#i need to hole up and forget the rest of humanity exists for a few hours

[mecharose]

the tweaking to social obligations graph is so. the same straight line upward

[obae-me]

A Taste of His Own Medicine- Simeon

Guess who's back, back again, back with sick-fic posts again! Sorry that it's taken me a god-awful amount of time to post an update after my little teaser. Life often has a way of trying to ruin things, but I'll be damned if I don't manage to claw my way out of the depths to finish my works one inching crawl at a time! Anyways, I pray that this was worth the wait! Please, enjoy!

Peace. These last few days, the whole of the Devildom seemed to be experiencing a lull of sorts. Curses, vengeful items, creatures from another world, monsters, mania, and overall magical mayhem felt as if they were in hibernation. Or at least giving you a wide berth. Or perhaps the brothers were repaying your sympathies, beating back problems with several well-intentioned sticks. A much needed break in your opinion. The stars shone brighter, and you had never slept deeper. It was quite like being on vacation despite you still spending most of your time holed up in the House of Lamentation. Even the brothers appeared to be quarreling less than usual. You’d even be tempted to say they were getting along. Yes…there was nothing exactly like this feeling of peace. You continued to rub the towel against the back of your head and neck as you moved down the hall, feeling nice and refreshed after a calming shower. It was rather late into the evening. Dinner was over with and everyone in the House had mostly moved into their respective rooms to get ready for the night. The last week or so had been so normal and blissful, you had completely forgotten about the several ‘events that shall-not-be-named’; a cheap title coined by the brothers to stave off embarrassment. One which you gladly accepted to avoid the risk of superstitiously summoning more incidents. There was something about fine health that you had forgotten to feel grateful for. In fact, you were quite excited to have another moment where you could just jump straight into bed, kick back, and enjoy the silence of the night.

So, with a gentle push of your door, you waltzed happily inside your room.

“Ah, there you are.”

The random sound of another voice had your muscles all jolt. You clutched at non-existent pearls (the towel would have to serve as ample replacement) as you caught your breath. A white head of hair and a small blond one. Two members of a home different than yours. Not exactly undesirable faces, but definitely unexpected ones. They both were sitting on your bed, feeling right at home as they set up a movie on your television, already in pajamas. As you raised an eyebrow, your eyes wandered down to two packed day-bags.

“I… Welcome?” There was clear confusion in your voice as you addressed them. Not to be rude or anything, but this was…your room as so many people seemed to forget. Maybe you should look into getting a plaque for your door… Plus, it wasn’t quite like these two to just show up unannounced. Solomon maybe, but Luke? Did they forget to invite you to a sleepover? A late-night tea party perhaps? The other human was hard at work getting himself settled and relaxed. On the other hand, the angel was avoiding your gaze a little, acting more fidgety than normal. “You both are here…why exactly?” you couldn’t help but ask.

At your question, the two guests looked at each other for a moment, like they were trying to determine who would answer. Both of them were stubbornly staring into each other’s souls. With a little bit of irritation, you cleared your throat, glaring at the more grown of the bunch. The sorcerer glanced back up at you and conceded. A little shrug was followed by a more slumped position as he leaned back against your pillows and started the show. To others, he would’ve come off as unbothered, but luckily you had come to know him better than that. There was a subtle frustrated tone to his voice, his limbs a bit stiff like he didn’t want to be resting, and his eyes seemed to be unfocused. There was something on his mind that was upsetting him, so his actions were attempting to overcompensate for his worries. “Let’s just say that the Hall is a little bit…overtaken at the moment.”

With a shake of your head, you sighed. One side shuffle brought you to stand in front of the screen in an attempt to get him to look at you. “That doesn’t tell me much of anything.” Begrudgingly, the movie was paused.

Then the angel spoke up. Luke stuttered at first, but then managed to find his words. A pillow was held tightly in his lap as he clutched it for comfort. “It’s Simeon! He- He’s been cursed!”

Panic seemed to flood your body. Your eyes went wide and your jaw opened just enough to prepare yourself for demanding more information. Cursed? Was it dangerous? Was he in trouble? Why were they both just sitting around when you all could be helping?! Or was it so bad that they had to escape to safety? However, before you lost yourself to stress, Solomon raised a hand. “Not a curse.” He rubbed away an itch at the end of his nose with one finger. “At least, I’m fairly positive it’s not.”

Luke didn’t appear entirely convinced. “But he’s…” Before finishing his thought, he just went silent. It was clear he was very concerned for his guardian, but didn’t know how to go about fixing it.

“In my expert opinion,” the human continued, “I believe he’s simply not feeling well.” A bitter sensation crossed over your tongue. “I noticed he was acting strangely a few days ago, but any time I tried to pry information out of him, he turned me down. And quite cleverly turned my attention elsewhere, might I add.” Familiar actions started to leave an itch in your brain. A creeping sort of dread covered your skin. But, as soon as you started to notice these details, you shook your head, flinging them off of you. Now wasn’t the time to be feeling that way. Solomon continued to explain the situation. “And then he began to…how do I put this? Become rather obsessive.” He narrowed his eyes a little and glanced downwards, looking at nothing in particular. “I didn’t think anything of it at first…” All the sudden, he sighed, his playful mask falling and turning quite somber and serious. “Simeon’s always been caring, clean, and precise, but its been as if those traits have been kicked up to exuberant levels. It started with just some extra angelic doting- you know how he is-, and then just a few hours ago, Simeon took it upon himself to start tearing the entirety of Purgatory Hall apart to deep clean it.”

Luke made a sad sort of sound, one that broke your heart. “We tried to help so it would go faster and be easier, but he wouldn’t let us.”

“Stubbornness isn’t inherently a demonic or mortal trait, it would seem,” Solomon quipped. “I tried talking him into getting some rest, but he didn’t appear to hear me. And I was…dissuaded from casting any spells.”

Two little eyebrows scrunched up in irritation. “No using magic on Simeon! He always tells us that we shouldn’t force someone into doing what they don’t want to do!” But, even as Luke exclaimed it, he couldn’t help but let a bit of shuddering doubt slip into his voice.

“Well…” The immortal man appeared a bit guilty. “I just hope he doesn’t get himself into trouble trying to potentially clean my room…”

That dug in a different sort of fear… You glanced at the both of them and sighed, glancing out the window. Simeon… If he wasn’t feeling well, why was he trying to convince everyone otherwise? Well, the reason why didn’t particularly matter. If this was…him being sick, he needed rest. The angel probably knew that deep down, but maybe it had been too long since he put his needs above anyone else’s. You’d just have to remind him that self-care wasn’t inherently selfishness. Enough of your own self-pity! You had been given enough of a break. Besides, since when did you get the chance to take care of an angel, especially one so kind and lovely at that? Yes! You were back in business! “Alright!” you exclaimed a little too loudly, almost making your guests jump. “Leave him to me!”

Solomon processed your words before he smiled. “I knew we could count on you.” Cheeky little… So that was why they were here in your room and not over at the castle which had enough rooms to house a gala. Ah well, he could be lectured later.

“Try not to destroy my own room while I’m gone…”

“No promises!"

After a short jog- more like a speed walk- you were in front of Purgatory Hall. For some reason, you expected some sort of… cursed aura to spring from the place, but it stood as it normally did. Fingers crossed that the lack of one meant that Simeon had yet to get his hand on any of the myriad of dangerous items Solomon possessed. Hands tucked inside the pockets of your jacket, you approached the front door. Part of you wanted to immediately let yourself in, but you kept yourself restrained. Not only was knocking first good manners, but you also weren’t quite sure of the state Simeon was in. Hopefully an easier one than the brothers had been. Your knuckles drummed the door a few times. There was no answer. You attempted the doorbell next. Aside from the haunting ringing echoing inside, there was nothing… Normally, that would’ve been concerning, but if you tilted your ear near the door, you could clearly hear some ruckus inside. Sounded like the tooth-achingly familiar squeak of furniture being moved across the hardwood floors. Once more you knocked. “Hello? Simeon? Can you hear me?” The following silence spoke volumes. “I’m coming in then,” you warned, giving the angel a few more moments before opening the front door.

Stepping inside the entrance hall, you could feel floods of angelic magic filling the halls, along with the smell of several cleaning products and also…cookies? The sugary scent mingling with the chemically one made your stomach churn a bit. The sight was also rather overwhelming. When Solomon mentioned the Hall being torn apart, you thought perhaps he was being melodramatic. However, one glance from by the door suggested otherwise. Furniture was pushed from their spots and tipped over, paintings were pulled off of walls and laid out on the floor, blankets and towels and sheets and cloths and clothes were hanging to dry on wires that were strung back and forth in zig-zag patterns across the walls. No wonder Solomon and Luke absconded away.

“Simeon?” You called out again, ducking under some of the clothes as you pushed through the rest of the dorm. The sound of rather aggressive cleaning seemed to get louder as you approached the kitchen, the obnoxious noise of clanging silverware making you cringe.

The kitchen was in a rather right state. Cupboard doors thrown open, every single item pulled off the shelves, a worrisome teetering stack of dishes- that already looked clean, mind- piled in the sink. The room was much too bright, your eyes rapidly blinking as your brain mistakenly thought of sunlight. It took you longer than you’d like to admit to remember you were in the Devildom. The more you adjusted your focus, the more it became apparent that Simeon was the source of the radiance. It was hard to see him clearly, worried about the effects staring right at him would have on your vision. You walked further into the kitchen, stepping over several glistening feathers and loose parchment with scribbled works from his next project. Heat radiated out in all directions, feeling as if you were wading through a sauna.

Several times you called out to him, trying to announce your presence but not even getting a huff of acknowledgment from him. In fact, it seemed that he was completely oblivious to anything in general. The only thing he could do was flit about the room in a panicked state, his fingers raw from all the scrubbing and work he was doing. Some kind of stress response? “Simeon!” The voice that trembled its way from your throat was more frightened than you meant it to sound. But it couldn’t be helped. You had never seen Simeon quite like this before. Was it simply angelic duty intensified by a thousand? A cleanliness is next to godliness sort of deal? Or maybe he was too similar to Lucifer in the sense that he needed to fulfill some sense of obligation to feel ‘normal’. Who knew? It certainly didn’t matter in this moment. Your feet closed the distance between you two in seconds, leaping against him, arms tightening around the angel’s waist. Simeon’s body jolted as your forehead pressed against the skin of his exposed back. Much like the brothers when they had gotten sick, Simeon was much hotter than he should be. It nearly hurt you just to embrace him like this, quite like having your face much too close to an open flame. But you’d deal with it for just a little longer. “Please… Just stop for a moment.”

The hug seemed to put a screeching halt to his momentum. He’d probably been running on fumes for hours now, knowing that the moment he stopped was the moment he would collapse. Even now, his legs were shaking, his body working into overdrive just to keep himself steady. He wobbled and clutched onto one of the kitchen counters. The Celestial light in the room started to dim a little. “MC?…” Finally, he seemed to notice you. “I’m sorry…I didn’t hear you come in. S-Sit down…I’ll get you something to drink.” He attempted to shift in your grasp.

Your hold on him tightened, your fingers curling into the fabric of his warm clothes. You cleared your throat, trying to eliminate the earlier squeak in your voice. “You won’t be doing anything.” Even if you had felt like playing along, you had to wonder how he would do anything with the state the kitchen was in. It was all you could do to keep from imagining that giant pile of plates toppling down on top of him.

“I… Well, at least let me finish up in here. I don’t want to leave it like this for Solomon and Luke.”

Your eyes softened even though he wasn’t facing you. He really was out of it, wasn’t he? “They’re not here, Simeon.”

His back stiffened against you. “W-What?”

“They’re not here,” you reiterated, releasing your arms from around his sides and coming around to face him. Taking in his countenance sunk your heart. His well-kept hair was frazzled and flat, his skin dry, hands calloused. Ink and grime coated the inside of his fingernails. Typically, his eyes held a particular light in them, a small halo around his irises, but now that light was gone, dulled. “They came over to the House of Lamentation to tell me what was going on. They’re still there, worried for you…”

With that revealed to him, his face twisted into remorse. “They left? Because of me?… I didn’t mean…” A sigh left his chest as he stepped behind you, stuffing his hands into two oven mitts as he pulled a sheet of freshly baked cookies out of the oven behind you. “I’ll at least go take these to them…” Even now he was still thinking about caring for others…

“Simeon.” With his name being called, he looked over his shoulder at you. You reached out and took both his wrists in your grasp, taking the mitts off his hands. After you put them on the counter- which was positively gleaming, by the by - you found yourself acting impulsively bold. Without thinking, your touch went to his cheeks, feeling the flush beneath his skin. You gently guided his head down to lean on your shoulder. You tilted your cheek to press against his temple, your palm tenderly resting on the back of his neck. For a moment, there was silence. A comfortable, knowing silence. “I know it might be rather shocking to discover, but those two can handle themselves. At least for a little while.” You managed to chuckle, but he didn’t seem to find it amusing. Or maybe he was simply feeling too miserable to muster any mirth. “Listen…don’t you start feeling guilty over stepping back from those responsibilities for a little while. Your worth isn’t measured by your output…if that makes sense…I’m not the best at impactful speeches. You understand where I’m getting at, don’t you? And you understand that I’m dragging you to bed regardless, right?”

