

"Okay." Sylvan says with a slight nod, though he's clearly still distressed. "Okay... I guess this doesn't— change things that much."

Sylvan looks to Oliver and continues, "I mean, you're still my brother. And Laelia's still my sister."

Oliver nods. "Of course."

"Alright, I... I guess I can process all that later. Whose turn is it?"

"Yours, sweetheart." N says.

"Oh! Right." Sylvan responds. "Let's see..."

With that, the game continues. The group talk, joke, and share stories together... and their worlds quietly grow bigger.

[liliallowed]

dust belief, sans doesn't die edition

ok if both sans and papyrus remember the loop I feel like their sibling arguing dynamic would come back.

cuz well what's the point of talking to someone who can't remember?

if papyrus does remember sans would probably stick with puns and stupid jokes to annoy him.

and papyrus would still emotionally be there. like yea he kiiiiiinda gets it statistically speaking? cuz like while immoral it would only give the human one option.

though he feels like that's "lazy writing" if they were in a thriller novel.

sans asks why and papyrus would explain he dug up some book from the trash pile in water fall in case they could have any useful information. turns out he got invested in a murder mystery and was super disappointed at the twist.

he scolds his brother to not be like that because he knows sans is so much more than a petty executioner. he's smart he's resourceful... and a complete dumbass because he thought HE was the only one who can come up with a magnificent plan!

he the great papyrus had a great plan! better than his in fact! (he does not. they've both tried everything including trying to take the souls)

sans would KNOW he's lying. but he'd play into it. at least maybe for a while.

papyrus would be stressed trying to come up with something ANYTHING. he wanted to be accepted to be popular... to join the royal guard.

he was supposed to make new friends.

how was he supposed to if they were all DEAD?

he knew sans was thinking things long term.

eventually they would probably quit of playing with a world that had all it's options and toys destroyed.

he knew. but the problem was he wasn't as selfless as sans. he was selfish. he wanted this world to live on. not for morality but because HE needed it. he didn't care about some stupid demons obsession. he didn't care about stopping the loop.

he only wanted to protect his brother and maybe... work on an agreement with the demon?

maybe if he was... entertaining enough. if things were "fun" enough they wouldn't kill everyone?

honestly I feel like sans would probably kill papyrus first if he remembers resets because well... he wouldn't really get to see what happens in the previous timeline...

until sans wakes up with a bonk to his head an and angry brother.

"SANS I TOLD YOU NOT TO DO THAT! "

honestly I feel like papyrus just... remembering things is enough to kinda dissuade dust from the whole timeline termination plan.

cuz like he can AFFORD to be lazy. he can just do nothing all day and just be with his brother.

nothing matters anyway so why should he even TRY stopping the loop?

if his brother remembers there wouldn't be that social isolation that pushes sans to become murder.

sure he might try it.

in fact papyrus might also try but then quickly stop because well... killing isn't exactly a good feeling.

also papyrus has a vague sense of deja Vu with some golden flower.

has he killed monsters before? what timeline? he can't remember.

he's probably gonna be on edge but also be like: "sans that's the stupidest idea I've ever heard"

the whole... great papyrus "greater plan" is an act to keep them both going.

sans knows there's no plan. papyrus knows there's very little choice.

still whatever happens. if either of them DO decide to resort to it... at least they spent more time being honest? as brothers?

[spotaus]

Yes yes!!!

I feel crazy doing these renlog chains but they are SO fun!!!

Yeah!!! I actually almost added this last time, but I like the idea that as a kid he and his friends (siblings? I know he was a SuperSoldier of sorts for Gaster but I think he was meant to protect Chara+Frisk? Idk yet) went out to a festival one day in their youth, when Cross was able to follow the two humans around and then the two of them would drag him into trouble. And they went to a diving tent. Got their futures told. Frisk and Chara got vague and cheerful ones (honestly probably fabrications to cover that. Well. They *had* no future for the teller to see). Then the two roped Cross in, and Cross was told of a ship. He'd see it one day, and he'd know he was in the right place. Happiness, love, a family, etc. And so later, every ship he sees he wonders if it's the one. He was *sure* the one to Reaper's kingdom was that ship. But. Then. Way way later? He's with the other Knights and Nightmare while they're in the library, and he spots it. A little ship in a bottle, tucked away on a shelf. And... he'd kinda forgotten about the reading in all the chaos. The sense of Deja-vu? Yeah, that was his sign. This was where he would find what he'd always been looking for.

(Plot twist, this wasn't the ship the teller saw. It was totally that other ship at the dock. BUT Cross forges his own destiny!)

Yes!!! I largely think that, because Cross kept Ink in a well-oiled routine (Soldier meets Hyperactive Artist is like Immovable Object vs. Unstoppable Force) and Cross manages to work out a routine for the both of them. And Ink's conscious memory sucks, but his muscle memory knows all too well. He has a better sleep schedule, is slightly more punctual, eats at certain times of the day, has indicators to know when he's tired, etc. It's great for everyone including him. Except, he'll be in the middle of a conversation and Ink will go, "Cross, do you have my knives?" and turn, expecting to find Cross, and then being confused. Who is Cross? Right, his friend. Where did he go? Right, mission for Dream. And he'll feel... weird. Like a part of him is gone. He'll reflexively move to rap a knuckle against Cross' armor (because Cross always stood slightly behind him to one side) and find open air. He'll leave open a blindspot because he expects Cross to fill it. It's just... instead of forgetting Cross fully, his body remembers, and so he is reminded. He forgets his absence more than him in himself.

And for that reason he says he won't fight Cross! Dream is indeed furious (because he *was* going to fall into the trap of Night's planning and fight Dust too-) and when he can't, he decides he'll deal with the traitor himself and then, rather than wait to finish off Horror and Dust, he'd go find Nightmare (and hopefully off Killer + break whatever illusion Night had been gaslit by) so he'd call off his dogs. Cross, poor thing, was a lot stronger than the last time he saw Dream. However, between the emotional elation of 'Wait, Ink remembers me???' And the sudden fear of 'Wait, why is Dream coming to me???' Along with simply not as much power to back him up? Dream downed him very, very quickly.

Hehe, yeag. He trusts Ccino utmost, his Knights next, and then (regrettably) the magic, though he doesn't rely on it. There's nothing a spy could possible get away with w/o being dusted or dead in .5 seconds.

YES! THIS! This is the way Killer thinks about it! He has a very tentative position (as far as he knows) but he knows it's Nightmare already putting a lot of trust in him too. He absolutely would like. Stand outside the door of any room the two were trying to calm down inside, or he'd wave off people if there was a loud crash. He'd ensure they got their time.

And the whole reversion, yeah. Killer never got to see the full extent of a paranoia break, Night always isolated himself until Ccino arrived. Let alone did he ever expect tears or fleeing. Nightmare had flinched, or stepped away, but full attempts to run? No way. This was the side of himself that Nightmare hid away so well for all these years, and Killer was *not* about to screw up. He is trustworthy. He is careful. He's reliable. Night doesn't have to run, or hide, or worry. Killer can help him too. He is TOTALLY gripping that trust and not letting go, haha!

(^ I also like to think that the cats told on Killer and the others the moment they got Night into his room. Like. They went *running* so Killer probably did his best to intercept Ccino because Night was sleeping and had magic exhaustion and Killer didn't want Ccino waking him up by mistake in his worry. But Ccino was storming down the hall, and Killer basically begged him, 'Please don't kill us, he's fine, it just happened.' And then the other Knights just kinda witness Ccino carefully check over Night, because Killer stands his ground and refuses to leave Night alone this time (and Ccino has to agree once he sees the situation. Brownie points fir killer!))

I can't help but imagine that, at their knighting ceremony, there are a few people who knew them during the rebellion and like. They see an event with Blue and Dream and are like, 'holy shit they're finally getting married???' And so the rumor spreads that the knighting ceremony is a wedding, and at least a quarter of the guests are so frustrated when they find Blue and Dream STILL not together. Like??? Huh???

Oh! Bonus Note: Cross dodged a bullet by never mentioning his crushes to anyone. Like. Especially the Ccino one. Because, Ccino was way out of his league and also was a lil scary, but when he finds out about Killer's long-standing attempt at courtship once the two got together? Yeah. He's pretty sure Killer would've mauled him to death.

I think it'd be a funny excersize to imagine the situation though. They're all drunk and messing around in Killer's room, Nightmare is late-night reading with Ccino and Error in his study, abd the Knights are goofing off. Cross spills about a few of his crushes, and the others press for more. Next thing you know Killer has Cross on the floor in a head-lock and the others have to break them up. Just smth silly but also Very Dangerous if it had been someone weaker than Killer. Because it's a faded crush, Killer isn't too bothered, but he hears mild interest and has to assert that Ccino is *his* back off- lol

New Age AU (The Camp)

Hello and welcome back to another New Age drabble! As always, fuck it we ball, no editing or rereading! This one is fresh off the press!

And!! Hello to @ancha-aus @papiliovolens and @mutzelputz ! Hope y'all enjoy!

Things had been looking up.

   Now, the bar for what was 'better' was set pretty low, but this time, right now, managed to reach it.

   Shortly after the collapse of his former kingdom, Cross had known there was no way he could ever show his face there again. His closest friends were dead, his brother was trying to rebuild things from the ground up, and his presence would only hinder them. If he, the king's loyal dog, stayed? It'd cause he'll to break loose.

   So he left. Alone. In the night. Nowhere to go but anywhere better than there.

   He walked.

   And walked, and walked, and walked, until he came across a town where he could find a place to sleep, a spot to eat, and to find out what the hell he'd do next.

   He had almost hoped that no one would recognize him in the neighboring kingdom. That he'd get off scot-free, but they knew. He was too focused, too quick to draw his blade, too alert.

   He unsettled the patrons at the inn, he was too efficient for the dock work, and the shops wouldn't have him keeping his sword on his hip. He refused to be without it.

   And so within a few months he'd exhausted his resources and had to move on.

   But. Just before he boarded the ship that would set sail for some new dock, he had been rushed into by a wirey, tiny skeleton. Knocked clean off his feet and almost directly into the lapping sea below the docks.

   Cross was not easily placed off-balance. The skeleton was stronger than he looked.

   And he looked... really nice.

   Cross, as he stood his ground, found that the skeleton paused to stare at him. Big, colorful eyelight filled crescent sockets which squinted in delight. A big smile reached the corners of his eyes, and a huge smudge of some darkness patterned his cheek, breaking up the pure while bone of his skull.

   Cross hadn't seen another skeleton monster in ages, aside from his brother. Especially not one with as much expression as this one. Dressed head to toe in colorful fabric sashes and pouches and bags, every one with a new vibrant color. It must've been expensive to-

   And then he'd spotted that this ethereal skeleton had a familiar pouch in-hand. A pouch with a hand-embroidered "X" on it. His coin purse.

   The moment he'd seen it, it seemed the skeleton had noticed, because he practically rocketed off the dock. Cross had followed without a thought. That was his pouch! One if the few things that were ever his. He needed that back, boat be damned.

  

   And so Cross had chased this mysterious skeleton all about town, not losing his track for long when the other managed to slip away.

   It felt like the worst game of cat and mouse he'd ever been a part of. But, it was somewhere outside if town that the skeleton led him to. He wasn't even out of breath when he came to the clearing just off the path. The skeleton had been out of his sight for twenty minutes, but his transportation magic was pungent. Cross knew exactly where he'd gone.