Two arms wrapped around you and ran up your back. “You’re right…”

Despite the situation, you managed a big grin. “Yes, I am,” you chimed. “Let’s go now.” You took one of his hands firmly in yours, leading him through the labyrinth of his own making and towards his room. Unfortunately, his domain didn’t seem to escape the chaos. So, you sat him in a chair and worked to try to get things mostly in order. You pushed the bed-frame back up against the wall, plugged the side lamp back into the socket behind the nightstand, found the bedding hung up in the hallway, and even went so far as to fluff the pillows. When you proudly turned back towards the angel with your hands on your hips, you saw that while you were busy, he had discarded his shoes, cloak, and gloves.

Simeon pushed himself out of the chair and up on his feet, his hand curling around his forehead as he staggered towards the bed. You held out your arms precautiously. He practically flopped onto the mattress, his face temporarily buried into the comfort of a crisp cold pillow. It pained you to see him like this, and you had the sinking feeling that he was expending most of his efforts to hide as much of the sickness from you as he could. A few of your fingers worked on pushing some of the hair from his face. Even his locks were rather toasty. At the very least, he took in a nice deep breath. “Is it wrong…” he started, his voice drifting into a whisper, “…that I’m happy you’re here?”

Those words left you frozen for a while. You just stared down at him, resisting the urge to just hop into bed next to him and hold him next to you. “Why would it be wrong?”

“I…remember how tired you looked.” Your eyes went a little wide at his answer. “I remember thinking at the time how unfair it must’ve been for you. But then…when I first started feeling…under the weather…” His eyes glanced up at you, his arm twitching against his sheets like he had half a mind to reach out for you. “All I could think of was how nice it would be to have you here with me…”

Your lips parted as you went to speak, but no words came out. Guilt swirled in your soul a little. Had he really kept this all hush just for your sake? If that were the case though, he would’ve told the other members of Purgatory Hall, surely. He was partially right though, with the fact that it would do no one good if you wrung yourself dry trying to help someone else. Finally, you sat by his side in bed, pulling a cooled sheet over his body and rubbing his taut shoulders. “I did seem to go a little overboard in the care-taking aspect when the brothers all turned ill, you’re right… But, you can rest assured that I won’t push myself too hard by taking care of you… After all, you wouldn’t let me do such a thing, would you?” His expression seemed to brighten, taking hold of your hand and pressing it against his own face as he shook his head. “And don’t you worry. Tomorrow I’ll be summoning Solomon and Luke back home to help put the Hall back in one piece. So for now,” you leaned forward and embraced him, nearly cradling his head against your body, “rest, and prepare to be fully cared for just as you deserve.”

[hysteriablues]

||I'm not the moon, I'm not even a star||

Just straight out angst, feeding into my Devilman crybaby hyperfixation. Spoilers for the ending

"You can see the stars clearly.

Its all because the humans are gone.

The rabbit is probably dead.

Akira. There's no rabbit in that sky.

I saw it with my own eyes.

Back then, I didn't know what you meant.

Love doesn't exist. There's no such thing as love.

Therefore, there is no sorrow.

That's what I thought.

Akira. Why am I the only one talking?"

What was this feeling. It was unbearable, it hurt and it wouldn't stop it just wouldn't fucking stop. Time had stopped in that moment when Ryo saw those lifeless eyes. The same eyes that he had always seen crying whenever something sad occurred, the same eyes that looked at him with such hatred just minutes ago. He would prefer those eyes that seemed to look at him in disgust than that lifeless gaze anytime. Everything was loud and quiet at the same time. It felt like a part of him was gone, forever. There was this feeling of emptiness.. this hole in his chest. He crawled at his chest, a pained expression on the divine beings face looking for any sign of Akira moving. There was none and he knew, he knew that there was no hope but he still continued to look trying to refuse the reality right in front of his own eyes.

"Akira? Akira. Right now... I'm feeling something.

What is this? Tell me. What is this, Akira?

Feel what I'm feeling right now.

Listen to me.

Akira. Look at me.

Respond to me.

Don't forget that you've been with me till now.

Say something.

No, Akira. Don't leave me alone.

Don't leave me.

Please, be somewhere.

Say something! Akira!"

He hugged him close hoping to feel the warms of his skin one last time, to feel him one last time. Ryo could tell it was time, the end was near, the reset was close and he only had himself to blame. Why had he been so foolish and not realized his feelings sooner. All he ever did.. was to protect Akira and now there he was, laying lifeless in his arm. He hugged his torso close resting his chin on top of Akira's head, the under half of his body was missing. He casted his gaze towards the earth seeing as angels and demons alike were raining upon it. It seemed like he only had a few minutes left until the final goodbye, until everything started over again, until he would end up in the exact same situation in little to no time again. He looked down at Akira's lifeless body one last time, Ryo couldn't stop his tears from streaming down his face. Something within him ached so badly, he wanted to destroy everything, to cuss out the one who had done this to him. He hugged Akira's body closer to his and closed his eyes. It was only a matter of seconds before everything would restart all over again. He wishes he could just cast everything away especially his feelings and thoughts, but those were the reason he ended up in this situation in the first place. With that he finally said the words he had been holding back all this time, the words that were always lingering at the back of his mind, at the tip of his tongue, always so close to slipping out but he never allowed them to.

"Akira, I need you."

With one final breath he allowed the darkness to take him. As the earth got engulfed in the war between angels and devils it eventually collapsed. A big fireball was the only thing that was left of the planet where Ryo had fought so hard to keep a single mortal alive, the only mortal that ever mattered. One last pitiful smile made it's way onto Ryo's face.

"I'll see you again Akira. I'll see you again in another life, I will find you."

And with that the darkness took both of them. The beginning was near again, the start and the end of everything. It all led back to Ryo. An endless cycle that would never stop. How ironic, no matter how many times the ending was near it always ended in pain and suffering. Maybe this time it'll be different? Is what Ryo had told himself over and over again, but deep down he knew he was lying to himself. Like always, lies seemed to always spill out of his mouth until everything was too late. How pitiful. In the end, it did not matter. Nothing mattered. Everything was just an illusion in the end. Everything was an illusion... right?

[dumbmusclehypnojockboy]

Jersey Bros by writer-ofstuff

"So, how did these two do?"

"What do you think? Failures. Just like the others have been."

"I don't know. I wouldn't say they were total failures." The lead scientist mused.

"Sir? What do you mean? The super soldier serum didn't work." His assistant said.

"Yes, while that is true, it does tells us we are on the right track to perfecting it." The scientist said. He types on the computer and brings up their two subject's readings to show his assistants what he means.

"Look at their readings. Their DNA is already changing due to the serum. Which means we are closer to our breakthrough. We just need to do some more adjustments to the formula to get it exactly what we want it to do." He explains.

His assistants nod their heads in understanding and then busy themselves with work that the lead scientist instructs them to begin.

"Sir, what should we do with these two?" One of the asked, gesturing towards the two men who lay asleep on the metal table in the next room.

"Toss them out on the beach. They are no longer of any use to me now." He says dismissively.

The assistant nods his head and calls up a few soldiers who stood guard outside to help take Dean Winchester and Derek Hale's sleeping forms out of the lab and into a truck. Driving them down to an isolated part of the beach just as the morning sign rises and leaves the two sleeping men on the sandy beach.

------

Derek awakes with start, sitting up and looking out at the ocean while the gentle waves wash up and down the sand shore. He rubs his hand through his hair, not caring he is getting small pieces of sand in it.

He feels like he is forgetting something, like the last few hours there is just a hole in his memory. Derek turns his attention to the man sleeping close by him. The werewolf rolls his eyes when he hears Dean starting to snore rather loudly. He has a hard to believing this guy his a feared and bad ass hunter when he is passed out with his ass up in the air and a little drool coming out of his mouth.

Derek doesn't quite remember why he and this hunter teamed up, that being part of the missing pieces in Derek's memories. Yet he still for some reason remembers meeting Dean.

Derek gets to his feet and walks the short distance between himself and the sleeping hunter and lightly kicks him with his foot. The action jars Dean away who quickly rolls over and hits up, sand falling off his face from where he had laid asleep.

"Wake up."

"Wha? I am up." Dean says in a sleepy voice. Rubbing his face clean of the drool and the sand that was still on his face.

"Derek? Why are we on a beach?" Dean asked.

The hunter had sounded just as confused as Derek felt. So Derek doubts asking Dean if he knew what was going on here would be of any help.

"Come on, let's get out of here." Derek says.

He offers his hand out for Dean to take to help the other man up. As soon as their hands make contact a strange feeling jolts through both men's hands. The two men are so startled they let go of their hands and Dean falls on his ass.

"Oops, sorry bro." Derek says.

He frowns when he thinks about why he just referred to Dean as bro. That wasn't a word that Derek would use yet it just slipped out when he spoke. Derek thought nothing of it, besides Stiles said bro all the time so it must have just slipped into his speech.

Thinking about Stiles, Derek started to wonder where the younger man was. He had an odd feeling that he had been looking for him and grew tense at the thought.

'Was Stiles endanger and he didn't remember it?' He thought for a moment. But then his mind felt a little dizzy and then he thought about how the younger man is just at home relaxing.

Derek glances at Dean who looks lost in thought as well. Derek wants to ask him what he is thinking about, but he refrains from it. Dean was a hunter so Derek didn't want to bother to get to know the other man.

Now that he thinks about it, why was he even with Dean? He asks the human and sees Dean's confused frown deepened as he pauses walking.

"Huh, I don't know either." Dean said.

This honestly should alarm both men, yet Derek felt himself feeling relaxed instead. He assumes Dean feels the same way since the other man doesn't make a move to get away from Derek by walking in the other direction.

As they continue to walk side by side down the sandy empty beach Derek's mind wonders. Thinking about how the pair ended up on the beach anyway. Surely there was a reason wasn't there? At the moment he couldn't think what the reason was. When he asked Dean the other man shrugged his shoulders and didn't say a word.

When Derek stole a glance at him he frowned when he noticed that Dean's hair looked lighter than before.

'Wasn't his hair brown?' He thought to himself while he looked at Dean's now bleach blond hair. The hair style even looked different. Looking a little longer and styled differently with hair products to give Dean a fluffy faux hawk style hair do.

The hairstyle even made Dean look younger to Derek. The older man now looks like he is around Derek's age instead of a man pushing into his late thirties.

This was really starting to confuse Derek, but the more he pondered what was going on here the more those thoughts left his mind and he got distracted by something else.

"Did you change your hair?"

Dean hears Derek ask and he turns his attention to the werewolf.

"Sorry, what?" Dean asked. He wasn't really paying attention to what Derek said. Busy in his thoughts about why he was on a beach with a werewolf.

"Your hair. It looks different." Derek said.

Dean touched his hair, feeling how it was a little stiff from the hair product he put in this morning after his shower. It felt like his usual style, telling Derek as such.

When Dean looks over at Derek it's his turn to be confused since Derek's facial hair looked different. He could have sworn Derek had a thick amount of stubble along his jaw and around his mouth. Yet now Derek's face was all clean shaven except for some scruff that covered his chin.

Dean had intended to ask Derek about it, but he then thinks against it. After all it would sound rather odd to ask Derek that. Since obviously Derek just had the chin scruff prior, Dean must have just been mistaken is all.

He started to second guess himself, wondering what if something was going on here with himself and Derek. Especially since he couldn't quite explain why the two were even together in the first place.

The two men reach the boardwalk and continue to walk side by side in silence. The pair were both lost in their own minds trying to make sense of what they were doing when Dean noticed a gym to their right.

He pauses and stands outside it, looking inside through the glass windows. When Derek notices he isn't by his side the werewolf pauses and turns around.

"You alright bro?" Derek asked.

His voice sounded off to him and he clears his throat and asks again.