   And he'd found him.

   Grabbed him by one of his scarves abd snatched his pouch back. It was empty, but that was fine. Most of his gold was inside his armor anyhow.

   But before he left, the skeleton had laughed. Had said he was impressed he'd been followed. Wondered what he was doing setting sail on that dingey of a ship before. Cross hadn't intended to sit down, he hadn't wanted to. After all, this guy had stolen from him.

   Yet, the skeleton mentioned he might have work for a soldier like Cross. Paying work. Work that would have him moving about. Away from whatever he was running from.

   And Cross had sat. And asked about the work. And Ink had introduced himself.

   Ink was an assassin for hire, something which had made Cross grimace and almost leave once more, but Ink swore Cross wouldn't be expected to kill anyone. Just... make sure no one killed Ink while he was moving from job to job. A bodyguard of sorts, just until his name was off the radar again.

   He promised gold, and food, and respect. People knew him everywhere he went, a sort of folk hero (though that wasn't what he'd said) and so Cross wouldn't be as judged for his past.

   It had been an easy sell. Scam or not.

   Cross had some things to get used to. The first being that Ink had no soul. He hadn't noticed it because the other was draped in magical items, but Ink was entirely soulless. Along with that, he had an awful memory.

   To work around it, Cross had taken one of Ink's scarves to replace his bandana that was destroyed in a fight. The familiar item seemed to keep Ink from getting spooked by Cross. It was almost familiar to Cross, how to Ink he was no different than one if Ink's other cloth-wrapped belongings.

   And it was two years, traveling with Ink. Helping him keep on track for his kills, keeping folks from trying to ambush him. Fighting local city guards attempting to arrest them.

   It was a life on the run, but it was better than being dogged in his own hometown, missing his friends and family. Some shadow of a fallen king.

   But, now, things were looking up.

   Ink had said he was going to be going dark for a bit. To help an old friend. One who Cross might like.

   One who was setting up a rebellion against the evil tyrant who'd taken over his home kingdom in order to defend his peoples. A righteous warrior.

   Cross had to admit, the closer they drew towards the encampment, the more excited he became. He wasn't able to help in the last coup he lived through. Maybe he could be of help during this one.

.

.

   The chattering and happy voices weren't what Cross had expected upon finally reaching the end of the game trail. Ink had insisted there was no main road to the encampment, and that they had to use the secret entrance, which consisted of a thin trail that wove between all sorts of flora and snagged at his fraying uniform.

   When they'd emerged, Cross had certainly not expected to find himself standing before a beautiful flower garden.

   It was a landscaped space reminiscent of the gardens back at the palace. It was smaller, obviously, with less variety, but the first step onto the rocky path which led towards the back of a meager cottage made his heart skip a beat.

   The colors were to plentiful, and a butterfly flitted past him in a way that completely had him enamored. It was thanks to muscle memory that he didn't freeze up completely to admire the flawless plants in more detail.

   Instead, he soon found himself up a set of wooden steps, just behind Ink, hand on his swords hilt in preparation.

   Ink knocked on the door.

   It sounded thin, and Cross wondered just how old this building was. Colorful curtains drawn over the windows gave an impression of a fresh life to a building which clearly was on its last leg. The ground creaked under the slightest shift of weight.

   The door swung open.

   His focus was entirely absorbed by the person on the other side of the door. Another skeleton.

   Of course, Ink was shorter than Cross, but this new skeleton was shorter than Ink. He had bright blue eyelights and was wearing what Cross could only recognize as training armor. Old iron scraped up in battle and worn more casually when a soldier was among allies. It was adorned in shades of blue and yellow heavy fabric, and Cross was a little amazed that the little guy wasn't dying in the summer heat right about now.

   "Oh, Ink!" The skeleton inside greeted. "You're... actually right on schedule! That's unheard of for you." He seemed to look over his shoulder a moment.

   Cross followed his gaze, catching a slight view into the inner portion of the cottage. It seemed warm, and decorated, and homey. Too messy for his tastes just at a glance, but he had to imagine it was cozy for those who lived inside.

   "You can thank Cross for that one. He's been keeping me on-schedule for..." Ink trailed off at that, reaching a hand back to knock his knuckles against Cross's padded tunic, just over the center of his ribs.

   "Just barely two years now." Cross supplied meekly, focusing on Blue, "It's a pleasure to meet you."

   Blue seemed to perk up at Cross' words, and nodded a bit.

   "Right! Yes, forgive me, I am Blue." The skeleton, Blue, supplied with a grin. "It's a pleasure to meet you as well, Cross."

   Then, after a moment, he peaked it head back inside to look at something beyond the door, then looked back out to the pair. He was clearly guarding the threshold.

   "If you wouldn't mind waiting out on the front veranda? Dream and I will coke to meet you and guide you to the planning tent." Blue requested, and gestured to the left.

   Cross could only imagine the porch wrapped around to the front, and he nodded in agreement as Ink shot off in that direction without a warning.

  

   Blue shut the door, and Cross took his time walking around the side of the old cottage.

   Dream.

   That was the name of the person leading this revolution. Cross was eager to hear more, solely because Ink didn't always have his facts straight. His memory made it more likely that he was making things up to fill the gaps than anything else.

   He'd made this Dream guy sound like a saint, and frankly Cross didn't believe it. Kingdoms can be bad, but the things Ink was saying sounded cartoonish. Blood sacrifice and godlike power? No way was any of that right. He needed to meet this guy and hear what sort of real threats this tyrant posed, and hear how Dream planned on going about claiming power.

   Cross had seen a plan like this go poorly before. He didn't plan to let another one happen on his watch.

  

   As he turned the corner, he was greeted with a shocking sight.

   Not far past the front fence of the cottage, was a large clearing with a river running through it. Dotted around the edges of the grassy clearing were all sorts of large canvas tents. Ones that reminded him a bit too much of a battle encampment.

   Only, the tents were strung up with colorful flags atop, banners of what had to be the Royal insignia of the kingdom in gold and purple, and, most strikingly, that was where those sounds of joy had been coming from.

   People were talking, there was a dirt patch in the center of the place where it seemed there were people training, others cheering them on. The scent of warm food wafted past him and made his mouth water. Just from a distance, it seemed like a little sanctuary. Hidden away on the outskirts of a kingdom.

   When he finally reached Ink's side, the other had hoisted himself to sit on a low-bearing railing that circled the porch. It barely seemed to hold his weight, but he coukd care less. He seemed content to kick his feet and watch the people out in the main area.

   Cross remained vigilant (then again, when didn't he?) and was quick to turn when the front door behind them eventually swung open with a heavy creaking noise.

   There, trailing Blue out of the front door, was a radiant skeleton.

   His magic alone felt like a warm breeze had passed a summer path and let flower petals gently drift by to make a scenic masterpiece. It was unlike anything Cross had ever felt, and he tried not to look dumbfounded when the skeleton's eyelights skimmed up and over the scene before him.

   "Dream!" It was Ink who practically stunt-fell backwards from his perch and rushed over to the skeleton's side without so much as a stumble.

   Cross didn't need to see his eyelights to know they were probably both a bright, striking color. His excitement was evident.

   "Ink, it's good to see you again!" Dream greeted, and to Cross' utter surprise, he reached out and pulled Ink into a quick hug. "I heard from Blue that you brought a reliable friend?" He pulled away just as quickly as he'd tugged Ink in, but he seemed to watch Ink closely with caring eyelights. A soft yellow.

   Ink seemed to take a moment to process, before he gave a single nod and whipped around. In just a moment he bounced off of Cross's side and nudged him for emphasis.

   "Right, this is Cross! He's been helping me, but I thought he'd help a lot with that job you needed done!" Ink introduced, and Cross gave a half-bow. He just hardly kept hinself from saluting in his old fashion.

   Dream finally took a moment to look at Cross as the door to the cottage finally clicked shut on its own behind him.

   It took a moment, before Dream smiled gently at him.

   "Cross, it's a pleasure to meet you, truly." He greeted, reaching out a hand. Cross took it without thinking, shaking it firmly. "I am Prince Dream, and this is my knight, Blue." He added on.

   Suddenly, Cross wished he hadn't accepted that handshake. A prince? Ink hadn't mentioned anything about Dream being royalty?? Surely he'd have been on better behavior if he'd known!

   Dream released his hand, but gave him little time to devolve into panic, and he raised both hands placatingly.

   "Please, don't fret." He asked, "I can see you are not from this kingdom and you don't know the plight we face."

   It was a nice tone. An understanding one, which gave Cross a moment to breathe and think better of dropping to his knees for forgiveness.

   Dream continued, "Undoubtedly you are a brave soul, and a strong one as well. If you truly are interested in assisting us in this fight, I can explain more to you in a moment," He paused, "Though, you have a burden on your shoulders, even so young. Where do you come from?"

   Something about the question was so gentle. So... genuine.

   Cross faltered a bit, "I-" A breath. "I come from the fallen kingdom of Ritten. A high guard, disgraced once the castle fell." He admitted, trying to will his throat to not grow tight in shame.

   "And, may I ask, what brought you to this place?" Dream prodded gentle.

   "My family suffered because I was not strong enough to fight against the oppressive might of my king. I ran away, and now cannot help them." He'd thought hard and long about this. Where he'd gone wrong. Every night for the past two years. "I thought that, perhaps, I might save someone else from the pain of an unhonest rule. At least, based on the picture Ink painted for me of your cause."

   There was a moment of quiet.

   "Mm, I don't remember painting anything of Dream yet though, Cross." Ink chimed in.

   The tension felt broken and Dream's tense, serene aura burst into one of fondness and he turned to giggle at Ink. Blue, behind him, sighed.

   "Figure of speech, my friend." Dream clarified to Ink, before returning focus to, a frankly startled, Cross. "It seems you're passionate. I cannot promise that helping my people will fill that gap on your soul, but I can swear that you will be doing good for them." Dream assured, and Cross couldn't help but agree.

.

   From there, Dream, Cross, Blue, and Ink crossed the lawn. Dream was greeted excitedly by every person they passed, abd Blue helpfully held open a flap to a particularly small canvas tent. One whose walls seemed to block out all the noise from outside, and which most likely prevented any eavesdropping from outside in.

   The four of them settled around a table, Cross sat across from Dream, Ink and Blue facing eachother.

   The table was strewn with a single map, and that map was covered in all sorts of pins and charcoal scratches. Clearly a planning guide.

   Along routes, there were several red X's.

   "Cross, how familiar are you with this kingdom?" Dream asked him as he examined the spread before him.

   "...Admittedly, I don't know anything at all aside from what Ink has told me. We just arrived two days ago." He said.

   Dream nodded as Blue chimed in that Ink was 'unreliable at best'.

   "Then I shall start from what I know." Dream said softly.

   "I am the crown prince of this place. I was raised alongside my twin in the Wooded Castle." He began, and Cross was already a bit surprised. Twins? For monsters, having twins was practically impossible. It was unsafe, and deadly... "We were inseparable. I was to one day claim the throne, and he was to be my closest confidant. My advisor. We had always been thrilled by our coming futures. I was to be crowned and gifted our familial magic on our 13th birthday."

   There was a deep, deep sorrow that suddenly seemed to overtake Dream's face. Blue slumped a bit in his own seat as they both seemed to have their eyelights glued to Dream.

   "Just months before our celebration, Nightmare became paranoid and distant. He told me that if I went through with the ceremony that something bad would happen. I'm not sure who placed this idea in his head, as I had been trained from a young age to withstand and control the power. A birthright handed on from my mother's father to my mother, and from my mother to me." He explained, "He did not listen to me, did not trust me."

   A miniscule flinch of Dream's shoulders. "During the ceremony, as I was presented with my birthright. An apple, meant to pass on my mother's life energy as well as untold power. My brother rushed up and snatched it from my hands. Consumed the fruit, and was changed by its overwhelming force. He did not inheret the full power, nor was he the same after it washed him in a dark and potent magic." Cross was uncertain. Anxious. What kind of kingdom was this? "Shortly after he took the crown, he... he cast me out. Banished me to a neighboring kingdom."

   Dream seemed to take a deep breath. "Since that day, my people have been suffering. Someone or something is in my poor brother's head, whispering horrible lies to him. I was unable to help him when we were young, and it has led to the horrible state of our kingdom. He is using the power granted by our ancestors to flood the people's crops and to destroy their sources of income. The people cannot survive this way much longer. I need to liberate my twin from those who are twisting his mind. So I may reason with him and help guide him back towards the truth."

   Cross was taken aback.

   Dream literally had an evil twin, and was meant to take the throne.

   "There have been many attempts to gain information on the king's whereabouts, but anyone the smaller rebel groups have sent have never made it back." Blue took over the story. "Dream has been searching for a person strong enough to infiltrate the castle to bring us back direct information. We are blind aside from the word of the people."

   And the dots fell into place. Cross would be this spy, if he agreed on taking this job.

   The others seemed to sense his hesitancy.

   "You can back out this moment if you like, no hard feelings." Dream had added hurriedly, "I am aware that our circumstances are looming for an outsider, and it is a lot to ask of a stranger."

   It was sincere, but Cross knew himself too well. He was in too deep the moment Ink had told him of Dream's plight. There was no way he would turn down this fight.

   "I... want to help you. What else do I need to know?" He replied simply.

   The room seemed to fill with a sort of relief at his admission.

   It seemed to take Dream a moment to collect his thoughts, before he gestured to Blue. The Knight was already out of his seat and rushing out of the tent. Cross figured this meant they were getting serious.

   "My first rule," Dream stated, "Please, for your own safety, avoid facing my twin at all costs." That was... a strange one. "I would fear for his death at your hands, as I truly don't wish to see him dead. Only, he is too powerful for even an army of men to face, let alone one skilled warrior. It would be your death, and I do not wish to send you to the gallows."

   Then Dream sighed, "I have had Ink searching for a worthy candidate for this mission. I would send him, but I fear he would forget his goal and attempt to assassinate my twin. And be killed in the process."

   Cross gave a nod.

   "The second thing to know, is to avoid the Knights. They always wear masks, visages of big cats from across the realm. As far as we are aware, there are three of them. A tiger, a lion, and a black panther." He informed, brow furrowed, "You are not from this area, but I can tell you that the masks are a tradition of our heritage. They are only given to those whom royal blood deem as their most trusted. The masked monsters cannot be trusted, and when together, cannot be faced alone."

  

   Cross hardly had a moment to place the information into his mind before Dream seemed to jolt, "The panther is the strongest of them magically. The lion the strongest. If you come across them on your own, please, just flee with what you've found. All of these people are criminals and vagrants, the lowest of the low. Hostile and dangerous." He reiterated, until he gained another nod from Cross.

   That was when Blue entered the tent once again, his arms filled with maps and scrolls and... was that armor?

   "We have reason to believe that the power in the castle does not keep a close eye on their guard. The plan would be for you to slip in among a grouping of new recruits and investigate further once you are dismissed from your first round of duties." Dream explained.

   Cross figured that could work. He was already a soldier, always had been one, so he wouldn't have to employ his terrible acting skills.

   There was only one thing eating at him.

   "And... what will I be searching for while I'm there?" He asked boldly.

   That was when, almost like a cue, Blue set a scroll before him. It seemed to be a list of locations, people, and imports and exports.

   "That is a list of all the things in which Nightmare has destroyed in the past year. All the locations and people affected by his wayward deeds." Dream explained, "I ask of you to listen, and find word of where his next area of disaster is planned to be. That way Blue, myself, Ink, and the others might intercept his Knights before they cause more harm to my people."

   Okay. Just information.

   Cross almost wondered if it was fate which brought him here, to sit before the radiant prince and his loyal followers.

   He'd eavesdropped on his father and spoken with his siblings enough to understand exactly what Dream was hoping he'd find. Plans, schemes, people even thinking of slandering this king who he could crush under his boot.

   This list was full of names and towns, written in a gentle cursive script, no doubt written by hand by Dream. Like there was a mourning etched into every stroke of the quill.

   "Alright. I'll do it." Cross confirmed, though mostly to himself. Then, "When do I set off?"

[reallydumbdannyphantomaus]

Reset

Valerie, Paulina, and Danny are stuck in a time loop as the end of the world looms. It goes about as well as you'd expect. (ao3) (p.s. if you read an earlier version of this already, this is a longer and more complete first chapter, tho the first section is almost entirely the same) also tagging @not-your-average-url since they specifically requested it

Loop 0

"Oh my god, Valerie, do you have to be so dramatic?" Paulina snapped her compact mirror closed, meeting Valerie's glare with her own, just as fierce. "Now we're both in trouble."

"Don't say shit about my dad, then," Valerie said, fingers clenching at her side, "and we won't have a problem."

"I didn't say anything that wasn't true."

"My dad baked you brownies every year for your birthday, and you called him a fat loser to my face. You should've expected to get punched."

Stuck between them outside Principal Ishiyama's office, Danny sighed. Sam and Tucker were right: he'd developed too much of a "hero" thing. Jumping in the middle of Valerie and Paulina's fight to break it up only got him sent to the office as well. He should've left well enough alone, but it was too late now.

"You and your dad's fall from grace isn't my fault. All I did was acknowledge it."

Danny groaned. It was the end of the school day. The last bell was about to ring. And here he was, trapped between two angry former crushes.

"Paulina, could you stop being an asshole for, like, five minutes?" he said, pinching the bridge of his nose where his headache pounded. He just wanted to go home and pass out. Between Skulker and his homework, he'd only gotten about an hour's worth of sleep last night.

Paulina scoffed. "Whatever, Fenton."

Valerie turned her glare on him. "I don't need you to fight my battles, Danny."

"I really just wish you wouldn't fight at al—"

A wisp of blue air escaped his mouth just as the world exploded in light and noise and pain.

Loop 1

Danny burst awake to his blaring alarm.

The world came into focus bit by bit, as the jackrabbit pace of his heart slowed to a normal pace. Danny could make out the glow-in-the-dark stars over his bed, faintly shining in the morning light.

“Danny, if you’re not ready in 15 minutes, you can take the bus to school! I’m not waiting!” Jazz yelled on the other side of his door. 

“Uh, okay!” he yelled back, trying to keep his voice from quivering. Was it… a dream? It all felt so real, so normal, even, right until the end…

The smell of burning bread wafted into his room. Mom burned her toast again. She burned it in his dream, too, but she burned it most days. That didn’t mean anything. Had Jazz yelled at him in the dream? He wasn’t sure. He’d been pretty sleep deprived so a lot of the day was pretty fuzzy.

He had the strangest sense of deja vu the whole day. When he got to school, Dash knocked into him in the hallway and sent him crashing into the locker. This happened most days. Less common was Sam shouting “Douche Baxter!” after him. She’d said that in the dream, too.

“New nickname?” he said.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, I guess. I mean, it fits him well enough, right?”

“Y-Yeah. Yeah.”

Sam frowned. “Are you okay? He didn’t actually hurt you, did he?”

Danny waved her off. “Nah, Skulker gave me worse last night. Just some… weird deja vu.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Okay, well. If you change your mind…”

“You and Tuck will be the first to know, I promise.”

“Good.”

The rest of the day wasn’t any better. Dash stumbled over the same presentation on the industrial revolution he vaguely remembered sleeping through in his dream. The cafeteria served the same almost-crunchy tuna noodle casserole. Mikey slipped in the same puddle after one of the football players removed the CAUTION: WET FLOOR sign.

“I think I’m going crazy,” he said as Nathan helped to pick Mikey up off the floor.

“And this is news?” Tucker said. Sam elbowed him. “Ow.”

“What he means is: what makes you say that?”

“I just—I had this dream last night, and I think it’s… coming true?”

“Like a prophetic vision?”

“Something like that. Like, in my dream, Mikey slipped in the puddle just like that.”

“So?” Tucker said through a mouthful of his turkey sandwich. “Mikey falls all the time.”

“It’s not just that. It’s—I swear I heard you call Dash ‘Douche Baxter’ in the dream too. And I heard his presentation, too.”

Sam sat back in her seat, humming thoughtfully. “What else happened in the dream? If we are living your dream, then what happens next?”

“Ugh, I don’t know. I only remember bits and pieces. The next thing I remember for sure happening is Valerie and Paulina getting into a fight in seventh period.”

Tucker laughed. “Oh, I’m putting money on Valerie to win that fight. A hundred percent.”

“Okay, well how about this: if the fight happens, then you’ve got some weird prophetic vision going on. If it doesn’t, then it’s just a weird dream.”

“Works for me,” Tucker said around another mouthful.

“I guess,” Danny said. The ending of his dream played on a loop in his head. He was pretty sure they’d died there at the end.

He really hoped Valerie and Paulina didn’t fight in seventh period English.

The clock ticked interminably slow the rest of the day. Every sound made him jump. He turned his head at every movement. Every word spoken was checked against the catalog in his head of his half-remembered dream. He second-guessed everything that happened around him. Had Kwan sat down quite so heavily in his dream? Did Star ask that question? Yes, she definitely had. He remembered it. Right?

As the bell rang for seventh period, every muscle in his body ached with the strain of being held in tension for so long. In his dream, Valerie and Paulina had got up to fight almost immediately after the bell rang. Lancer hadn’t even gotten class started yet.

He eased himself into his seat, staring between Valerie and Paulina, both of whom seemed… set on ignoring each other. His eyes darted back and forth, but neither of them even looked at the other. Lancer moved to the front of the classroom and wrote The Scarlet Letter on the board and the two girls were both still staring at their desks.

Danny let out a sigh of relief. It was just a dream after all.

Lancer’s class passed in a blur. He pillowed his arms on his desk and let the teacher’s low drone lull him.

As he had almost passed out, he gasped as the cool mist of his ghost sense escaped him. He looked out the window to see something bright and green and burning race toward the classroom. He stood. Paulina screamed.

The world exploded again.

Loop 2

Danny burst awake to his blaring alarm.

—

Loop 0

Sometimes, Valerie couldn’t believe she was ever friends with Paulina Sanchez.

She wasn’t always this girl, was she? She wasn’t always someone who dragged everyone down to make sure that she was always on the top, right? At some point, the two of them were just normal, everyday friends.

Weren’t they?

Over Danny’s head, Valerie glared at Paulina, who was fixing her makeup. Whatever the past, the present reality was that Valerie was no longer Paulina’s friend, which apparently meant that she was now Paulina’s target.