Dean didn't answer him so Derek walked up to stand beside him. He peers through the window of the gym like Dean is doing.. For a moment nothing happened but then Derek starts to get flashes of memories in his head. He sees himself inside the gym, working out with Dean. The two chat like they are best friends while they spot one other while they work out.

The memories he recalls aren't really, he knows this, but at the same time they feel like they are real to Derek and he hates that.

"Come on bro, let's get goin yeah?" Derek asks. Again his voice sounds off to him, but he can't quite place why.

"In a bit dude, I need to see somethin." Dean replies.

Derek opens his mouth to say something, but before he could Dean confused walking into the gym without another word.

"Fuckin hell." Derek grunted.

He paced a little outside, debating on what he should do. Running his hand through his hair, as soon as his hand falls back to his side his hair shifts. The sides shaving down to a buzz style while the mid section of his hair style back as it lengthens.

He thinks about just leaving Dean. Clearly something strange is going on here and that is the reason they feel holes in their memories while also having these fragments of new memories.

"Fuck it." Derek grunts and follows Dean into the gym.

------

Dean can't explain the urge he felt to go into the gym. Like Derek he gained those similar memories of himself and the other man coming here. In those false memories it seemed like they were close friends despite the two men hardly knowing one another.

He told himself this was to get to the bottom of things. Instead though Dean just wanders through the main area of the gym. He only sees men in the gym, some guys alone working out while others are grouped up and chatting while jogging on the treadmill.

What makes it strange is how some of them address him by his name, as if they know Dean. Rather than question how they know him Dean just rolls with it, greeting them back. While he does and continues deeper into the gym. His body alters, muscles becoming more toned and defined. Gained from years of working put and maintaining this kind of physique rather than Dean having earned it through training.

The tattoo on his left pec that wards of possession starts to break apart. The ink traverses along Dean's chest under his shirt. Wisps of ink branch off to spread along Dean's arms while the rest form into different styles of tattoos.

More false memories bombard Dean's mind and the hunter clenches his head as he attempts to push those new thoughts out of his mind. He looks ahead of him Dean sees he is standing a few steps away from a large wall mirror. He can see his green eyes darken and for a brief moment he fears he is being possessed by a demon.

"Demon? Demon's don't exist," he then thinks.

His green eyes turn brown, his lips get a little fuller, nose wider and the bridge of it becomes slimmer. Dean grunts, watching his face change before his eyes and unable to do anything but throw his arms up and start to pose. Smirking at his biceps and admiring how large they are. Giving into the admiration of his own appearance finally pushes Dean over. His mind purging his own self from it finally as his new dimwitted and vain self takes over.

He lifts his shirt up to admire his hard earned abs and pecs next once he has had enough flexing. Only stopping to look around and wonder where his best bro is at.

📷

----------

Navigating through the gym was making Derek feel uneasy. What connection he had left to his werewolf abilities was telling him something wasn't right about this place. The men he walked by all seemed like the same type. Self absorbed meat heads who cared only about themselves and showing off.

Derek despised shallow men like this. So whenever any of them tried to stop and talk to him he would give them a glare and ignore them to continue his search for Dean.

The further Derek ventured into the gym the harder it was to recall past memories of his. Thoughts he would have would shift to random things.

'I'm totally bigger than that dude.'

'Jason's here? May need to see if he wants to fuck in the locker room again.'

'Mike's here too. Should talk to him about getting another tat.'

'Where the hell is Dean at? My bro needs to spot me.'

Derek tried to shove those thoughts away but it felt like the more he tried to, the more adamant they were to linger in his head.

He needed to find Dean and get out of here. When he reaches the back area of the gym he finds a tattooed dude posing in front of the mirror.

Derek thought of what a self absorbed guido the guy was. The type of guy you would hate on a trash reality show. He releases only to realize a moment later that this man was somehow Dean.

Astonished, Derek quickly approaches Dean, opening his mouth to ask what happened to him.

"Looking good bro." He says instead. Taken aback by his own words.

Dean turns to look at him and grins.

"You see yourself bro? You hitting the iron hard ya?" Dean replies.

Derek wants to deny it, but he can feel his body surging with muscle. He tries to repel the ongoing changes, but it proves to be useless. His pecs inflate to large and firm pectorals. While his biceps gained quite a bit of bulk to them. The rest of him gained a significant amount of solid muscle while Derek also felt himself growing a little taller.

His pale skin darkened with a tan gained from walking around shirtless and hitting the tanning bed when he could.

Derek tries even harder to repel these alterations happening to him. Not wanting to end up like some self absorbed dick like Dean had become. He assumes being a werewolf has given him an edge that made whatever caused this work slower on him.

He can feel himself being overweight by whatever this is, wincing when two diamond studs appear in his earlobes and his mind shatters a few moments later. Derek stood there in a daze while his old thoughts were overrun by a new persona.

Derek then blinks himself awake, a slow grin spreading on his face as he flexes for Dean.

"Fuck yeah bro. You know I gotta keep this bod in shape for the studs." Derek said with a heavy Jersey accent.

He stands beside Dean and the best bros make faces and pose for a picture. Uploading it to social media before the pair get back to their workout routine. Neither of them remembering anything of their past selves.

📷

[whaleofatjme1920]

In a Mirror Image (Eyeless Jack X F!Reader)

🌸 In a Mirror Image

[Eyeless Jack X F!Reader]

[Warnings: blood, language, cheating (both physical but it's not like, in your face, and emotional)]

Part 1

The flowers that grow like weeds in your lungs bloom thicker and thicker every day. Your vision clouds with blue more often than not, and you can’t think about anything but the blossoms and blood that paint the bathroom with a hue you’re already much too used to. It’s a painful existence, and it’s getting worse. One of the most wretched parts? You’re deteriorating so fast that your vision no longer services you. You are blind, unrendered to see. You still choose to live in a delusion, and you are amongst the only who choose not to acknowledge it.

By now, everyone knows but only one other than you refuses to acknowledge it.

You hear Hoodie arguing with Jack more often than not. It seems the blond haired proxy is angry over what Jack has done to you and because he knows what Hanahaki does to those it takes root in.

“You’ll fucking kill her,” Hoodie seethes as he gets in Jack’s face for the fourth time this weekend. “Look at her-”

“I am!” Jack shot back, his arms crossing defensively over his chest. “Who are you to come in here and speculate on something that you’re not a part of?” He growls. Normally, Jack likes talking to Hoodie, but not when Hoodie’s on a mission to prove Jack a sinner.

“I wasn’t even aware you still had one,” Hoodie retorts through grit teeth. “I can’t believe you. Look at the flowers Ja-” and before he can continue tearing into Jack, he hears your bedroom door open.

While you still share the room with Jack, neither of you are in it at the same time. You’ve taken residence up on the living room couch with Kate and Jack more often than not stays with Leia. The room you share is usually empty, much like your heart.

“Hey there, buttercup,” Hoodie suddenly greets you as you tiredly walk into the kitchen where the two men had previously been in a standoff. “Did you sleep okay?” He asks, voice so much softer and gentler with you than what he had just been using.

You shake your head as you take a seat at the table. “I can’t sleep,” you say.

Hoodie’s brows furrow in sympathy before they knit in frustration when Jack sits next to you. He watches as Jack snakes his arm around you before he presses an empty kiss to the side of your head.

“No?” Jack says in a sickly saccharine tone. “I’ll see what I can do about that. Does that sound good to you?”

You nod slightly, the ghost of a smile on your lips. “That sounds good,” you murmur back.

“Anything for you,” he hums as he pulls you in closer to his side.

“You disgust me,” Hoodie hisses to Jack as he gets up and pushes in his chair roughly, making the table bounce. He doesn’t take his eyes off of Jack for a second as he leaves, roughly slamming the front door behind him.

“What was that about?” You ask, feigning innocence. You refuse to open your eyes to the situation you are in.

“He’s having a bad day,” Jack answers. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” he hums as he presses another kiss to the side of your head.

The butterflies in your stomach are dead, but the flowers blood evermore.

“You’re still sleeping out here?” Kate hums as she takes a seat next to you on the couch. She looks exhausted and she’s covered in blood. Her mask is cracked too.

“I guess,” you yawn as you shift slightly from your not so comfortable position. “How has your day been?” You ask as you reach for a glass of water only to see it’s not there.

“Let me,” Kate says as she gets up once more. She knows you’re getting worse. After getting you a bottle of water from the fridge, she comes back to your side. “I’ve had a busy day. Met with an independent named Nyein. They remind me of a big cat,” she finally answers as she opens the water bottle for you.

You take it and begin to slowly sip from it - it stops the flowers from blooming ever so slightly. Your airway opens just a little bit. “Do they now?”

Kate nods as she flips mindlessly through the channels. “They said they’re falling in love with a human. Bad business,” Kate winces, her dark eyes watching you carefully. “I hope they don’t…”

“It’s bad business,” you suddenly say as you feel petals fill your mouth. You cough slightly and the small little forget-me-nots fall into your lap, thankfully free of blood this time. You take one of the flowers into your fingertips and observe it gently. “I hope they’re okay.”

Kate puts her hand on your thigh, lightly squeezing before finally settling on the early evening news. “You wanna burn these blue fuckers?” She asks as the flowers in your lap remain stagnant save for the buds that unfurl at an alarmingly fast pace.

You feel the corners of your lips curl into a smile. “Yes.”

Morbid, your flowers have been springing up everywhere. They’ve infested the temporary house. So, you and Kate went around the place, plucking every single one before starting a bonfire in the backyard.

Toby, who considers himself a bit of a pyromaniac, was immediately summoned by the fire the two of you had cast in the backyard. He’d been out on a grocery run, and honestly, he had wanted to get out of the house.

The dynamics of the house had become uncomfortable to him. What with Leia and Jack sneaking off together and you coughing up a full greenhouse, he has been stressed. Toby can’t stand Jack and Hoodie arguing all the time as it reminds him of the life he tried to escape, and Masky can offer so much but ever since he renounced his love for Jay by force… It’s been hard. Toby knows it’s been hard for everyone involved.

He crosses through the house, sneers at Leia’s room, and then exits through the back to the scent of fire. He sees Kate’s arm around you as the fire blazes slightly blue.

“W-What are you g-gals up to?” He asks, coming to your other side so you remain in the middle.

“Burning stuff,” Kate nonchalantly replies. “You care to chuck anything in?”

Toby glances at you as you struggle to keep air in your lungs. “If I d-d-did, I’d be u-under c-charge for killing a-a-another under the O-Operator’s care,” he muses. He’s referring to Jack, of course. He takes in the scent of burning plant matter and blood and frowns when he remembers it’s yours. His hand reaches yours and squeezes gently.

You squeeze back.

Your experiences with Leia are lukewarm at best, and cold at worst. She’s something, she really is something. There’s moments when no one is in the temp house with you except for her alongside you, and those moments are tense, sharp, like a knife and burn colder than the depths of the sea.

The most memorable conversation you’ve ever had was the one that triggered a domino effect that would lead to a black hole in your chest.

“You’re still up?” Leia’s honeyed voice questions softly as she takes a seat across from you on the back porch at the glass table.

You find it more stifling inside so you choose to spend your time out. The weather is warm, afterall. The sun shines and fluffy clouds the size of whales swim overhead. You have a glass of pink lemonade made from a pouch Hoodie and Kate had picked up earlier. You find that the tang is enough to keep the flowers down.

“Of course I am, why wouldn’t I be?” You say in passing before you sip from the glass. You enjoy watching the rabbits in the backyard. They hop around without a care in the world.

She begins to thread her fingers through her long silver hair, braiding it. “I just think you should be resting,” she says. “You look so tired these days-”

“That’s none of your concern.”

“Touched a nerve,” she sighs. “You know you’re getting worse, right?”

You shoot her a glare, but you know she’s right. You’ve actually been holding out surprisingly longer than most people with Hanahaki Disease. Most people succumb to it within a few weeks of coughing, but you’ve managed to hold out for damn near an entire year. That’s almost unheard of. You’ve been hacking up flowers, their stems, roots and blood ever since Leia came into your life.

Everyone tells you that you’re getting worse, but you should have been dead months ago.

“Stop it,” you growl.

“You’re killing yourself,” she continues. “You could just… Let it all go, y’know?” She hums as she continues to fishtail her silver strands. “Renounce your feelings for him and save yourself.”