She could handle it, though. She would never be favored by school administrators in a fight regardless of the context, so she had gotten excellent at not reacting.

Until Paulina brought her dad into it.

Valerie clenched her fist at the thought. Damon Gray had always been kind to Paulina. She’d even told Valerie once that he was more of a father to her than her own dad. He didn’t deserve the words that came out of Paulina’s mouth.

"Oh my god, Valerie, do you have to be so dramatic? Now we're both in trouble."

“Don’t say shit about my dad, then, and we won’t have a problem.”

Danny cringed between them. Poor guy, getting stuck in this mess. He really should’ve just let her go to town on Paulina rather than getting in the way.

“I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”

“My dad baked you brownies every year for your birthday, and you called him a fat loser to my face. You should've expected to get punched.”

"You and your dad's fall from grace isn't my fault. All I did was acknowledge it."

"Paulina, could you stop being an asshole for, like, five minutes?" Danny finally spoke up, a heavy layer of exhaustion in his voice. Valerie had no idea why he insisted on staying up so late every night, but it clearly took its toll on him. She was pretty sure she’d seen him dozing in each of the three classes they shared.

Still, she didn’t need his help with Paulina. It was her own problem.

"I don't need you to fight my battles, Danny."

"I really just wish you wouldn't fight at al—"

Danny gasped mid-sentence, and the world erupted.

Loop 1

Valerie jolted awake.

Cold sweat stuck the old Humpty Dumpty t-shirt she slept in to her back. Each breath came out as a stuttering gasp. She pounded her chest with her fist, desperate to get some control over her breathing.

A knock on her door. Her father’s exhausted voice. “Val, I’m heading to bed. Have a good day at school, sweetheart. I’ll see you for dinner? My shift starts at 8, can you be home in time?”

Valerie took a deep breath. Then another.

“Val?”

“Yeah!” she said, keeping her voice more-or-less stable. “Yeah I can—I can make it.”

“Good. Good morning!” he said with a chuckle. It was her dad’s new favorite joke: now that he worked the night shift and went to bed in the morning, he said “good morning” the same way most people said “good night”.

She heard the soft click of his door closing and let out another halting breath. It was 7:15 AM. School started in an hour. Last she remembered, school had blown up.

She got ready in a haze, showering, getting dressed, eating. She packed up her homework that she’d done two nights ago (last night? Was that whole day a dream? A vision?) and changed into her Red Huntress armor. Elmerton was a ways out of Amity Park proper and it had its own high school. Dad, though, had taken one look inside it and its broken lockers and moldy ceilings and marched right back out.

So she still went to Casper High, despite the commute. Besides, her dad had said, he didn’t want her to leave all her friends.

(She hadn’t yet figured out how to tell him that only Star would still talk to her, that Paulina and Kwan and Dash had dropped her like a sack of potatoes at the first sign of trouble. Kwan had come up to her and apologized two months ago, but she wasn’t ready to forgive so easily. She held grudges like it was going out of style. Ask Phantom.)

So she covered up her Huntress activities with stories of going to Paulina’s house. She got to hunt ghosts and protect the town, and her dad got to think that she was living a normal teenage life. It worked out for both of them.

Flying to school cut down on her commute a lot, too. Instead of 45 minutes, she could get over there in just 20 minutes, 15 if she booked it. And today was a “book it” kind of day, if only to get through the weirdness as fast as possible.

Unfortunately, the weirdness kept coming. At her locker, she heard Sam Manson’s shout of “Douche Baxter” just before Dash jogged past, laughing at what looked to be Danny Fenton, picking himself up off the floor. Typical Dash, except it happened the same way in her dream.

Nathan came up to her in third period. He did that a lot, too, but he didn’t usually do it with yellow roses—except he did today and in her dream. Mikey slipped and fell in the cafeteria, again; Tyson, one of the football player who used to jokingly flirt with her, moved the CAUTION: WET FLOOR sign just in time to Mikey to walk by. Coach Tetslaff gave Tucker Foley detention for being on his phone. Again.

None of this was odd behavior, except it had happened the exact same way in her dream.

“C’mon Val, keep it together,” she whispered to herself. “This doesn’t mean anything. It could just be a crazy coincidence.”

The only thing in her dream that wasn’t common was the fight with Paulina. Paulina was often mean, but she had never come for her dad like that before. Valerie had always thought they had an understanding that Damon Gray, at the very least, was off-limits. If Paulina said the same things to her in seventh period English, then she’d know for sure something was up.

(She ignored the voice in her head that said that would be too late.)

So when English came around and Paulina couldn’t even look at her, she breathed a sigh of relief. As Lancer launched into his lecture, she glanced around the room. There was Paulina, staring at her desk, scribbling notes. Kwan, behind her, drumming his fingers on the desktop, humming something under his breath. Danny, behind him, head pillowed on his arms, not even pretending to pay attention. She smiled a little; maybe they hadn’t worked out, but he was still pretty cute when he was sleeping.

It happened like this: Danny gasped. She turned to the window to see something radiating green and fast approaching. Paulina screamed.

The world exploded again.

Loop 2

Valerie jolted awake.

—

Loop 0

"Oh my god, Valerie, do you have to be so dramatic? Now we're both in trouble."

Paulina dabbed the finishing touches of her foundation before snapping her compact mirror closed. Her cheekbone still throbbed where Valerie had gotten in one good punch before Fenton got in between them. It would probably bruise later, but Paulina was determined that no one but her would ever see it.

“Don’t say shit about my dad, then, and we won’t have a problem.”

Well, if Valerie would’ve ever reacted to the other things she said, then she wouldn’t have had to go after Mr. Gray. And besides—

“I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”

Valerie clenched her fist like she was going to hit her again. Paulina half-hoped she would, so that maybe she could come off as just the victim in this. She really didn’t want to deal with her papi if he found out about this little adventure to Principal Ishiyama’s office.

“My dad baked you brownies every year for your birthday, and you called him a fat loser to my face. You should've expected to get punched.”

"You and your dad's fall from grace isn't my fault. All I did was acknowledge it."

"Paulina, could you stop being an asshole for, like, five minutes?" There was Fenton, butting in again. For such a loser, he seemed to have a real problem minding his own business.

"I don't need you to fight my battles, Danny."

"I really just wish you wouldn't fight at al—"

Fenton gasped. She was conscious of something ripping her apart, then she was conscious of nothing at all.

Loop 1

Paulina screamed into awareness.

The numbers on her alarm clock read 7:15—15 minutes before she usually got up. One of her proudest achievements was when she perfected her 10 minute makeup routine, meaning she could get ready for the day with only 45 minutes before the first bell.

This was the first thought on her mind as she calmed her racing heart. Not whatever strange nightmare had woken her up, but that fact that it had robbed her now of her most precious, fought-for, extra 15 minutes of sleep.

She groaned aloud, flopping back in bed and squeezing her eyes shut, like she could go back to sleep through sheer force of will. After a minute, it became obvious that she was still too shaken to doze off again. She flipped off her alarm and, pushing herself to her feet, began her morning routine.

She showered. She ate breakfast—Honey Nut Cheerios, except they were almost out. She’d have to remind Alma to pick up more on her next trip to the store. She did her makeup, adding a little flare in her eyeliner and eyeshadow, since she had the extra time. She put on the outfit she’d laid out last night, careful not to smudge anything, got in her custom-made pink convertible, and left for school.

Later, Paulina would never quite admit how long it took her to notice anything was wrong. In her defense, her days had long since melted into a blur. She barely knew where one ended and the other began in a normal situation.

It wasn’t until Mikey slipped in the cafeteria that she caught on.

Mikey fell, often. But Tyson wasn’t usually the one who messed with him; this was something new. After he stole the sign and Mikey ate it, Paulina watched Tyson look directly at Dash, an odd little blush on his face as the other boy laughed.

Oh, Paulina thought, I’ve seen this before.

In her dream, she’d thought it weird that Tyson was trying so hard to get Dash’s attention when he could clearly do better. She noticed it because it wasn’t normal behavior. This wasn’t an everyday thing. For something like this to happen both in her dream and in her life was just… too weird.

She ran the events of her dream back through her head. Most of the day was the kind of unremarkable that she couldn’t remember for the life of her, except for right now and—

And the end. The fight with Valerie, Fenton intervening. 

Her dying.

Well, if it was some fucked-up prophecy, she just had to keep it from coming true, right? She instigated the fight with Valerie there in English. She was big enough to admit that that part was on her. So then all she had to do was keep her big mouth shut and her dream wouldn’t happen.

Easy-peasy.

She couldn’t quite keep her hands from shaking through the latter half of the day. Every second was too long and not long enough. When she finally walked through the door of Lancer’s classroom, she nearly fell into her seat.

“Are you okay?” Kwan whispered from behind her. She coughed out something like a laugh.

The bell saved her from having to give an actual answer as Lancer ushered them all into their seats to begin his lecture. Paulina stared at her desk the whole time, avoiding Valerie’s desk at all costs. She scribbled on a piece of paper just to have something to do with her hands.

And… nothing. Valerie said nothing to her. A quick peek behind her revealed Fenton sleeping at his desk (as always). The tap-tap-tap of Kwan’s fingers on the desk between them kept pace with her beating heart.

She dared for a moment to think it was safe.

Then Fenton gasped. A green light overtook the classroom. She screamed as the world exploded again.

Loop 2

Paulina screamed into awareness.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Do Us Part

Warnings: nonconsent and rape; oral, fingering, marital discord, cheating, spousal arguments and mental/emotional abuse, age gap (Peter is 24/25 and reader is 35/36)

This is dark!Peter Parker x 30s/’older’ reader and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You find it hard to accept that not all good things last as you face the changes in your marriage, yourself, and your marriage.

Note: I wanted to write Peter again but also I’ve seen this nonsense about how 30+ writers are too old for fanfic which is dumb af. And I wanted to turn the age gap trope a little so that it wasn’t the reader being the younger one in the relationship. I label it older reader but I don’t think being in your 30s is old tbh (my bf is 36 so pfft). It was all just a conglomeration of circumstances that inspired a deceivingly sweet dark Peter and I hope you like it. Also it’s 7.4k so a bit of a longer read.

Thank you. Love you guys!

Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

You walked slowly along the transparent shelves set into the pristine white walls of the cosmetics section. The department store was a haze of distant voices and the chirp of scanners as customers milled the aisles and waited their turn to check out. You whiled away your time looking at things you’d never buy as you waited for your husband to return from the men’s department.

You thought of the sparse make-up bag under your sink and the liners and shades you hadn’t used in years. They were likely expired and better tossed in the bin. You hovered along the crystal bottle of designer scents and stopped to test a particular blush-tinted fragrance.

You set the bottle back and peered over at the dark cubbies that housed the men’s scent. Even from there, you could catch a whiff of the heady scents as a younger man with reddish brown hair examined an angular vial of Dior Men. You suddenly felt out of place; a mid-thirties woman in her out-of-season clothes fantasizing about overpriced perfume.

Your husband's voice further cemented your reality as you fingered the golden cap of the Coach eau du parfum. Wesley rolled his eyes and flipped up the little plastic panel that hid the bold prices and huffed.

“I hope you don’t think I’m gonna pay for that shit,” he sneered, “what have you been doing? I was waiting for you.”

He waved a plastic bag as his lip curled and you pressed your mouth shut tightly and swallowed. The day began with another argument as he discovered the seared hole in his shirt and instead of blaming the crappy old dryer, he blamed you. Most of your clothes had been chewed up by the thing but you never complained.

“No, I was just… looking,” you teetered in your flats and glanced around. The young man at the corner display quickly turned to hide his nosy observation, “did you find some new shirts?”

“No thanks to you,” he sniffed.

“Oh,” you played with the hem of your tee and tucked your hands into your pockets nervously. You’d left him to look alone as you only seemed to irritate him and rarely took your advice on matters of clothing, “well, I thought I’d give you some space--”

“Stop acting so pathetic. Start taking responsibility for yourself. For god’s sake, you're almost thirty-six and you don’t know how to hang a shirt to dry?” He spun on his heel and snapped over his shoulder, “let’s go.”

You flinched but followed behind him as he strode away and you stumbled out behind him through the automatic doors. He tossed the bag into the back seat and slammed the door before flopping angrily into the driver’s side. You mirrored him daintily and squeezed your legs together as you tried to make yourself as small as you could.

“I told you about the dryer,” you said.

“And?” he started the engine and slapped his hand around the wheel, “call a fucking electrician or some shit.”

“Alright,” you shrugged as he stopped at the exit of the parking lot and checked his phone quickly.

“Benny wants to do a round of golf,” he peeled out and you grasped the door as your heart raced. You hated how reckless he was when he was angry. You hated how easily he got angry these days.

“Okay,” you picked at the fraying stitching of your purse.

“Don’t start moping,” he sneered, “I fucking work all week and I can’t go out and have a few rounds?”

“I never-- I didn’t say anything,” you murmured.

“You don’t need to,” he turned the wheel sharply as he cut off another car, “you sit at home all day and do what?”

“I work too,” you said.

“Uh huh, sure, if that’s what you call it.”

You ran your fingertip over the bleach stain on the knee of your jeans and said nothing. When he was in a mood, he would latch on anything until he outright exploded. You tried to think of when he changed, when he had stopped being the chill guy you met back in college. It felt like a slow trickle, small things you ignored until it was a mountain you could not see past.

You felt like crying but you’d stopped that a while ago. You existed in a purgatory of acceptance and helplessness. You wanted him to love you again, wanted to believe you could fix things. So you would keep trying. You would do better.

💍 

You picked out a large flank of steak and winced at the price. You had a special dinner in mind. It was Friday and the work week was done. You wanted a weekend without a fight and Wesley was always one for a nice big cut of beef. You hadn’t made him one in a while, your dinners were the usual repetitive drumsticks and rice or your homemade mac and cheese.

You continued onto the fish section and grabbed some salmon for yourself. You’d gained some weight and decided to cut out dairy and red meat if you could help it. The pile of produce in your cart reminded you of the extra jiggle around your stomach and thighs. You also grabbed one of those women’s magazines that advertised a regimen to help slim your figure. You only hoped you could stick to it this time.

With your weekly haul in tow, you wheeled up to the check-out and waited behind a young man who looked oddly familiar to you. Maybe that was the passing years. You always felt a vague glimmer of deja vu, more often a sense of forlorn nostalgia of what you would never have again.

As you stared thoughtlessly, he looked over and smiled. He bent in front of your cart and picked up a thin packet of seasoning. 

“You dropped this,” he said as he held it out and you thanked him before quickly snatching it and looking away. 

He paid for his large bags of chips and over salted pre-packaged meals and packed up at the end as you loaded up your own goods, the cashier sending them down the parallel belt. You swiped your card and tried to calculate the chunk of money from your last check. You thanked the clerk and sidled past the young man as he finished up.

You rounded the counter as he lifted his three bags. You looked up without thinking, the sleeve of his shirt tight around his bicep. You caught yourself staring and looked back down as you packed in the cans. 

It reminded you of Wesley; he’d also started being more mindful, he hit the gym after work and you noticed the little pudge that started just after he turned thirty was slimming out. It was that exact reason that made you notice the extra pounds on your own frame, not that you didn’t realise before.

The man left and you unfolded the little buggy you slid under the cart. You loaded your bags into it and dragged the cart behind you as you made an awkward exit with both wheeled trolleys. The compact fabric buggy was easy enough to fit on the bus if you stood.

You pushed the cart into the row of empty ones and continued across the parking lot. You rolled up to the bus shelter and checked the bus times on your phone. You dug out your strip of tickets and ripped one away. You leaned on the thin handle of your trolley and looked over your shoulder as you heard someone approach.

The man who checked out ahead of you put his bags on the metal bench inside the shelter as he sipped on a bright drink from the place just beside the grocery shop. He sent you a smile over his straw and you spun back to crane your head and search for the bus.

When the metal beast barreled up and cranked to a stop at the curb, the man waited behind you and as your wheels caught on the edge of the ramp, he reached around you and helped push it over the lip. You thanked him shyly and continued up. Usually you tried to keep the shop light on weekdays but you hadn’t really been paying attention.

You pushed your cart against the small barrier just behind the accessible seating and stood beside it, conscious not to take up too much space. The man stood just behind you two bags on one shoulder and the other dangling from the opposite elbow as he sucked on his straw. You grabbed the upright bar as the bus took off and watched the electronic banner for your stop.

A sharp stop had you veering back and you were caught by the young man as he chucked, “oop, you okay?”

“Yes, thank you,” you muttered and gave a sheepish smile over your shoulder.

“There’s a seat,” he gestured just behind you, “I’ll watch your stuff.”

“Um, no it’s… fine,” you gripped the bar tighter as the bus shuttled forward, “my stop is soon.”

You looked ahead of you and three stops passed before yours. You exited through the front with your buggy and headed down the sidewalk as the bus pulled away. You were exhausted just from your little sojourn and it wasn’t even two o’clock. God, you felt old.

💍

You had a salad chopped and tossed and the steak and fish laid out and seasoned. As you listened to your old Spotify list, the music dipped and the notification blipped over the screen. You washed your hands and grabbed the phone. You frowned as you read the lone message from Wesley, the only one you got from him all day.

‘Just finished at the gym, getting drinks with Andrew,’ you read and re-read the message as your heart fell.

You typed out a whole angry response and backspaced it all. You replaced it with ‘ok, have fun’ and blacked the screen. You shoved the meat back in the fridge and stretched saran wrap over the bowl of salad. You placed it on a lower shelf and closed the door, quickly swiping a can of the craft beer Wesley kept around.

You shut the light off in the kitchen and ignored the pang in your stomach as you cracked the can. You climbed the stairs as you sipped the hoppy foam. You put it on the night table and changed into the old butterfly pajamas you wore most nights and turned on the tv mounted against the wall. 

You turned on Netflix but hardly paid attention to the carelessly chosen movie. You sat against the headboard and down the bitter beer until the can was hollow and your eyelids were heavy. You slumped down so that your shoulders were at your ears and dozed off in the stiff position as the room moved with the colours of the television. 

The anger and alcohol shaded your shallow sleep and you hardly heard Wesley when he came in, only waking when your bladder was ready to burst and his snores rumbled in your head. You went to the bathroom and returned, wide awake, and stared at the shape of him in the dark.

You remembered when he used to kiss you when he came home, even when you were asleep, he’d wake you with the little pecks. You remembered when he was happy to come home. You remembered when you were happy. 

You swallowed the acrid aftertaste of beer and left him to snore. You went downstairs and curled up on the couch but didn’t sleep. You just stared at the shadows of the furniture until the sun rose.

💍

The next day, Wesley didn’t wake until after noon and when he did, he didn’t say a word to you. He took his coffee and sat at the patio table in the back as you stewed and cleaned the kitchen. You had nothing to say to him even if you felt stupid for being mad.

“Gotta head down to the dealership,” he said as he interrupted your scouring of the stove.

“The dealership?” you said after a moment, deciding whether or not to break your vow of silence.

“I told you on Wednesday, I’m picking up the car--”

“We talked about this. We should wait a little longer--”

“It’s my money and I got a great price,” he sighed, “just because you have to pinch your pennies--”

“We’re married,” you squeezed the foam sponge, “it’s our money. Don’t act like I don’t pay for anything around here.”

“Oh thanks, honey, so wonderful you paid for a five dollar steak,” he scoffed, “I’ll be impressed when you can make a mortgage payment on your own.”

“How dare you!” you turned your back to him and kept scrubbing, “fine, but not a penny of my money is going to that thing.”

“That’s fine, I’m selling the old one, that should cover most of it--”

“What?” you slammed your hand between the burner, “you said we would hold onto it so I had something to--”

“Then you can buy it from me,” he said venomously.

“I’m your wife,” you spun to scowl at him again, “I-- what is wrong with you?”

He tilted his head and squinted as he poked his tongue out along his lip. “Nothing wrong with me,” he shrugged, “what’s wrong with you?”

“Don’t--” you warned as you pointed a finger at him through the bright yellow gloves, “don’t do that… I’ve been trying and you just keep pushing me away.”

“Me pushing you away?” he rolled his eyes, “you were passed out last night when I got home. Maybe if you didn’t fall asleep before nine I could actually fuck you… or at least get it up if you worked on losing some of that cellulite on your ass.”

Your lip quivered and you sucked in a breath. You shook your head and turned around again. You ignored him as your hand shook and you continued your work, scratching at the dried-on food around the burner. His empty mug clinked onto the counter and you listened to his exit.

Fuck him and his new car. You were done trying with him.

💍

Wesley’s new car was shrouded in the shade of the garage as the old black Hyundai sat out on the driveway with a red and white “For Sale” sign on the windshield. Right after he got back from his extravagant purchase, he made the listing online and several perusers stopped by Saturday night but Sunday morning saw the car still there.

You sat by the border of stones around the garden as he drank beer in the garage and approached any interested buyers who appeared; although so far he’d only had two before noon.

You tucked your clippers into your apron pocket and dusted off your gloves as you stood. You were a little dizzy from sitting out in the sun and a glass of water was the perfect excuse to drown out the annoying sound of your husband’s voice.

You ignored Wesley as you trod through the garage and kicked your sneakers off on the mat right before the three steps up to the house. You went to the kitchen and put your gloves on the counter as you filled a glass from the dispenser on the front of the fridge. You’d given up everything but water and the slices of lemon were the only flavour you had.

You took the glass and your gloves and headed back. Wesley waited just at the bottom of the stairs as he glared up at you with arms crossed. You sighed and descended but he didn’t let you pass.

“What is your problem?”

“Are you really asking me that?” you hissed.

“You giving me the silent treatment isn’t gonna fix this,” he snarled.

“You know what you said so… I shouldn’t have to tell you to apologize,” you retorted and he stayed put.

“Is this about the car?”

“The car is just another thing,” you cross an arm around your stomach, “you think I couldn’t use it to get around, to get the groceries maybe? Or, I don’t know, maybe since you have such a problem with my home office, I could go out and get a ‘big girl’ job as you put it so many times--”

“Your mother has a car she never drives. You can just take her with you, two birds, one stone. I need to sell this to pay for the new one--”

“The one I begged you not to buy,” you huffed, “you could’ve waited a few more years until we were a little more comfortable--”

“Oh, wait? Until we have a kid and all my money goes to it,” he snapped, “yeah, I’m sure we’d have the money then--”

“You’d have to fuck to do that,” you stepped down the last step and pushed past him.