You grip your glass and set it back down roughly on the table. “That is literally none of your concern,” you repeat, eyes narrowing at the blue eyed beauty across from you. “Acting like you care-”

“I do, though,” she cuts you off. “I know that the Slender Man has big plans for you, but with you wasting away like this… You’ll never live long enough to see them through.” She flashes you a look of concern, but you can tell it’s fake. It shines like pyrite.

“What, so you can take my place just like that?” You bite back. “You can’t even wait until I’m fucking dead?”

Leia giggles and you hate to admit that it sounds pretty. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Daddy always did say I got what I wanted.” Her eyes drift off and you’re able to see she’s no longer thinking about you, but someone who once loved her. She finishes the braid. “Happy six years to you and Jack. Give him all my regards, won’t you?” She stands up, eyes the rabbits feasting on the clover in the grass, before she plucks your half empty glass from in front of you.

“Leia-!”

“It’s not like you need it,” she chuckles.

“It’s a special day,” you said to Masky, a small smile on your face. “It’s our six year anniversary.” Your posture changes to attention as he closes the door softly behind him. He still smells like cigarettes, but it’s a pleasant scent you’ve found comfort in where others find it a nuisance.

Masky put a smile on his face but it didn't reach his eyes. “You need me to draw a portal or something for you?” He holds his arms open to you as you fall into them, part because you’re so weak and secondly because he knows you need the affection - even if he can’t feel it.

You feel light come to your eyes as you nod after leaving a note for Jack in your shared room on his nightstand.

‘Dear Jack, happy six years! I’d wait for you to get back, but I have a surprise for you at the field you gifted to me for our first anniversary. I await you with happiness. Love, R.’

Masky drew the portal in the living room, a mess of swirling cloud-like silvers and blacks before he laid eyes upon the place you once shared only with Jack. “It’s super pretty,” he says, dark eyes scanning over all the wildflowers. There’s weeds on the path, like no one has cared for it in a while. ‘How poetic,’ he thinks. ‘It’s an allegory for your decayed relationship with Jack.’

“No it’s not,” you giggle as you bring Masky down one of the weed and chicory covered paths to the gazebo. “But it’s special to me,” you hum as you take a seat.

Masky follows beside you. He doesn’t take a seat, mostly feeling it wrong to impose on a space that is Jack’s despite his respect for him falling so far from what it used to be, but takes in the scent of dying flowers all the same. It’s summer, and instead of the sun warming the soft petals, it’s burning them. When you cough up more flowers while waiting for the man who still holds your heart (and refuses to return it) you’re less than pleased to see that they blend in with the untamed mosaic.

“Are you still tired?” Masky asks softly as he lights up a cigarette. “You can rest, I’m sure he won’t mind.”

You glance over to Masky before you rest your head in your hands, wondering where your lover is. You listen to the wind as it blows through the leaves. You listen to Masky’s hum, and eventually, you fall asleep.

You wake back up sometime during the night in your bed and not in a position you normally sleep in. It looks like whoever delivered you back here was extra careful with handling you. You only wake up because Jack has accidentally turned on the light.

“Shit, my bad,” he apologizes, quickly plunging the room back into darkness. “Did I wake you?” He knows he did.

“No,” you lie. “I couldn’t sleep anyways.” That was the most rest you’ve had in months. “Where have you been?” You ask quietly, still choosing to remain buried in the sheets.

Jack slides into bed next to you and gets comfortable. He smells like perfume you don’t wear. Through the faint light of the hallway that peeks under your door, you can see he’s got dark marks on his neck and jaw. “Leia wanted to show me her childhood home. Place isn’t run by Zalgo anymore, so we took a trip out there.”

“Did you now?” You hum as you feel tears prick your eyes.

Jack can see you in the dark. His vision at night far surpasses a human’s. He just chooses not to acknowledge it. Jack knows that his relationship with you is gone, and that you’ve been coughing up flowers for the past year. He knows, and it hurts him. Hurts him deeply that he’s the one causing you such pain, but at the same time, he’s a coward. He chooses not to let you go cleanly because his relationship with Leia is so finite.

He knows she only wants him because at the time he was unattainable. Now that she has him, it is only a matter of time until she does to him what he’s done to you. He understands that fully, but he refuses to leave the safety net that is you because he is selfish. His feelings for you aren’t nonexistent, but it’s that kind of fondness one has after the deed has been done, a love based on past memory and sentiment rather than what will and can be. It has reached his threshold, and you both are too caught up in security rather than what is healthy.

“I did,” he says as his mind rushes a mile a minute. “What did you do today?”

You wonder if you should answer that honestly or not. Would he even care? “I stayed here today, nothing special.” You feel the flowers unfurling in your lungs.

Jack hums once more, his back now facing you as he slowly succumbs to sleep.

You met Masky in the bathroom again, hacking your lungs and more of those fucking flowers up into the bathrub and the sink. Hell, you even got some in the toilet. Your body is growing weaker and weaker by the day. The fact you’ve held out for a year is astronomical, but you know you’ll be being taken from it eventually. No one survives Hanahaki when their lover’s feelings aren’t returned. It either gets returned, or you lose them all entirely.

He almost lost you. You broke the mirror when your body went limp as the vines and flowers crawled out from your lungs, through your esophagus and out of your mouth. If it was an art installation piece, Masky might’ve thought it beautiful, but the fact you went cold and limp and the flowers were blooming at a rapid pace - one he thought he couldn’t keep up with.

Masky, despite not being able to really feel anything, panicked as he took you into his arms. Did he genuinely care for you? No, but he cared to whatever extent the surgery left him with. He fretted because you are under his direct care. He cared so deeply because he too had seen many good proxies and independents lost to it. He cared because a part of him remembered what it was like to have daisies and rhododendrons fill his lungs. Normally, you only have one type of flower to clutter your lungs. Science says “just because.” An old wives’ tale says “love truly lost.” In his case? Jay’s death. Nothing was the same after that.

Masky took no hesitation in scooping you up into his arms and running out of the house to the forest to be closer to his boss’s energy. The Operator could fix this should he will it. He didn’t care that the lights in the house went on from his concerned proxies - the ones who had been sick over what befell you since you came into their care. He didn’t dare let you go as he trampled through the brush in the dead of night, using only the moon.

“Sir!” He calls out frantically. “Sir! I need your help!” He can hear your heart get slower and slower.

And just like that, the devoted father came to his child’s cry.

“My child,” he greets, instantly swooping down to look at your pained, flowery visage. “Did I not tell you to handle this?” He chides softly as he takes you into his arms. The sound of static only grows louder and louder.

“I thought she could,” he says, his tone clearly apologetic. “Please, just… Just fix this for me.” He watches the Operator closely as the tall man holds you in his arms.

While you are not exactly his child directly, you are also still under his care. Leia did not lie that the Operator sees good things for you. Without any other words, the tall man is gone, giving you to gods know who to perform a surgery that should be considered the only humane way out.

He returns to the house where Hoodie, Kate and Toby eagerly awaited him, clamoring around him and pecking like hens wondering where you are. He says that you’re in the hands of a god.

You floated in the ether, your body a galaxy. You watched as your chest was torn open - looked like by the hands of an independent that had talons to rival an eagle.

‘There’s so much,’ she says, her mouth turning into a frown as she worked on carefully removing the clusters of flowers. ‘How is she not dead?’

The Slender Man continues to observe, not offering the doctor any words.

The spirals and swirls inside of you continue to swirl before the flowers get torn out, one by one. The roots that cling to your lungs are stubborn, but with every single one removed, the lights of a different universe go out. Snuffed. Lost. The cavity in your chest grows wider until it births a black hole.

‘How much longer?’ The Slender Man asks, watching as the independent calls in another to help her rid your body of weeds.

She shakes her head as she continues to root them out. They bloom under her touch. ‘I have no idea - she must’ve felt so strongly-’

‘They just keep coming up, Sir,’ the other interjects, her four eyes scanning you rapidly.

The black hole begins to suck up the stars and nebulas that comprise your system. It feasts on you, making every part of what made you you, disappear in its depths. It grows larger as it consumes you. It grows heavier. It grows more powerful.

‘We’re almost there,’ the taloned independent says, her wings fluttering softly to emphasize her point. ‘I’ve never seen it this bad before.’

‘Fix this,’ the Slender Man seethes, his patience wearing thin. He knows your body will not be able to handle this much longer.

The black hole reaches its mass, and slowly, it begins to consume you. It overtakes you, bathes you, and leaves nothing left when it has taken all that it can. Your body is empty. You are a shell. Glimpses of blue, grey and reddish brown flash in your mind’s eye and through the eye of the black hole, but you cannot place the feelings you used to associate with them. You remember, but you do not feel.

The last of the flowers are pulled. The taloned independent is exhausted, and her partner is just as tired. ‘Good fucking lord,’ she breathes out, exhausted from the late night gardening session. ‘In all my years I have never seen that awful disease take hold of an individual that bad,’ she notes. Her bird-like eyes watch over your open chest to make sure they’ve fully cleared it out.

A single forget-me-not sprouts, and the Slender Man is the one who plucks it. Just like that, the flowers, their roots, all evidence you’d ever had life inside of you, is gone. Withered and wilted away.

The black hole takes all that you have to offer, and you are back to consciousness, no longer floating, no longer a home to the vibrancy of the universe.

What came after was a bit of a blur. The Slender Man had brought you back to the safe house you had called your home for the past year surprised to see that some of his favored children were still away, waiting for you as the light of the sun rose over the grass. It was a new dawn.

“How is she?” Hoodie asked, immediately springing up.

“Fixed,” was all the Slender Man said, his gaze shifting from you to your group’s leader. “Masky, I’m entrusting you to watch over her as you have been through something similar.”

“Of course,” the dark eyed man says as he takes you gingerly into his arms. “I wouldn’t trust her with anyone else.”

“One last thing,” the tall man in a suit hums. “I am taking Eyeless Jack from this house. Leia will stay with him.”

“It’s probably for the best. We trust your judgment,” Masky replies.

The Slender Man’s head gently cups Masky’s cheek before he leaves them with the sound of static that dissipates as fast as it appeared.

You spent the first few days after your surgery under bed rest. The Slender Man had healed you but he still worried for the state of your lungs. You needed the rest, and you were pleased to have it. Other than that, you felt… nothing. You were numb. Fleeting feelings of happiness or thankfulness, maybe something melancholic would slip through but ultimately, you were nowhere near your old self.

Jack was not allowed anywhere near you. That was one of the first instructions given to him when the Slender Man had popped into his head. While he did not have an opinion on Jack’s unfaithful behavior, he was more displeased with the fact he’d kickstarted the disease in you. The Slender Man thought that if he started it in Leia, then perhaps everything would turn out alright.

So, he sent the two out with a different group - which mostly meant Jeff, someone the Slender Man knew detested behavior that Jack had committed.

It was not easy for Jack to share the same space with Jeff after word had gotten out about you.

“You’re my best friend,” Jeff had sighed one late afternoon, refusing to even acknowledge Leia in the room. “But that? That was fucked up.”

Jack hummed and kept his gaze on Leia, who looked at him with nothing short of adoration. “Sure.”

Jeff sighed once more and stood up. “You don’t feel an inch bad, do you?”

“No.”

“You’re a shitty guy but you’re an even shittier liar.” Jeff broke the door with how hard he’d slammed it on his way out.

Jack really wasn’t the same, that much was apparent. He’d slowly been becoming more withdrawn and quicker to agitation. Of course, he’d take it out on whoever was around to deal with it. Leia included - it just came in a different form. One in which she’d never complained. But when things were rough between them, things were rough.

Jeff could hardly stand the two most days, so when he’d sneak out, it was with his dog to come pay a visit with you. And he hated how dull you had become.

“Masky used to be a lot more personable,” Jeff would say. “Life of the party when we could get him out of his pseudo-philosophical bullshit. Then he hurled flowers and we knew something was wrong.” Jeff’s hand rubs your back gently as a sign of friendship.

“And then?”

“Then he got that stupid surgery and now he’s just existing. No further purpose, just existing because some pale guy says so for his benefit.” Jeff huffed and looked up at the setting sun.

You found your gaze following his.

“What you’re doing right now,” he began. “It’s no way to live.”

“Would you have rather I’d succumbed to it?” You asked, not adding any inflection to whether you’re happy or sad, hurt or even offended.

“In all honesty?” Jeff tore his eyes from the pink and blue sky. “Yeah. This,” he gestured to you. “This isn’t you.”

Everything you’re supposed to feel feels dampened. Instead, you nodded. “Note taken.”

Jeff frowned.

The first time Jack was able to see you after your surgery was nearing halfway to what would have been seven months. It’d been a rough time without him seeing you, mostly because the guilt had been devouring every humanity he had left. Nothing could fill the void.