As you came into the sunlight and shielded your eyes, a figure stood by the garden, knelt just by your tulips as he felt the soft petals. You narrowed your eyes. You recognized him for sure. It was the stranger from the bus.

“Um, hi?” you croaked as you swallowed the lump in your throat.

“Hey, it’s… you again,” he chuckled softly as he stood, “I saw an ad for a car and… well, I’m getting tired of the bus.”

“Oh, uh, my husband,” you pointed over your shoulder, “you’ll have to talk to him.”

“Okay,” he smiled, “Peter,” he held out his hand and you stared at it. You introduced yourself and shook his firm grip.

“Like I said, it’s my husband selling the car,” you brushed by him and got to your knees by the flowerbed. “Unless you’re looking to buy some wilting pansies.”

“Hmm, I like the tulips better,” he said as he slowly inched away, “thanks.”

You sat back on your heels and he strode over to the open garage. You heard Wesley greet him and didn’t bother paying attention to the same pitch you’d heard all morning. You pulled on your gloves and wiggled your nose as it tingled. You really just wanted to keel over and bawl.

“Sold,” Wesley announced and you heard a clap, “all yours!”

“I’ll just transfer the deposit,” Peter said and a minute passed before he emerged again, the keys hanging from his finger, “Thanks, Wes.”

You hid your distaste. It used to be that Wesley hated being called ‘Wes’ but lately, he introduced himself to everyone as just ‘Wes’. He really had changed. You must have too.

“Hey,” you looked up and blinked as the sun made your eyes water as it shone around Peter.

“You bought it?” you asked as you yanked free a weed.

“Yep, but uh,” he glanced over his shoulder as the old car stereo Wesley used blared out a classic rock tune, “I… wasn’t eavesdropping but I heard some of it and… if you ever need a ride to the grocery store, I usually try for Wednesdays,” he tucked his hand in his pocket, “I don’t live too far and since we go to the same one--”

“No, no, you don’t have to do that,” you looked back to the soil, embarrassed.

“Well, if you change your mind,” he kept the keys dangling from one finger and reached into his pocket. He pulled out his wallet and slid out a card with some effort, “I’m supposed to have these handy but I never really use them.”

He offered the business card and you read his name above the title, ‘senior photographer’. You gave a half-hearted smile and put it in your apron pocket.

“Thanks,” you said, “I can manage.”

“You don’t have to though,” he said kindly, “but I’ll, uh, leave you to your gardening. Sorry if I bugged you.”

“You didn’t,” you assured without looking up, flattered that anyone cared enough to even offer help.

“Hey, Pete,” Wesley stopped Peter as he neared the car, “you can have one before you go.”

“Oh, no, I’m gonna be driving,” Peter argued.

“Pfft, it’s a celebration and one won’t put you over the limit,” Wesley insisted and handed him a dark bottle of craft brew, “come on.”

“I really should go--”

“It’s a Sunday, where do you need to be?” Wesley patted his shoulder and looked over at you, “hey, honey, you wanna see if we have any snacks for our guest?”

“I’m not hungry,” Peter said curtly, “really. Just the beer is fine.”

They disappeared back into the garage and you cringed. You hated that. Wesley only every acted like a husband when others were around.

💍

You waited a whole week before returning to the grocery store. You were short on everything and it was a reason to get out of the house. Your husband had made both your home and your workplace hostile.

It irked you that Wesley resented you working from home when a couple years ago he was so happy about it. Then, he’d been so enthusiastic about starting a family but when it didn’t happen right away, he grew disillusioned and bitter. Now, he seemed to have no interest in being a husband let alone a father.

As you packed up your spinach and bottles of Perrier, your cart rolled just a little as someone nudged it from the other end. You raised your head and hid your surprise and discomfort as Peter smiled back at you.

“I thought you said Wednesdays,” you murmured as you dropped a bag in your cart.

“I forgot eggs,” he held up the carton, “I guess I have good timing.”

“You do?” you asked as you pulled your cart forward and maneuvered around to push it out of the way of fellow shoppers. You bent to grab your trolley from beneath and he caught it as you unfolded it.

“I’ll drive you,” he said.

“I told you--”

“I’m here so why not? Save the ticket for next time,” he urged.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why does it matter? Why do I matter to you?” you asked.

“I don’t know, I… like helping people,” he shrugged, “what if I told you you were helping me? I have this horrible need to be the hero.”

“That will go away,” you muttered under your breath and he lifted a brow, “sorry, I… thank you.”

“Alright, let’s go then,” he collapsed the trolley and carried it easily under his arm as he cradled his eggs in the other, “I got the A/C fixed on the car too.”

“Mmm,” you hummed and walked with him out of the store. 

You crossed the parking lot and helped you load up the bags in the trunk. That car should have been yours; you’d made enough payments on it yourself but Wesley was such a stubborn ass.

You sat in the front seat as he slid into the other and started the car. He drove cautiously through the lot and you read the store signs as he came to the exit.

“How long have you and… the old man been together?”

“Um,” you glanced over at him and chewed your lip, “since college so… almost fifteen years now.”

“Fifteen?” he turned out onto the street, “really? I thought he was older than you.”

“Christ,” you scoffed, “don’t flatter me.”

“Really, I woulda said twenty-eight at most,” he said coolly, “wow, I feel so young now.”

“And I feel so old,” you grumbled as you crossed your legs, hoping he didn’t notice the wrinkle in the pink capris.

“Whatever, you’re not even forty,” he said, “and time has treated you well so I can only think in a few years… oh jeez, sorry, that came off weirder than I intended. Not that I meant for it to be weird at all--”

You giggled at his rambling as he rolled to a stop at the sign and peeked over at you in the rearview. You caught his eye and quickly looked away, “what?”

“Just… you have a nice smile,” he said as he turned down a side street, “and a nice laugh.”

“Thank you,” your voice was brittle at the genuine compliment, “you’re funny.”

“Am I? I wasn’t trying to be,” he took the same short cut you took when you walked home from the convenience store which was closer than the plaza.

“And nice,” you said as he came onto your street, “you really didn’t have to drive me. You could’ve dropped me at the corner--”

“No way, I was raised better than that, and if you think I’m letting you carry that all in by yourself--”

“Raised to help little old ladies?” you mused.

“Raised to treat ladies properly,” he corrected, “especially pretty ones.”

“I’m married,” your heart pattered as you dared to flirt back, almost in disbelief that he was humouring you, “and your lies don’t work on me, young man.”

“Not that young,” he insisted as he pulled into the driveway.

You got out and went around to the trunk. He handed you the bag with the bread and other light products, and loaded up with the other bags.

“You get the doors, let me do the heavy work,” he said and nodded you towards the house.

You went ahead of him and unlocked the door. You let him inside and pointed him into the kitchen. He placed the bags on the counter and stretched his arms and hands as you set yours on the other side. The muscles of his arms moved under his skin and you could trace the lines of his torso through his grey tee.

“So,” he took out the bottle of Perrier, “this going in the fridge?”

“What-- you’ve done enough.”

“Fridge?” he ignored you and pulled out the other.

You gave a long blink and threw up your hands in surrender, “yes, please,” you came around and reached in to grab the whole grain buns, “bottom shelf.”

You finished unpacking your groceries and took the empty bags from Peter and shoved them under the counter. You stood and looked at him nervously as he watched you, his fingers tapping on the granite.

“Do you want a snack? Something to drink? Water?”

“I’ll have a water,” he said and moved to leaned his elbow on the countertop, his side snug to the edge.

“Sparkling or--”

“Regular’s fine,” he answered

“Ice? Lemon?” you pulled out a tall glass.

“Just ice is fine… then I’ll be out of your hair,” he said.

Ice clinked into the glass and you covered it with the distilled water from the fridge. You slid it onto the counter and stepped back.

“Oh, I… actually, it’s a good thing I ran into you,” he said and took a sip, “my aunt, she likes to garden too but she got some bulbs she’s not gonna use, I thought maybe… maybe you would like some to fill in the holes?”

“What kind?” you asked.

“Some daffodils and some crocuses, I think,” he said, “I could bring them over next week after work?”

“That sounds like a lot of work,” you scrunched your lips, “you could probably just give them to a neighbour.”

“It’s not out of the way,” he said, “you want them?”

You stared at him and thought. He was nice. Too nice.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing, I… I’m sure you have a girlfriend you could be spending time with--”

“I don’t. Not anymore,” he interrupted.

“Oh, sorry,” you said, “I didn’t--”

“Like I said, I always wanna be the good guy,” he finished his water and the last of the cubes settled at the bottom, “thanks.”

“No, thank you,” you said as he set his glass in the sink and backed away, “really, you made my day so much easier.”

“I hope your weekend is better,” he said, “but…”

He didn’t finished and you folded your hands together as he hesitated by the hallway.

“But what?” you prodded.

“Nothing,” he shook his head, “nothing. I should go.”

“Okay,” you rubbed the back of your neck, “see ya.”

“Monday,” he confirmed as he turned to the doorframe, “I’ll bring the bulbs. Just after seven.”

“Right,” you slanted your lips and watched him go.

The door marked his departure and you turned to exhale and lean against the counter. You could still smell his rich cologne. Then you felt guilty. It was stupid to think he was doing anything more than being nice, that the flirting was anything but a joke, but still, you missed feeling that way and it should’ve been Wesley making you feel that.

💍

You squeezed the phone as you clenched your jaw so tight it hurt. Your eyes were wet and finally the tears were ready to start falling. The smell of steak filled the kitchen, another meal you wouldn’t eat. At the last minute, Wesley texted to tell you he was hitting the gym. Again. He was already late after a long meeting but promised he’d be home to eat.

So you waited for him to answer your furious phone call but got his voicemail instead. Your eyes narrowed at the bottle of wine and your chest knotted as the tone sounded.

“Wesley, this is it. I can’t do this anymore! I’m your wife. Do you even want to be with me? I can’t go on like this and now you won’t even answer my calls,” you snarled. You knew he had his phone on him as he no doubt had his Spotify work-out list on shuffle, “when you come home, you can sleep on the couch.”

You hung up and grabbed a stemmed glass from the cupboard. You filled it to the brim with Pinot Grigio but before you could taste it, the doorbell made you jump. You set down the glass and walked up the hallway. Just on the other side of the frosted glass was a silhouette. You opened the door and touched your forehead as you faced Peter.

“I totally forgot you were coming,” you breathed, “I’m so sorry. But thank you, you really didn’t have to--”

“Are you okay?” he asked as the paper bag in his hand crinkled.

“Yeah, I’m fine, I… thank you for the flowers,” you looked at the brown paper bag and he handed it over, another bag on his wrist; white with ribbon handles, “what’s that? You headed out for a date?”

“Um, no,” he said, “actually, I was just…” he pushed his fingers through his hairs, the reddish brown locks slightly curled with sweat, “I wanted to talk to you.” He looked past you and his warm eyes returned to yours, “Wesley isn’t home yet?”

“No, he won’t be for a while,” you backed up, “so you might as well come in. I have a steak no one’s gonna eat.”

“Yeah, he wouldn’t be,” Peter said glumly, “and steak sounds good.”