Like the first time you had met him, it was an accident when you crossed paths once again. You had been clearing out a house one fine winter’s evening, doing what had been asked of you before you got the faintest scent of something familiar and something you once recognized as comforting. You furrow your brows, weapon at your hip as you slowly and quietly come down the stairs.

Your lips are pressed into a thin line as you peer into the living room. Snow falls outside the window.

“Reader?” A male voice asks, turning around from the hallway. “Is that you?”

You tilt your head slightly as you register the mask you’re looking at. Eyeless Jack, mostly just known as ‘EJ’ or ‘Jack’. You’ve never really spent any time with him though outside of little jobs, so you have no idea who this is or why he sounds so happy to see you.

“Uh, hi, EJ?” You say as you walk at a leisurely pace down the stairs.

Jack freezes momentarily as he comes to greet you in the living room. He’d almost forgotten that when the flowers are removed, so too are the memories alongside feelings.”It’s… It’s good to see you,” he says as he looks down at you, wondering if he should touch you or not.

“I guess it’s nice to see you too,” you say. “What are you doing in this area?” You inquire. You vaguely remember the Slender Man not wanting you two to be in the same area.

“Just out and about,” he answers as he scratches at the back of his neck. “Leia wanted to uh, hunt down some of her sisters - I - it doesn’t matter,” he suddenly finishes, feeling much too awkward to even look at you. He knows you don’t remember, but he certainly does. Looking at you… He has a fresh slate.

“That’s nice,” you say in a tone that’s clearly disinterested. You walk towards the living room windows and look into what is now a cold winter’s night. You can see the snow still falling. If you want to make it back to Masky before he gets worried, you’ll need to head out almost immediately. “Pretty, isn’t it?”

Jack slowly comes to your side and puts his attention on you, watching as the snow continues to fall. “Yeah, the prettiest,” he says softly, desperately trying in vain to hold back on scooping you into his arms. There’s something scratching at the back of his throat.

You nod once again and zip up your coat. “They’re expecting me,” you say, gearing up to brave the snow.

“Do you need any-”

“No,” you cut him off. You’re not sure why it comes out so harshly, but you figure it must be a remnant of a memory you no longer have access to. “I can manage on my own.” You brush past him and open the front door, eyes momentarily clamping shut at how cold it is before you step onto the porch. The sound of the crunching snow is satisfying.

“Stay safe out there,” Jack says softly, not moving from his place as he continues to gaze out the window at the falling snow.

You turn your head briefly over your shoulder, “and you as well.”

Jack hears the door close and you walk off into the night, back to a group he was barred from. That tickling in the back of his throat grows more and more prevalent until he clears his throat. Feels like there’s something on his tongue. He coughs a few more times before holding his hands in front of his mouth, displeased to see the small blue petals he knows will bloom to full flowers in a time frame that is too long to be considered fair.

[dreamerstreamer]

Telltale Talent

Pairing: Dream / Clay x gn!reader

Summary: [Dream SMP!AU] When Dream tries to teach you how to spar, he learns that you’re more than what meets the eye.

Word Count: 2.1k

A/N: this was requested by an anon who wanted a fun sparring practice with a surprise! here’s to the first fic of 2021, and i hope you enjoy <3

Clay stared down at the map on his desk, his fingers curling tighter around the quill in his hands. A mess of scribbles and circles gazed back up at him as he made another mark. He bit back the sigh that threatened to escape his throat, his brow twitching.

You were doing it, again.

He could feel your eyes on him from the other side of the room, practically boring a hole through his skull. He clenched his jaw, chewing on his lip as he tried to focus his attention on the map lying before him. If you were going to do what he thought you were going t—

At that exact moment, you opened your mouth, but he spoke before you could.

“No.”

Almost immediately, a whine flew from your lips, and you thrashed your legs in annoyance. “What?! Why not?” You frowned, determination etched into your features. “It’ll be a good experience!”

This time, he actually did sigh, lifting his head to look at you dead on, balancing his quill between his fingers. “For one, it’s not like you’re not going to go into battle, anyway.”

Your frown deepened, a line forming between your brows as you shot him a longing look. “That doesn’t mean you still can’t teach me how to spar.”

He pursed his lips, his tongue poking at the inside of his cheek. “There’s no need to.”

For a few seconds, you simply stared at one another, your eyes swimming with resolve as he grimaced. Then your face lit up, and you shot your arm into the air, making him jump. 

“Self-defence!” you shouted, your entire body practically glowing with hope. “If you teach me how to spar, then I could use it for self-defence purposes.” Before he could open his mouth to retort, you cut him off with a cold look. “Clay, you can’t tell me that there’s no chance that I won’t ever have to defend myself—you just can’t.”

Clay blinked at you, glowering. You weren’t wrong, per se. He didn’t want to acknowledge it, but there was still a very real possibility that at any point, you could be in danger, regardless of whether or not you were on the battlefield. It wasn’t that he didn’t think you were capable of keeping yourself safe, but teaching you how to fight would mean having to admit that there may come a time where he couldn’t be there for you.

The mere thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He stared at you for a long moment, taking in the sight of your pleading face and clenched hands, your eyes desperately searching his. Then, he sighed once more, setting his quill down in its holder. “Fine.”

You let out a delighted squeal, springing to your feet before bounding over to his desk. Bending over, you pressed a quick peck to his cheek. His heart skipped a loving beat in his chest, and his cheeks flushed pink.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, Clay!” you cried, flashing him a bright grin as you pulled back. Your eyes curved into crescent moons as you giggled with glee. “You won’t regret this, I promise!”

He rested his head on his hand as he watched you cheer to yourself, pumping your air in a successful dance. A small smile flitted across his face, his emerald eyes crinkling at the corners as his map lay forgotten on the desk.

Oh, who was he kidding? You were far too cute to say no to, even if he wanted to.

“So, what’s first?”

He hummed, tucking a hand under his chin. Above you, the midday sun beat down on you both, the clouds watching with eager eyes as Clay paced around the clearing.

He was lucky to have found a spot within the forest that was both open and had plenty of soft grass. This way, you’d have a proper spot to practice while also having some semblance of cushioning beneath you in case you fell. As much as he wanted to simulate a real fight scenario for you, he didn’t want you to actually get injured. He could hardly manage to keep his cool when you got a simple scrape on your finger—there was no way he’d remain calm if you got hurt in a fight, practice or not.

His steps suddenly came to a halt, and he turned on his heel to look at you with a thoughtful glance. “Before we even properly start practicing,” he began, raising two fingers, “there are two things you should know and remember.”

Your eyebrows knit together as you let out a small whine, your shoulders sinking at your side. “Aw, is this a lecture?” You frowned. “I just want to skip to the fun part, already.”

Clay rolled his eyes as shook his head, but you didn’t miss the tiny smile on his lips as he wagged his fingers at you. “Ah, ah, ah. I’m the teacher here, so you better pay attention.”

You shot him a sour look, then quietly grumbled, “Well, you’re not a very fun teacher.”

He scowled at that, placing a hand on his hip. “We’re getting there!” His gaze softened, and his tone grew gentle as he offered, “Let’s just do this first, okay? I promise I’ll keep it short, and you will get to try a real spar, today.”

Your frown was slowly replaced by a smile, and you sent him a keen look, shifting forward onto your toes. “Okay.”

He grinned, taking a few steps back from you until he was standing on the opposite side of the clearing. “Good. First,” he said, pointing his two fingers at his eyes then to yours, “never take your eyes off your enemy.” He cocked his head as he lowered his arm. “It may seem obvious to you, but you’d be surprised by how often people forget in the heat of the moment.”

Your gaze was serious when you nodded, and he was almost taken aback by how quickly your demeanour had changed. “I can do that.”

He blinked for a second, then sent you another encouraging smile. “Perfect. Second,” he carried on, pointing downward, “remember that your feet exist.”

“Okay—wait.” You froze, your eyebrows furrowing together as confusion flickered across your face. “What?”

He chuckled at your confused expression, dropping his arm. “I know it sounds dumb, but it’s true! You see,” he explained, tapping a finger against his temple, “the human brain is kind of dumb, and a lot of the time when it comes to fights, a person’s first instinct is to focus on their enemy’s hands and immobilize them.” He raised his hand toward you, curling it into a tight fist. “After all, they are pretty effective weapons. But your feet can be just as, if not more, powerful.” His gaze darted back to yours. “Do you follow?”

Slowly, you nodded, your eyes staring directly at his knuckles. “In the same way,” he continued, “it’s also good to remember that your elbows and knees are two of the strongest parts of your body.” He raised one hand, the other reaching over to tap his elbow. “Don’t be afraid to use them, because they can be especially useful.”

Your lips parted as you bobbed your head. He could practically see the gears churning in your head, and he almost wanted to coo at how focused you looked. “Feet, elbows, knees,” your murmured quietly to yourself, huffing. “Got it.”

He dropped his arm, his lips quirking. “Awesome.” He turned slightly to the side, shifting his weight onto his back foot. “Now that the so-called boring part is done, do you just want to give it a first go and try a practice fight? First person to knock the other person over wins.”

Your eyes lit up, and for a split second, Clay could have sworn he saw something dark flicker through your gaze. But it was gone as soon as it had appeared, and he was soon blinded by your dazzling grin. “Sure!”

His expression mirrored yours as he brought his arms up in front of him, his hands forming fists. In front of him, your eyes quickly scanned him up and down, and you slowly moved to copy his stance. He felt a tinge of satisfaction shoot through him. You were a fast learner.

“I’m ready when you are,” he called, cracking his neck with a grunt.

Your eyes narrowed, your tongue darting out to wet your lips, and for a moment, all was still.

Then, in a flash, you were charging toward him, stopping only just in front of him to throw your fist at his skull. He smiled at your earnest effort, quickly twisting to the side. You nearly toppled forward when your fist met empty air, and he reveled in your widening eyes. A split second later, you leapt back, swinging your left leg up and into his side. But just before your shin made impact with his hoodie, he lifted his arm, his hand quickly latching onto your ankle and holding it in place.

“Ooh, nice try, sweetheart,” he hummed, shooting you a crooked grin. He drank in the shocked look on your face as his expression grew a fraction darker and his grip on your ankle tightened.

“But not nice enough.”

He swiftly threw down your foot, watching as you stumbled back at the force. You didn’t get the chance to regain your balance before he was suddenly looming beside you, his fist flying toward your nose. With a yelp, you ducked, your arm shooting above your head to grab his arm in midair. He blinked as your fingers dug into his sweater, curling tightly into the fabric. Then, a devious grin crept onto his face.

As much as you may try, he had the upper hand when it came to brute strength.

But to his shock, he felt something sharp and hard slam into his gut, knocking the air straight out of his lungs. He quickly back-pedaled, but your hold on his sleeve didn’t let up. He only barely caught a glimpse of your kneecap before you stepped behind him, twisting his arm around and pinning it to his back. Just then, he felt something brush against his ankle.

No way.

In the blink of an eye, his legs were flying out beneath him, and he was flipping into the air. With a thud, he slammed into the ground, a dull ache shooting through his back as the grass cushioned his fall. Before he could even react, you quickly placed your foot on his chest, keeping him thoroughly pinned down.

His eyes were the size of saucers as he took in your half-shaking figure, your eyes trained on his fallen form. You panted above him, your fists slowly uncurling. “Was—was that good?”

Clay gaped at you, his head spinning with what you’d just done. You had just knocked him, a trained soldier and practiced assassin, flat on his back with practically no instructions whatsoever. He had only given you two—well, two and a half—simple tips before putting you on the spot, and you still managed to take him down.

There was no sugarcoating it—you were a prodigy. 

If he wasn’t in love with you before, then he definitely was, now.

Pride swelled in his chest as he closed his mouth, swallowing. He stared at you for a moment longer before shaking his head free from his reverie. He couldn’t wait to teach you more.

“[Y/N],” he breathed, his lips stretching into an awed grin, “you’re amazing.”

You blinked, pointing to yourself in surprise. “I-I am?”

He nodded without even an ounce hesitation, his grin growing even wider. “Very.” With a small grunt, he pushed himself back onto his feet, dusting off his behind before turning back to you. “Now,” he said, “do it again.” His eyes glinted with something akin to mischief. “I won’t go easy on you this time.”

You tilted your head at him as a devilish smile of your own tugged at your lips. “In that case, neither will I.”