He closed the door behind him and followed you into the kitchen. You put the bulbs at the back of the counter and grabbed the bottle, “wine?”

“No thank you,” he said.

You plunked down the bottle and took a gulp of your wine before you turned to plate the steak and your chicken breast alongside the fried asparagus and roasted potatoes. You set the filet before him as he sat on the stool and climbed up across from him at the long island.

“Thank you,” he watched you slide a steak knife and fork towards him and his gaze lingered on your lips as you took another thirsty mouthful, “this is for you, actually.”

He pushed the white bag over to you and you smelled the subtle floral scent rising from it. You put your glass down and pushed open the top of the bag and peeked inside. You shook your head and rescinded your hand as if you were slapped. It was the same perfume from that day weeks ago.

“You… how?”

“You don’t remember?” he asked.

You thought back on the day you wanted to forget. He was the other shopper in the perfume section, the one who sent you that sympathetic look as Wesley reproached you. You winced and grabbed your utensils. You cut into the chicken and shoved it in your mouth. You swallowed loudly.

“Take it back,” you sniffed, “I don’t want it. I don’t deserve it.”

“You do. He doesn’t deserve you,” he carefully sliced into the medium rare steak.

“Is that what this is? Some perverted joke? A challenge?” you dropped your fork and knife, “you think you can seduce the sad housewife and then laugh at it? Sow your wild oats?”

“No, it’s nothing like that,” he calmly put down the silverware, “I… what I didn’t say when I showed up is I just came from the gym.”

You frowned in confusion and wrinkled your nose. You took another drink of wine as you tried to understand.

“I saw Wesley,” he said as he leaned on his elbow and pulled out his phone with his other hand, “I didn’t wanna say anything but… you’re here beating yourself up over him and-- just look.”

He slid his phone across the counter and you looked at the screen. Your entire body felt heavy and your veins filled with ice. You dropped your head into your hands as you tried to wipe the sight from your eyes; the image of your husband groping a woman in yoga pants, an act she wasn’t deterring.

“I knew it,” you sobbed as the tears burst forth and leaked down your palms, “I knew it. And why wouldn’t he? I’m old, ugly--” you sniffed and pulled your hands away to wipe them on your pants. Peter held out a paper towel and you took it as you avoided his eyes, “thank you but I think you should go. I’m humiliated enough.”

“You shouldn’t be alone,” he said as he climbed down from the stool and rounded the island, “he’s an asshole. He’s blind.”

“Please, Peter, just leave me alone,” you slid off the stool and he caught your shoulders. You looked up at him as you dabbed away the streaks of sadness with the paper towel, “Peter--”

“I’m not leaving,” he said firmly, “he’s out there having his fun, so why don’t you have some of your own?”

“Peter, that’s-- that’s wrong. I’m too old for you. And… I’m fat and--”

“You’re perfect,” he reached up to frame your chin with his hand, “you’re gorgeous,” his other hand trailed down your arm and to your hip, “that’s the first thing I noticed about you…” he pulled you closer and tapped your ass lightly.

“No, I can’t-- I just want to be alone,” you pushed on his arms and felt the thick biceps as he flexed and kept you close.

“Well, baby, what I want,” he turned you so that you were pinned between him and the island, “is for you to put on that perfume… I want you wearing nothing but that.”

“Peter,” you pushed on his chest that time and the hard muscle wall didn’t budge, “Peter, go--”

“Baby,” he bent and scooped you up suddenly. 

His hands spread over your ass as he lifted you and crushed his lips against yours. You murmured in surprise and he placed you on the granite countertop. He parted from your lips as you sat up and he shoved your legs apart, inserting himself between your knees. He played with the bottom of the dress you’d worn in hopes of rekindling your dying marriage.

“We can go slow,” he tickled along your thighs and pulled back suddenly, “just a little at a time.” 

He leaned in as he reached around you and grabbed the small white bag. He pulled out the perfume and snaked his hand around your neck. He pulled you to bend over him and he kissed your neck just before he sprayed a puff of perfume across your throat. He stood back and took a deep breath. He put the bottle on the counter and his hands went back to your skirt.

“Peter,” you caught his hands as they crept under the fabric, “please.”

You tried to slide forward and he stopped you as he grasped your hips and held you in place. He bit his lip as his eyes glimmered up at you. He drew a hand away and took the glass of wine and held it before your mouth.

“Drink, relax,” he cooed, “forget about him.”

You stared at him and he brought your hand up with his and wrapped it around the full body of the glass. He nudged it to your lips and watched you until you drank from the crystal rim. He smirked and lifted your skirt as he bent to bury his head beneath the folds.

You gulped and choked on the wine as your skirt fluttered down over his shoulders. You felt his finger on the lace trim of your panties and winced. He squeezed your thighs with his other hand and nuzzled the crotch of your underwear. You tried to close your legs but he kept them apart easily.

He curled his fingers under the elastic of your panties and tugged. He pulled until you lifted your ass just enough for him to get them free and he guided them down your legs before quickly parting them again.

You set down the glass and almost overturned it, the last mouthful splashing up the side. You pressed your hands to the granite and peered down at the shape of his head beneath your skirt. You gasped as his cool tongue grazed your warm folds and delved deeper.

“Peter…” you wisped and closed your eyes as you tried to hide from your own shame.

He purred as his tongue flicked over your clit and you twitched. He caressed the crease of your thigh with his fingers as he lapped at your, his other hand pressed against your stomach until you fell back across the counter. You arched your back instinctively and his hand cupped your tit through your dress.

He blindly pulled until your chest slipped out and pushed the cup of your bra as he teased your clit with his tongue. He felt along your cunt with his fingers and shoved his index inside of you. You moaned as he pushed another inside and curled them as he suckled on your bud.

Your core burned to life. Your entire being was set alight after months without affection. You quivered in delight and fear. Your nerves stormed both out of guilt and hunger. It felt so good but you knew it was wrong. The scent of the perfume filled your nose as your skin grew hot.

He moved his hand in time with his mouth as he doted on you. His touch intensified as your legs bent around the side of the island and your fingernails dragged along the granite, your voice rising without thought. He pinched your nipple and you cried out as you came in a wave of sheer pleasure and grabbed his wrist as you tried to steady yourself.

He eased off slowly as you trembled in the afterglow, his lingering touch tickled along your legs as he pushed your dress up. He pulled you to sit up and lifted the fabric over your head and ripped your sleeves free from your arms. He tossed as side the garment and swiftly covered your mouth with his so you tasted your own arousal on his tongue.

He unhooked your bra blindly and slid it off your arms. You were intensely aware of your nakedness and as you brought your arms up to cover yourself, he forced them down and ran his hands over your bare torso. 

“Beautiful,” he said as he laid a trail of gentle pecks along your throat and chest, pausing to take a nipple in his mouth as he rolled the other between his fingers and sent a shiver through you.

He kneaded your sides and hips, his fingers danced along your thighs and he followed the path with his mouth, kissing and nipping your flesh. He lifted his head again as he took your hands and twined his fingers through yours. He tugged you gently until you slid off the counter and landed on your feet shakily.

“Baby, you’re so amazing,” he placed your hands on his chest and pushed them down his muscled torso and brought them back up beneath his tee shirt, “go on.”

He let you go and you continued to roll up his tee. He dipped his head and raised his arms to help you and you clung to the tee as it fell limp in your grasp. Dazed, he snatched the shirt from your hands and flung it. He once more pressed your hands to his chest and guided you in feeling the lines of his toned flesh.

He pushed your hands against the top of his jeans and leaned into you. He kissed your temple and whispered along your hairline, “turn around, baby.” He squeezed your ass and purred, “mmmm, please, I wanna see that ass.”

You blinked, dazed, and spun slowly. You caught yourself on the edge of the counter as your legs trembled and you heard the subtle zip. He kicked his foot between yours and pushed your legs apart as he led you back so that you were slightly bent against the island. He ran his nails down your back and gripped your hip with one hand as his other drew away from your skin.

You flinched as you felt his smooth tip against your ass and he rubbed it between your cheeks. You inhaled and held in your breath as his hold on your tightened and he angled his dick under your ass and grazed your cunt. He poked your entrance and pressed his chest to your back as his hand covered yours on the granite.

He slid into you and your voice fizzled in the air as he forced the air from your lungs. You pushed your head back and it met his shoulder as his other hand crawled down your front. He spread your folds with his fingers and swirled another around your clit as he tilted his hips and thrust into you slowly.

“Ah, Peter,” you slapped the counter and he shushed you as his hand left yours cold and his fingers stretched over your throat.

His motion picked up as the noise of him crashing into you echoed around the kitchen. Your eyes rolled back as he rammed into you even harder. You were on tiptoes as he was driven by the weak moans that leaked from your lips and your wet pleasure squelched around him. He pressed two fingers to your bud and rubbed until you squeaked and your thighs quaked around him.

“That’s it, baby,” he growled, “I bet you never cum like that for him.”

You whined and he sped up again. He pinned you against the counter so that the lip pressed into your stomach. He took his hand from your cunt and pushed your head down as he kept his other hand around your neck. He didn’t waver once as he fucked you.

“Touch yourself, baby,” he commanded, “I want you to cum again for me. I know you want to too.”

His thick breath warmed the air and grazed your back as he held you down and his hold on your neck tightened until silver stars rose in your vision. Your feet dangled against the tile and you reached down to play with your clit as it buzzed. It was only seconds before you were murmuring in ecstasy once more.

“Fuck, baby, can you feel that? The way your clinging to me,” he puffed as he slammed into you over and over, “he can hardly fill you, can he? Hmmm? Little man.”

You wheezed as he choked you and his other hand kept your head pinned. You heard a distant creak but could barely do more than keep your fingers moving as your heartbeat deafened you. You came again and croaked as your cunt squeezed him hungrily.

“What the fuck?” the voice broke your lusty trance and suddenly you were pulled away from the counter.

Your head lulled as Peter held it up and turned you around, his pelvis slapping against your ass as you faced your husband. Your mouth hung open as your blurred vision barely registered the scene and the deep grunts only got louder behind you.

“Look who’s here,” Peter rasped as he snaked his arm around you.

“The fuck are you doing?” Wesley sneered as your eyes closed and your ass rang with each thrust.

“What you can’t,” Peter snickered, “doesn’t she look so happy?” He grasped your chin and pushed his fingers into your mouth as he held your head up, “well, you into watching or you gonna let us finish, old man?”

[pianostarinwonderland]

You know how Silver told MC he thought he met them before and how he sometimes dreams about them? Do you think it's possible Yuu might've been from Twisted Wonderland originally and has some connection to Diasomnia? Sorry if this sounds confusing, but this has been nagging at me for awhile

Oh anon, I have a lot of thoughts about that.

In case people may not know, Silver’s advertisement line during pre-release was around the lines of “I feel like I’ve seen you before”, and it has piqued the interest of fans since then, myself included.

Personally, I don’t think Yuu themselves was originally from Twisted Wonderland, but rather, I have different thoughts on the matter.

First one is the idea of time loops. I have a whole theory on that if you’re interested, but you don’t necessarily have to read it to be able to understand what I’m talking about in this post.

With time loops, obviously people won’t remember the events of the previous timeline. Probably they may have a sense of deja vu, but otherwise, they won’t have any recollection of what happened. Silver, however, is an interesting case.