He raised a brow at you, but he couldn’t stop the affection bubbling up in between his lungs. He felt his heart beat faster as you settled into a fighting stance, your arms raised in front of you. “That’s the spirit.”

Your eyes locked onto each other, and for a moment, all was still.

Then, you came barreling towards him, your eyes glimmering in the sunlight. His lips curled into a smirk as he raised his foot.

Perhaps teaching you to fight wasn’t too bad of an idea, after all.

[tofumedic]

hewo! for the affections number.. 16 is so cute.. would u be able to do headcanons of all the demon bros with it? if not, can u pls do levi then !

The Brothers + Simeon with #16!

16. taking a photo of them smiling or in their element

(lucifer's is here from a previous ask! and bc of that i added simeon only for having some lil funnies i hope you dont mind <3!!!)

Mammon

His collection is the largest, he flaunts it like collectables like cars or like Levi's figures. It is literally one of his biggest flexes and will use them like trading cards never wanting to send them in group chats or privately bc he took those ones get your own human >:(!

He will however hold his phone directly in one of their faces, waving the screen around to show how he has so many good ones.

He uses them for call screens, his lock screen, his home screen, any widget he can other than the Goldie one. He's a menace about it but do not call him out on it he will buy a second phone to use in the public.

Anyways, anyways for actually taking photos..

Mammon always takes too many, as in he will take a bunch within the same timespan because he doesn't trust his hands not to shake, so if he just takes a lot at one time so he can delete the others and save the best ones

But he just ends up keeping all of them, just favoriting the best or separating them into two albums of "valuables" and "treasures" depending on the quality.

Usually they will all have a small blur, him too excited at seeing whatever expression you wear, whether its a smile at seeing him purposely acting dumb or you enjoying a hobby.

He feeds a lot of unfiltered second hand serotonin off of you! Please do not disturb his "I have just had a very bad brotherly bonding experience, I must cope by looking at my photos of my human- No I'm not smiling already shut up"

Leviathan

Levi will use photos of you like wholesome memes so they carry the same energy as the hang in there cat poster, using different heart overlays and nice quotes

His are also a mixture of blurry but also high quality photos, for ones he takes.

This is because seeing you so dedicated or when you smile in his direction, his heart does this weird jumpstart the palpitations making him feel heavy yet light at the same time almost like a peach and its pit.

But he has a preference to use either this small tripod(he has it as a preparation for going to live shows) or a timer so its set away from him as he calls you over, its his own little trap.

His favorite, the majority of his collection, are those! It's photos of you being in frame with him in it as well because there's just something about how all that happiness of yours is completely focused on him, your smile as you walk over towards him sometimes blurry and mistimed so its only you entering the corner of the screen but you can tell how he takes your attention.

When getting in fights about who has the best photos, he will drop ones that are different hugs of him in your arms like he was a newly one plush. Mammon especially gets pissy about these as well as Belphie and Asmo.

If you can't turn your camera on when he calls or if he is locked in a raid that they're losing he would ask you for a selfie also, never requesting anything special other than just yourself but his favorite is when you send just smiles or videos of the which character are you filter :]!

Satan

Satan often tries to hide it, saying he's taking a photo of himself or checking his hair, maybe even going as far as saying the text on his study notes are too small so he has to hold it in front of his face so close.

Think about cowboys, shooting from the waist. That's him when you're too far away, maybe with a brother or during class or eating. He will scribble out his brother or purposely have the other cropped out of the shot.

He does have a lot of you when you're just turning around to face him and then your reaction, he can't resist the temptation of taking your attention when he's bored or waiting for his next book order to come in before he goes back to the cat behavior of only seeking out attention when he deems it necessary and otherwise pleased for a period of time.

He loves the ones where you look at him before he's ready, these are just slightly shaky from him jumping or pressing the button in an embarrassed panic at your smug yet happy expression.

Has definitely done the cut a hole in a newspaper and put his camera to it to look out like it was some camouflage but he's first, smiling much too hard and trying not to laugh at it, and second had seen it in multiple old movies and shows you had watched together.

Satan, speaking of movies, quite enjoys you in low light. On movie nights where your face is only illuminated by the projector screen and the photos turn out a bit grainy, there's something so romantic about you just existing in such an atmosphere. These ones he does like more when you're focused, looking far off with a small pleasant smile on your face at the soft plot of tonight's pick.

Asmodeus

Asmo will send you them all the time, he's like your own personal Devilgram manager he will even edit them for you and send the before and after of those photos too (MC: when did u take these??? Asmo: ,';p)

He will always have such good angles of you, from your side, from above or below, a 3/4, or full portrait, your silhouette. He may have one for each basic one at least though his favorites are above and below, these are the most personal feeling to him.

Usually these come as him trying to get your attention, bothering you with his phone and purposely leaving the little shutter noise on so you hear every single one while you're just trying to watch a DevilTube video or do something else.

Him snuggled into your side post cuddle just to lean up, phone in his hand and a menacing giggle, it's the first thing you see waking from your drowsy state is him on top of you trying to get cute pictures that he can use as teases as if something else was in progress.

Or ones where you roll on top of him, just trying to get up to see the dumb little flash as an alarm instead of his cute good morning kisses to your face(those are actually used to buy more time with you because he is allowed to be a little selfish as a treat)

He also has them set as his lockscreen and homescreen, these being photos of you together so he can have the best of both worlds, himself and your happy smiling face. He just finds it so cute, whenever you want an audience to see it he's in the first row.

Sends them to the group chat with his brothers to start some chaos

"My~ Isn't my dearest MC just the cutest?" Asmo has sent 28 attachments.

Beelzebub

His collection isn't one of the best out there but it is unique and keeps him content and happy, pleased.

He likes having photos of you for when you two are separated, it makes you feel closer to him and him to you

His may have some of the least blur, hands steady you work on something separately yet aware of the soft stare that was bearing into the side of your head.

He may forget sometimes about the sound so when you get the rare notification from his electronic betrayer it is free power to tease him, asking him if he wanted your attention or if he just took a photo of you and to be honest, then his photos if you let him continue for that setting are a little blurrier on your fine details. He's embarrassed.

He likes these more than ones with just your smile because then he isn't as satisficed because then he's thinking about how nice it looks in person and your laugh and when you let out a sigh being tired from your work, it'll be a cycle until he gives up and goes to see you in person.

But he likes the ones of you in your element very much and photos of you in general, saying that looking at them makes him feel "full"

He means to say complete, he's content and pleased and delighted and he has a reminder of you existing, that you're real and not a midnight sleep walk hallucination.

Belphegor

He has the smallest collection but next to rest, Beel, and his appearance he is mostly focused on capturing photos of you when he can.

He didn't get to really know you as long as his brothers have so its only fair he gets to spend more time with you than them until he's equal, and then some because you're really comfy and you make his twin happy? and then on top of that you make this face when you are concentrated and you smile different depending on if you're gonna laugh or if you're confident.

There's so much he has to memorize, he's rather demanding with having the attention so he may continue this personal agenda of his.

A lot of them are from similar angles, from laying with him in different positions but everything feeling relatively the same, normal. These are usually after he has woken up, not before he goes to bed so either it's your soft good morning smile, or your surprised "how long have you been awake" face, or you still asleep on your own.

Many of them often have his bed head just barely visible at the bottom, usually having laid on top of you and just using his selfie camera and angling it up to see you take up more of the screen.

For just being a pillow that moves a lot you definitely are photogenic.

He doesn't send his photos of you to chats but will save photos sent of you from everyone except Lucifer.

Simeon

PLEASE applaud.

It takes him such a long time, but Solomon gave him the idea saying it was something sweet you would also enjoy the concept of. So he is doing his best.

He will see you, just existing and his heart will swell, needing to pause a moment before kindly asking you to hold that thought and pose as he turns on his phone, maneuvering to the camera and trying to get it to focus on you perfectly.

It takes him a few minutes every time but he is getting better at it but his reaction is always the same, smiling at you showing up on his phone screen waiting for the picture to be taken.

He never can be sneaky about it unless he asks for help to get your photo, sending Luke on his biggest mission yet, a photo after he asks you what you thought of Simeon's cooking knowing you'll have that sweet face of genuine thought looking back on it.

But he has yet figured out how to turn the sound off and almost always accidentality flashes you up close, it's so bright.

He has the most blurry photos, and that's not on purpose but when he asks you to look at them with him so he can coo about how happy you look or how serious, its endearing with the blur especially as they clear up a bit continuing the timeline of photos.

He really does his best to have these mementos of you.

Is delighted when you surprise him by putting his favorite one of you as his home screen, he's so grateful let him match with you he wants to be yours too!

from this prompt list!

[writersrealmbts]

Light of Christmas Morn

Description: You are woken up on Christmas morning...hopefully to share the happiness of the holiday with your hybrids.

“Ooo for another Christmas request, can I please request an Poly!OT7!Hybrid!BTS x human!fem!reader where the boys all wake her up excitedly on Christmas morning?🥰🎄”

Warnings: Fluff and stuff

Posted: 01/01/2021

Tags: ot7 x reader, hybrid au, hybrid ot7

2,694 words

A/N: For @kpopgirlbtssvt​, sorry it’s late! Also! First story of 2021!

“Y/n! Wake up! It’s Christmas!” Taehyung shouted as he bounced on you.

You groaned and shoved him off, then noticed the clock as more bodies hopped onto the bed to try and bounce you awake.

“It’s Christmas, it’s Christmas!” Taehyung was practically singing, Jungkook and Jimin joining in when you made no move to get up.

“Santa came,” Jimin breathed reverently.

“It’s five a.m.,” You said carefully, evenly.

The bouncing slowly ceased.

“But…but Santa came….” Jin whispered.

You propped yourself up to sort of glare at them. “So that gives you permission to be naughty?”

Taehyung nodded in his excitement while the others quickly shook their heads and Jungkook just looked frozen.

“You better hope your presents didn’t magically turn into coal,” You muttered, dropping back onto the bed. “Teeth brushed. You can go through your stockings. Someone make me coffee.”

The bed bounced a lot as they rushed to do as you said.

Only one didn’t move.

You rolled over and held out your hand for Yoongi.

He slunk up and curled up with you. “What is Christmas like? I mean…what was it like for you?”

You understood his meaning. It was his, and the other boys’, first Christmas. They’d never celebrated it before, they knew it existed, but to them it was just a season that meant a lot of hybrids were taken to homes—and a few weeks later a lot of hybrids were returned with broken hearts.

These seven, your boys, were adopted by you about four months prior—all special cases. No one was willing to take all seven, and removing one made all of them go feral. So they’d spent far too long in the shelter, locked away from the world.

Not you’d been acquainting them with all that they’d missed—Christmas being the biggest of them.

“I would wake up, and me and my siblings would get my parents up if they weren’t already up. We would go to the living room, and we would open our stockings while waiting for my parents to get their coffee or for my older sister to drag herself out of bed. Sometimes until my mom got breakfast in the oven. Then once we were all together, we would start opening presents. We didn’t take turns or anything, just…opened presents and thanked people and it was a happy sort of chaos. All you need to do, is open presents and enjoy what you’ve received. That’s more than enough for me. I’ll task Taehyung to pass out presents, which should keep him a little busier and reign in some of the chaos.” You nudged his cheek with your nose. “Think you can handle that?”

He nodded, sighing a little as he tried to force himself to relax.

You regularly squeezed his hand and relaxed it, guiding his breathing as the two of you had practiced. He found new things hard since they all had been unexposed to many things, but he and Seokjin had been the least exposed to new things and locked up the longest. Jungkook came in after them for length of time locked up, followed by Namjoon, Hoseok and Jimin, and finally, Taehyung—and their ability to adjust to new things sort of followed the length of time they’d been locked away as well. Jin was the exception, he had been adjusting surprisingly well, in fact, he seemed better adjusted than you were most of the time.

You smiled as you heard Yoongi purr softly, letting you know he was ready to go downstairs.

Jimin practically tackled you when you finally reached the living room. “I love it, I love it, I love it!”

“I’m glad,” You replied gently, stroking his back.

He pulled away and gently grasped the necklace. “It’s so pretty. Thank you.”

You smiled at cupped his cheek. “It looks good on you, Jimin. Bring Yoongi his stocking after we sit down?”

He nodded and bounced away.

You took Yoongi’s hand again and led him through the chaos and sat him in an armchair. “Don’t worry about anything but enjoying what you’ve received, and seeing how the others react to what you’ve gotten for them.”

“Right. I’m excited to see if they like what I got for them,” He murmured, blinking and furtively glancing at the others.

Jimin brought over Yoongi’s stocking, as well as your own.