Silver could have been affected by the time loops which is manifested in his sleepiness, and in his sleep, he could be possibly dreaming about previous timelines.

The idea is that the story we are reading now is another timeline, and Silver is possibly seeing the previous timeline through his dreams where Yuu was already in Twisted Wonderland and the events played out the same, only for OB Grim to wreck everyone and everything.

Another idea I’ve had is pretty much the same, except instead of a past timeline, Silver pulls an Old Testament Joseph and dreams about the future. In those prophetic dreams, Silver sees Yuu enter Twisted Wonderland and go through the school year dealing with classes and the occasional overblot.

What would be interesting to see is if Silver’s dreams reveal exactly how Yuu got into Twisted Wonderland. And I don’t mean the carriage ride, I mean if Yuu got in because someone (*cough*Crowley*cough*) brought us in or if it was a total accident.

This third idea is basically Silver is just like Yuu. Possibly, he may have the same dreams of the past that shed light on what role the Great Seven played.

If you think about it, Silver is twisted from something that probably played the most protagonistic role. Sure, he’s twisted from the sword, but that sword was wielded by Prince Philip and was used to slay Maleficent. He also bears a strong connection to Aurora, who is the protagonist of Sleeping Beauty. As for the other two characters who have been twisted from not-so villainous characters, Kalim and Rook, their original counterparts did not play major roles in their stories. Where am I going with this exactly? Because Silver was twisted from a protagonist, it’s very likely he could have the same dreams as Yuu due to that heroic quality he holds.

It’s possible that, in those dreams, Silver could have seen someone who bore similarity to Yuu. Maybe Yuu looked like Prince Philip? 😂 Well that’s an idea.

Or, Silver and Yuu have shared the same dreams all this time, and probably Silver has seen Yuu as he dreamt about all the Great Seven, but they were vague enough that he isn’t sure. Yuu probably didn’t see Silver because they were too focused on the main scene that happened in their dreams, but Silver could have seen them.

I really hope that Diasomnia’s chapter sheds light on this. 😩😩😩 Silver is one of my favorite characters and I want to see him shine. And who knows, maybe if he does get dreams, they could have the power to influence the plot of the story?

[fairymadnessyeah]

Clone High

I rewatched Clone High today, after finishing a fic, and it gave me an idea for a second season, or a reboot season, if it ever happens. Warning: this will have JoanFK shipping in it.

So, in this season, everything is almost the same as the first one. The names of the episodes and what they are about, is all basically the same, except: all the students have a weird sense of deja vu. For example: when the students talk about something that happened last year, they get confused, and they all remember something cold, but they can’t put their finger on it. Mostly they shrug it off. However, feelings don’t disappear, so... Abe is a little more aware of Joan, Cleo wants Abe more, Joan is more hopeless about Abe and developing a weird crush on Kennedy, and JFK the same.

So...

Episode 1

Things go pretty much the same.

The hotline happens, JFK’s ultimatum, and Abe wanting to get Cleo.

But this time, Abe get real alcohol. He vaguely remembers failing to do so before, so he somehow gets real alcohol.

The party goes pretty much the same, and Joan tells Cleo to get with Abe.

But this time, when JFK offers her a drink, she accepts it with the idea to forget this night. She gets a bit tipsy though, and ends up making out with JFK.

The police come, but they take Abe and Gandhi. Joan was nowhere to be seen, since she was making out with JFK at the moment.

Principal Scudworth and Mr. Butlertron crash the party, but only to see what effect would the alcohol make in the clones. 

The fact that the clones lost a year is supposed to be a mystery.

Episode 2

This episode is almost the same.

Except that when Abe takes the sponsor, the brand goes: “Didn’t that kid look familiar? I feel like I have seen him before...”

Joan still goes to JFK, and he is more like: “I uh see you are back for more,”

The episode still continues the same, but at the end, Joan and JFK are seen talking.

“We will never speak about what happend at your party ever again,”

“Why uh not?”

“Because it’s never going to happen again,”

Next scene, both of them come out of a the school with their hair and clothes messed up, and lipstick all over their mouths.

Episode 3

The episode goes the same, but Joan doesn’t end like a speaker.

She instead goes to the Grassy Knol to sorrow in her embarrassment.

Marie Antoinette helps her a little. She tells her that she isn’t confused about her future or her past, but she is confused about her present. 

Also, Scudworth is there to see what the clones remember from the past year. He is happy to find out they don’t remember much.

Episode 4

So, the school film festival, and pretty much is all the same.

Except, Joan’s entry is about her confusion between JFK and Abe.

Lincoln doesn’t get it, but Kennedy does.

Joan, who is tired of Abe’s bullshit, enters a friends with benefits agreements with JFK. He can still be a player, and acts as her stress reliever, or rebound fuck.

Also, Scudworth gets visited by some ministers. They were in charge of the secret board of shadowy figures. They haven’t heard from them in a while, and they are suspicious. Butlertron saves the day, again.

Episode 5

The PJXTs come around and things go like the Episode did.

Except for a moment a moment in which JFK calls Joan ‘Dolphin Tat’. 

Episode 6

So, Joan’s learns about the team not allowing girls or animals on the team by JFK, on one of their meetings. 

She still dotes her incredible disguise, and Cleo still hits on her.

The episode finishes with JFK realizing he is not into guys, he is simply into Joan. He likes her.

Episode 7

Again, the episode goes like the original. But at the end, we see Joan go back to JFK for comfort.

Episode 8

Joan becomes homeless, and moves in with Cleo. They don’t get along, but it’s not as bad, because Joan is moving on from Abe.

Cleo does find out about them, when Joan sneaks out and comes back smelling like JFK’s perfume. She plans on telling the whole school, and things get ugly.

They start fighting, until Joan threatens to publish Cleo’s puberty pictures on the school’s newspaper. They kind of form a truce.

Meanwhile, JFK and Gandhi also fight. Gandhi wants to go spy on the girls, but JFK stops him. Only he get to stare at Joan in a girl on girl action.

Episode 9

This is the episode that completely changes. Not because I don’t like the episode, but because I love it too much to change it.

The episode is still a musical.

Fritz Habers clone (the inventor of the mustard gas) gave out cards that had a mysterius dust in it. It was supposed to be a prank, with the dust making them stink, but something else happened.

The people who opened the cards, started acting like love-sick fools. A few were saved. Gandhi, cause Fritz thinks he already smelled bad. Abe, cause his neck is too long and he didn’t get to smell it. And Cleo, cause Fritz thought he might get with her, if he was the only good smelling dude.

The dust works as a watered-down sex-pollen. It might make you horny, but not to the extent of stripping in the middle of a crowd to have sex. And it makes you blind to everything else but that person.

The first song is the group seeing the student under the dust for the first time. Thing of ‘What’s this?’ from Nightmare Before Christmas, but with love themes. 

What’s this? What’s this? There’s smooshing everywhere.

Fritz finds the group that hadn’t been contaminated, and he explains what happened. They search for a way to create an antidote, and they find a journal that might have the answer, but it’s in french.

They start looking for Joan, who Abe knows hasn’t opened the letter yet. Here come the second song. It’s a version of ‘If you seek Amy’ by Britney Spears.

Oh, oh; Tell me, have you seen her?; Cause we, oh, oh; Don’t know how to speak French!

By the end of the song they find her, she is opening the card. There is a whole slow-motion montage as the dust hits her and the others go: NOOO.

Joan blinks for a few seconds, then looks back at the group, and the next song comes. It’s ‘Girlfriend’ by Avril Lavigne, but instead of saying Girlfriend, it says GirlfriendS. And for a while, they think she is singing it to Abe. But when she is in front of him, she pushes Abe aside, and runs to JFK that was behind them.

I also like to think that the rest of the people around are dancing and doing the chorus every time there is a song.

We cut to Principal Scrubworth, who is looking at all of this from his office. He also sings a song, ‘Crazy=Genius’ by P!ATD. 

While he sings, he dances around his matchines.

Then we go back to the crew who are at the Grassy Knol sad, while the other are all around being happy. Then, Marie Antoinette comes and translates the journal.

The next day, the students come into the school. The last song happens, it’s ‘Walking on sunshine’ by Katrina & the Waves. By the end of the song, the fire alarm goes off, and the sprinkles wet everybody with the antidote.

When they snap out of it, Joan and JFK are embracing. She notices how everybody is staring, and decks him, before leaving.

They break off their arrangement, bc everybody knows now.

Also, Fritz is taken to the frezzer by Principal Scrubworth.

Episode 10

We see Ponce trying to cheer up JFK since Joan rejected him, but he still dies.

I would find it funny if this is a recurring joke. That ponce dies every season, and after a while it becomes a thing of, ‘has he died yet? this is the longest he’s gone- oh no, forget it, he died,’

JFK mourns him. Joan has been avoidig him since the dust incident, so he goes to the other perso he once had for comfort, Cleo.

Abe is mad. He is more annoyed at JFK in here, bc he thinks that he took advantage of Joan. He is actually jealous.

The episode continues the same way, except for the end.

When Abe goes to console him, Joan is already there. He starts feeling something in hid chest.

Episode 11

So, Snowflake day comes. Joan doen’t like the holiday, and Abe needs to get an expensive gift for Cleo.

JFK tries to show Joan how good Snowflake day is, and they go all around town doing things.

JFK is trying to win her over, but Joan is still confused. She likes Kennedy, but she also likes Abe.

She understands the meaning of Snowflake day by the end of the episode, with the help of a trashy celebrity. Maybe a Kardashian?

And she also gets a gift from JFK that he made himself. Since she doesn’t like the consumerism of the holiday.

Abe, on that regard, instead of buying Cleo an expensive gift, he buys her a gift with some extra cash he had. The rest of his money went to buy an expensive gift for Joan. He saw it and thought of her.

It’s nice, but Joan likes JFK’s gift more. Cleo is pissed.

Episode 12

Abe is in thin ice. He has to do an extraordinary promposal to Cleo, but he can’t stop thinking about how Joan has nobody to go with.

The only one who asked her was JFK, and she is thinking about accepting.

He tries to help her get a date for prom, one that isn’t Kennedy.

They go through multiple makeovers, but in the end, Cleo takes matters into her own hands.

If she gets Joan to go with somebody else, then she gets her promposal from Abe and she wins. 

She gives her the same makeover from before, and asks Napoleon to take her.

When Abe sees her, he realizes he might have feelings for her. But she is with Napoleon, so he respects that, It’s better than JFK.

Episode 13

Abe makes his Promposal, and Cleo accepts.

JFK tries to asks Joan again, but before he can, Napoleon interrupts.

They go to prom, and Joan is clearly not having a good time. She isn’t acting like a giggly vapid slut in here, but it’s clear she is not happy.

JFK sees her sad, so he goes to talk to her. She tells him that she misses him, and that she would have accepted his invitation.

Abe sees them talking and tries to stop it, but Cloe jumps him, promising sex.

He leaves with her, but the only thing he can see is Joan.

Meanwhile, Joan got rid of her makeover, and is talking with JFK. He compliments her, telling her he doesn’t need a makeover, and the two kiss.

They agree to be boyfriend and girlfriend, and they go to dance.

Abe come looking for her sees them, but becomes dramatic, and gives a speech about locking himself in the frezzer, to forget all about this.

When he goes to do that, however, he unfrezzes the secret board of shadowy figures.

The season ends there