“Taehyung, don’t eat all of your candy right away!” You called, standing up.

He quickly shut his mouth and shoved the rest of the candy in his stocking. He was already wearing the earrings you had gotten him. He liked earrings.

Jungkook was hugging his stocking with a small smile.

Jin was still studying the earrings you had purchased for him.

Namjoon had his ring on and was investigating his candy.

Hoseok had all seven bracelets on and was gleefully counting them over and over again while playing with the charms.

You knew what was in your stocking, since you’d filled it. You were more interested in watching them open presents.

Jimin brought you a mug of coffee. “Not grumpy anymore?”

“Not grumpy anymore,” You agreed, smiling up at him. “Time to open presents. Tae? You want to pass out presents?”

Taehyung lit up like the tree and hurried toward the tree, tail wagging a mile a minute. “I’ll be extra careful!”

“Don’t forget to make a pile for your own presents. Since we’re all down here, you can start opening once you have a present,” You instructed calmly, watching as Taehyung started carefully pulling presents. Most people would probably have them take turns opening presents but you didn’t think they would do well with the pressure of people watching them open presents. Jin’s ears turned red if two people looked at him, and Yoongi was somewhat uncomfortable with how many people were in the room—even if they were his people (he was very particular in calling all of you his people)—to even consider subjecting him to that sort of attention.

“It has a tail hole!” Hoseok shouted as he clutched the pants. “I don’t have to tear them!”

“Hyung! Look! It was made for cat ears!” Jimin was saying to Yoongi, holding up a hat.

Namjoon was staring in awe at the bonsai you’d gotten him.

Jin was wearing the sweater you had gotten him and was curled up next to Hoseok, watching the younger open his presents, but also discretely watching Yoongi open his presents.

Jungkook was peeling the paper carefully off of the presents instead of ripping it off, but you let him be because he looked happy and that was all you wanted for your precious hybrid babies.

It was all you dared ask for from day to day as you helped them cope with their freedom: that they were happy overall, and that you saw at least half-a-smile a day. You didn’t ask them to be fine all the time, or adventurous—you just asked them to try. Try, and even if you can’t do it that day, try again another day.

Everything looked better in the light of a new day.

And the light of Christmas morn was the most hopeful.

[smaidjor]

and i pay for my place by the ring (Chapter 2)

This chapter took me so fucking long but after much struggle I have completed it!

It was supposed to be 3-4k words. It was exactly 6069 pre-editing according to google docs.

You're welcome.

Chapter Title: with your blessing i will go

Chapter Wordcount: 6073

Content warnings: suicidal thoughts, self-esteem issues, discussion of death, non-graphic injury.

AO3

Chapter 1

i know they're losing (companion fic)

Actual fic under the cut:

The next few weeks are miserable, and if Scott tried to claim anything else, he would absolutely be lying to himself. Not that he doesn’t already do that, but he’s not too proud to admit that not seeing Jimmy is torturous. He knows he can’t, he’s firmly placed Jimmy on the off-limits list, but that doesn’t make the self-imposed rule any easier to follow. There’s still a part of him that wants to go running back to Jimmy’s arms, to beg for forgiveness and pray that Jimmy’s warmth is enough to curb the chill in his bones.

Scott shoves that part of him down firmly. He has no time to hesitate or regret, and he will not spend his days pining and sighing over a human. (Or so he tells himself.) He will be the perfect model of an elven king if that’s what it takes to gain his people’s respect, and he will make his parents proud, not that they’re around to see it. He will . Because Scott may not care about what the Council of Elders thinks of him- he hasn’t for twenty years now- but he does care that the people of Rivendell get a leader who cares for their wellbeing. It’s the least he can do, really.

So he takes on the meetings and the paperwork and the aching, gaping hole in his chest with grim determination, ignoring the way his hands always seem to shake a little and he can never quite get warm. It’s fine. Scott is fine. He’s not going to think about golden smiles or warm brown eyes or the look on Jimmy’s face when Scott told him it was over. He’s fine .

Flipping through the stack of official mail he’s received, Scott’s startled when his hand falls on an elegant cream envelope stamped with the crest of the Ocean Empire. How long has this been here? He hurries to get it open, nearly slicing himself on the letter opener in the process.

Out slides an official invitation in neat cursive.

To High King Scott Dangthatsalongname Smajor, Lord King of the Rivendell Empire,

You are cordially invited to a royal ball to be held at the palace of Ocean Queen Lizzie Ldshadowlady, Queen of the Northern Waves and Reefs, at 8 pm on the fifth of August.

Formal attire is required.

RSVP as soon as possible.

At the bottom of it, there’s a note in slightly more rushed handwriting.

Smajor- elvenking or not, I will not appreciate it if you mess with Jimmy in any way, shape or form. This ball is to be a peaceful affair, and I will not hesitate to intervene should anything occur.

Lizzie

Scott winces. He...can’t say he doesn’t deserve the warning, any more than he can say that it doesn’t hurt to be warned away from his own husband. Ex-husband, he quickly reminds himself, reaching for stationary to pen a response.

Dear Ocean Queen Lizzie Ldshadowlady, Queen of the Northern Waves and Reefs,

He stops, giving it a bit of thought. Would avoiding Jimmy be worth the political consequences of refusing an invitation like this? No, he concedes reluctantly, it wouldn’t. He can always just avoid Jimmy at the ball- Lizzie would probably be happy for it, honestly. She’s been protective over him from the start. Scott puts the pen back to paper.

Luckily, I will be able to attend the ball. It sounds like a wonderful event and I eagerly anticipate it. As for your note, I will avoid antagonizing Jimmy as much as possible. I would hate to sacrifice diplomatic relations between our kingdoms for a petty squabble. Will that be satisfactory?

Sincerely,

High King Scott Dangthatsalongname Smajor

What’s going on between him and Jimmy is far more than a petty squabble, but Lizzie doesn’t need to know that. It’s fine. It’s not like he’s going to run into Jimmy anyways, right?

The day of the ball arrives, and Scott spends far too long choosing an outfit. He’s not vain, not usually, but...Jimmy will be there. You’re not supposed to want to impress him , Scott scolds himself, but that doesn’t stop him from wearing his nicest golden jewelry. The rest of his outfit is far more strategically planned- long skirts to hide how terrible his balance is when he’s near-constantly struggling to get a full breath into his lungs, gloves to keep his dance partners from questioning his cold hands.

The ball is already in full swing by the time he arrives, the trip from Rivendell taking longer than he thought it would. He’s still greeted by the Ocean Queen herself, though, gliding over in her stunning ballgown of blue and green.

“Welcome!” Her smile is bright, warm in a way he almost envies.

Scott dips his head just enough to be respectful but not so much as to truly defer to her. He thinks that’s right, anyways; he hasn’t had to think about that particular part of etiquette lessons in some twenty years. “Thank you, Queen Lizzie. I apologize for my lateness, the trip was a bit harrowing.”

“No problem at all, I just hope you enjoy the ball!” Lizzie’s smile gains a sharper edge. “I appreciated your letter, by the way. Thank you for your promise to keep it civil, King Smajor. Now we just all have to follow through on our words!” She accompanies that bit with a little laugh, but Scott’s not a fool enough to take it as anything but a warning. She doesn’t want trouble at her ball, and who would, really?

“Hopefully we can manage at least that,” he offers wryly, earning another laugh and a bright “Hopefully!”

Scott doesn’t mean to cause trouble at the ball, he really doesn’t. But before he has a chance to even get a look around, Jimmy’s standing in front of him. And oh, this really isn’t how he hoped it’d go.

“Lord Codfather,” Scott greets, swallowing the lump in his throat. Jimmy cleans up nicely- really nicely- but Scott’s eyes keep going to the scar on his throat, the permanent reminder of how fragile and mortal Jimmy really is.

“Elvenking,” Jimmy says. The formality sounds awkward in his bright voice, and Scott wants to kiss the uncertainty right off his face. “Care for a dance?”

He can’t- he should, Scott knows. There would be value to an alliance with Jimmy, and he has no good reason to turn him down. That’s not why he says yes, though. It’s that look in Jimmy’s eyes, the hope poorly disguised by indifference. He’s so optimistic. Scott shouldn't encourage it, but he can’t find it in himself to break that fragile hope just yet.

“I suppose I wouldn’t mind,” Scott says finally. He takes Jimmy’s outstretched hand in his own gloved one; Vilya rests on Jimmy’s finger, still, and it’s a battle to keep the memories of giving Jimmy that ring at bay. He wins that battle, though, letting Jimmy put a hand on his waist as they start into a simple waltz.

Jimmy is a terrible dancer, and Scott knows it. He steps on Scott’s feet, he gets off-rhythm- he’s frankly not made for dancing, much as the way he hums along to the tune is adorable. His hair, which was probably once nicely styled, has already fallen out of place, and his tunic is a little wrinkled. His hands are rough, tough from all the work he does with them, and his face has a tiny bit of mud on it that he must have missed when getting ready. He looks very much like a sweet little swamp boy, out of place in the midst of all the more elegant and powerful rulers.

He’s the most beautiful thing Scott’s ever seen.

Unlike the last time they danced, back in 3rd life where Jimmy leaned on Scott for balance as he tried to learn the complicated steps, this time it’s Scott clinging to Jimmy for stability. He feels bad about how harsh his grip gets, but he can’t afford to show weakness. He has to stay on his feet.

Scott’s silently thankful when the dance ends and he can lead them off the dance floor. He’s exhausted and shaky, and he’s not sure how much longer he can be around Jimmy without breaking down or doing something very stupid.

“Thank you for the dance, Codfather,” Scott says. He takes a step back, banishing the lingering emotion of their dance.

A beat of silence, and then.

“Can we please stop acting like we don’t know each other?” Jimmy demands, earning a ripple of gasps from nearby guests.

“What else do you want from me?” Scott snaps back, anger rising to fill the gap in his chest.

“I- something! Anything! Just acknowledge that I exist, won’t you?”

Scott swallows down the lump in his throat. “Acknowledging you exist doesn’t mean I can still be in love with you, you know.”

“I know,” Jimmy says. He sounds so bitter, so tired. “I know , trust me. I just want you to stop- to stop hurting yourself to try and avoid pain!”

“That’s not what I’m do-”

Jimmy cuts him off, a rare occurrence. “Then what are you doing? Enlighten me, o wise elf! You told me it would destroy you to lose me, but you’re losing me now by pushing me away!”

His chest tightens, and he can barely force the words out. “I’m trying to do what’s best for the both of us, Jimmy.”

“No you’re-”

It’s Scott’s turn to cut him off. “I am an elf, and I cannot love a mortal. Humans are quick flames, burning and changing quickly. You’ll fall in love again, and you’ll forget me.” It hurts, but it’s true. There will be a mortal who loves you- I’m sure there are many already.” Jimmy’s so wonderful, there are bound to be others who see it.

“But I don’t want a mortal,” Jimmy says. It’s almost childish, but his next words still break Scott’s heart. “I want you. ”

“You can’t have me.” Scott is vividly aware of the fact that there are eyes on him, that their little spat has attracted the attention of the rest of the ballroom.

“But why? Why, Scott?” Jimmy’s voice breaks, and the crack in it is damn near enough to make Scott lose his tiny bit of remaining self-control. “You said you loved me, you promised me all the time we’d be able to- to carve out, to steal from the universe.” It sounds like an accusation, and maybe it is. Scott did promise him that, after all, and then he went back on it.

It wasn’t for no reason, though. He needs Jimmy to understand that it was for a reason. “I can’t give you that!” He snaps back, and his hands tremble when they try to form fists by his side. “You’ll live sixty more years, maybe, a fraction of my life, a blink of an eye to an elf, and I can’t even give you that long! Not when I have to be the elvenking before anything else. Nothing I can do will ever be enough for you.” It’s bitter, but it’s true. Scott can’t be enough for anyone, in the end.

“Enough for me? For ME?”Jimmy’s voice rises in outrage. “All I want is for you not to die to your own dumb plan and acknowledge my existence once in a while!”

Scott’s voice rises in response. “And all I want is for you to realize I can’t love you again!”

“Why can’t you care about me?”

“Why can’t you move on?”

“You’re not moving on, you’re just trying to forget!” Jimmy shouts.

Scott falls silent, breathing hard as the ballroom goes quiet around them. He spots Lizzie sweeping through the crowd, coming to a stop next to Jimmy.

“Is everything alright, boys?” She’s smiling, but it’s strained, and her eyes promise death if this quarrel was Scott’s fault.

“My apologies, Ocean Queen,” he says, and he tries to gather his composure as he dips his head to her. “Everything is alright, but I am afraid I will have to leave early.” He doesn’t look at Jimmy.

She smiles again, dangerous this time. “No need to worry, Lord Smajor. Do try to avoid picking fights with my allies, next time, though.”

“It won’t happen again,” he promises, and he only nearly stumbles when he turns to leave.

Distantly, he can hear Jimmy shout after him. “Coward!” The word is harsh, but there’s hurt beneath it. “You’re a coward, Scott!”

Scott stumbles away all the quicker.

He keeps composed all the way out the doors and most of the way down the stairs until he’s sure no one can see him from the ballroom. It’s only then that he breaks into a run, lifting up his stupid skirts so he doesn’t fall. One shoe falls off, a twisted parody of a children’s fairy tale, and he doesn’t bother to retrieve it. The prismarine stabs at his exposed foot, but Scott doesn’t have the energy to care. Instead, he beats his wings, trying to get enough momentum for a good takeoff.

For a few precious moments, he gets off the ground, and then he remembers Jimmy’s face as he left, wingbeats stuttering with the sudden emotion, and tumbles back to the rough prismarine path. It hurts , it does, but it’s nothing on the pain in his chest. Nothing on the words still echoing in his head. Coward! You’re a coward, Scott!

Scott lays there for a moment, half-wondering if anyone’s coming after him. It’s unlikely, he knows, given how badly he messed things up. He tells himself that that’s a good thing, that he doesn’t want anyone to come looking. He doesn’t need them. He should be strong.

Before anyone has time to notice or be concerned, he’s forced himself back to his feet, starting the takeoff sequence all over again.

This time, he gets in the air with little difficulty, though he lists to the side as he favors his right wing, which took the brunt of the fall. It’s fine. He’s fine, he doesn’t need help.

If Scott believed in the elven gods anymore, he would thank them for the fact that he gets back to Rivendell at all. There are tears blurring his vision, and every part of his body aches, his chest most of all. His flight is shaky at best, outright dangerous at worst, crashing into trees and rocks and the ground multiple times. Each time, he barely picks himself back up before mobs arrive. Sometimes, he questions if he should at all. He’s as good as dead anyways. And yet, the tiny stubborn part of him that got him through 3rd life won’t let him just lay down and die. For some reason, even though he’s slept enough recently (he thinks, anyways), there are phantoms on him. They sense when their prey is sleep-deprived, Scott knows, and wonders if he’s just weak enough to seem that way to them.

By the time he crash-lands on the mountainside, it’s pushing two in the morning, and Scott is more dead than alive. Not that he hasn’t been for a while now, he thinks, and laughs aloud to himself, bitter.

The night watch give him strange looks, but both elves on guard duty obligingly dip their heads when he stumbles by. He barely musters the energy to nod back.

Finally he makes it back to his house, slamming his door behind him and burying his face in his hands. This is the right thing to do, why does it hurt so much? He already lost Jimmy once, why does it feel like he’s losing him all over again when he never really got him back in the first place?

Someone coughs lightly, breaking through his thoughts. The voice is familiar when they speak- one of his advisors. “Lord Smajor? Any major events we should know of at the ball?”

Cold. Calm. Scott knows this is the way of the elves- their royalty cannot dare be human. “The Codfather’s our enemy and the Ocean Queen probably hates us too.” He doesn’t bother trying to make himself sound calm and collected, pushing off the wall and stalking towards the stairs.

“What?” The advisor’s voice pitches up in shock. “What did you do?”

“None of your business.”

“You cannot have embarrassed the elven realm at the largest event of the year-”

“It wasn’t like I was fucking trying to,” He snaps.

A gasp. “Language.”

“Fuck off.”

They hurry after him, making to follow him up the stairs. “Lord Smajor-”

Scott turns to face them, taking in the shock and rage painted across their ancient face. “Leave me be.”

“Do not disrespect your elders,” the advisor scolds. “I remember when you were a child, you always were reckless, but this is a new level of disrespect! Why, Xornoth would never-”

“ Enough ,” he hisses. “Do not talk about my sibling.”

They freeze, a bit of genuine fear creeping onto their face. “My lord-”

“Get out of my house,” Scott snarls.

They wisely obey. Scott slumps against the banister as the surge of adrenaline abates, suddenly exhausted. He’s freezing, he realizes, a bone-deep chill that he doesn’t bother to pretend is from his trip home. Scott’s done lying to himself- he’s in pain, and he’s in love, but then again, those equate to roughly the same thing when all’s said and done. You can’t have heartbreak without love or love without heartbreak. (But oh how he wishes he could.)

Scott doesn’t get out of bed the next day, and no one dares try to force him. Varying members of Rivendell’s Council of Elders make a decent shot at trying to convince him, but all it takes is him fixing them with his dead-eyed stare to make them leave. The people of Rivendell are used to their ruler’s odd sleep schedule by now, brushing it off easily, and the empire itself is mostly functional without him. So instead of getting up and dealing with the corruption or making sure Rivendell’s stores are prepared for winter or any of the things he should be doing, Scott lays there in his own misery and thinks about Jimmy screaming that he’s a coward.

He’s right, that’s the worst part. Scott is a coward. He’s scared of Xornoth and the corruption and never, ever being enough, he’s scared of responsibility and his own mind, he’s scared of fading and dying alone, and- most of all- he’s absolutely terrified of how much he loves Jimmy.

His father warned him about fading, once, back before Scott was expected to carry a crown on his brow and the weight of a nation on his shoulders. He bounced Scott on his knee and told him that elven hearts are fragile, too fragile for how strongly they love. “Don’t fall too deep in love, son,” he said, and the words carried the weight of years of grief. “Don’t care too much about any one person, not if you want to live to be a legend of the ages. Doesn’t matter what kind of love it is, love can be lethal.”

Scott didn’t listen, of course- reckless, rebellious Scott, who never once listened to his elders, went and did the most dangerous thing an elf could do. He fell in love with a human.

And now he’s dying. Surely that gives him a pass to wallow in his own misery for a day or two. He’s been brave for so long, can’t he just rest a few moments? Just...just a few. He’ll just lay here a bit longer.

At that moment, the front door creaks open somewhere below him.

“My lord? Can I come up?” Someone calls from below. Their voice is also familiar- Gilnar. Gilnar’s a good captain of the guard. Dutiful, clever, and far more willing to respect him than most of Rivendell’s high ranking elves.

“If you’ve come to convince me to get up, it won’t work,” Scott calls back.

Gilnar’s head peeks over the railing a moment later. “Nope, not here for that. Just thought I’d check in, y’know?” The Sindarin words sound almost musical in their accent, rolling up and down with a unique sort of rhythm.

“Alright.”

“Are you okay, my lord?”

“No.” He’s done lying. “Leave me be.”

Gilnar shakes their head. “Sorry, my lord, can’t do that.”

“If you’re going to tell me my people need me, don’t waste your breath. I know .” Scott’s voice cracks on the last word, just a little.

“Not that either. But with all due respect, seems a little like you’re givin’ up on yourself just a bit, my lord.” They lean against the railing.

“What do you mean by that?”

They cough, a little awkwardly. “The soul-sickness. The fading.”

Scott’s mouth opens and closes, and he sputters. “How-”

“Trainin’ with the royal guard a few weeks back, your hands were freezin’ and your balance was off. You haven’t gotten up at a reasonable hour in weeks, and, well, with all due respect- I know what heartbreak looks like.”

He’s silent for a moment, utterly floored. “What do you mean by giving up?”

“Well, Lauriel and I were talkin’, and….your love’s still alive, isn’t he? The Codfather?”

“How did you-”

Gilnar flashes him a tiny grin. “He’s not subtle, and neither are you. Plus, he has Vilya.”

Deciding to shove that to the back of his mind for now, Scott sighs. “He’s a mortal, Gilnar. I’m not giving up anything that I won’t already lose in sixty years or so.”

“Luthien loved Beren, didn’t she?”

“I am not Luthien. I cannot sing so well that the gods grant me pardon.”

“And Idril loved Tuor.”

“I am not Idril. I cannot bring Jimmy to the Undying Lands.”

“Arwen still loved Aragorn.”

“I am not Arwen. I do not have the choice to give up my immortal life.”

Gilnar’s smile turns sad. “Caranthir still loved Haleth. And Celebrimbor loved Narvi just the same, didn’t he? The doomed love all the more fiercely, my lord.”

“The rest of the elves won’t be happy with me,” Scott points out.

“You think Thingol and Turgon and Elrond were happy when their daughters loved mortals? You think Luthien’s people didn’t scorn Beren at first?”

Scott doesn’t have any retort to that, and Gilnar hops up from their seat on the banister. “Well, I need to get back to my duties, my lord. Good luck with your swamp boy!”

They’re gone as soon as they arrive, and Scott stares up at the ceiling, his thoughts dragging him along a spiral of emotion.

“Coward! You’re a coward, Scott!”

Scott is a coward. He’s a liar and a coward. Nothing he does will ever be right.

“Don’t fall too deep in love, son.”

Scott did, though. Like the idiot he is, he fell in love with someone the universe didn’t want him to have.

“Caranthir still loved Haleth.”

He did. And he paid for it. Does it matter? Scott thinks that losing Jimmy might be a price worth paying for the joy of loving him.

“You cannot have embarrassed the elven realm at the largest event of the year-”

Scott didn’t mean to, but he still messed up and shouted at Jimmy. He’s a failure. Jimmy could do better. He deserves better.

“I don’t want a mortal. I want you .”

Jimmy’s so stupid. Stupid Codfather with his stupid bright eyes and stupid, stupid insistence on not giving up on someone he should never have loved to begin with. Scott loves him so much more than he could ever put into words.

“With all due respect, seems a little like you’re givin’ up on yourself just a bit, my lord.”

Jimmy deserves an apology. Scott won’t give up.

(Not on Jimmy, anyways.)

It takes him nearly a month of furious work to make the precious mithril bracelet, refining it over and over again. He picks the flowers and their meanings carefully- love, hope, protection- and the crystals too. Amethysts for protection, carefully traded for filled with any bit of magic he can spare for them. The lettering carved into the underside is yet another layer of blessings and meaning; he does it in Quenya, the Tengwar script, which Scott knows Jimmy can’t read. He has to look up how to write in it after so many years of never so much as looking at elven script, pouring over old books by candlelight. By day, he rules an empire, relying on the rush of adrenaline and motivation to carry him through even on the days when he’s swaying on his feet by the end. By night, he works on a courtship project like none he’s made before until at last, at nearly three in the morning one night, it’s finished.

It’s not the most beautiful it could have been. Scott isn’t one of the great Noldor smiths of old, he’s just an elf in love. His hands are perpetually shaky nowadays, and he has limited time to work on it between every other responsibility in his life. But every centimeter of it is handmade with all the care he could muster, and that has to count for something.

Scott hardly wants to wait to give it to Jimmy, but he forces himself to try and wait for morning. His anxiety doesn’t let him sleep much, exhausted as he is, but he curls up under the covers and stares at the bracelet on his nightstand. He doesn’t want to take his eyes off it, half-convinced it will vanish if he does. Eventually, his eyes slide shut of their own will, carrying him into an uneasy sleep.

He wakes up long after the sun's risen, staggering out of bed and throwing on a cloak for the journey to Jimmy’s. The cold that he’s been banishing with the warmth of a forge has returned tenfold, and he’s shivering despite elves normally being resistant to chills. When he takes a glance at himself in the mirror, he finds that his hair is out of place, there’s a streak of ink across his cheek, and the dark circles under his eyes look like bruises. He looks a mess, and he doesn’t care. Jimmy is all that matters now.

The journey’s both long and rough, and his landing in the swamp is more like a frantic swan dive out of the sky. Luckily, though, the ground is soft here, and Scott’s able to pick himself up and hurry for Jimmy’s house, ignoring the stares of a few Codland citizens. He knocks, heart in his throat as he waits for the door to open.

The hinges squeak, and suddenly Jimmy’s standing there, a mix of emotions that Scott doesn’t even want to try and comprehend scattered across his face. He looks a little sleepy despite the fact that it must be near noon, and so very sweet with his hair falling in his face. The sight of him knocks the air right out of Scott’s lungs, and he has to struggle to remember why he’s here again for a long moment as they stare at each other.

“Hi,” Scott says weakly.

“Scott? What- why are you here?” Jimmy sounds outraged, and Scott can’t blame him.

Scott swallows hard. “I came to apologize.” His tired brain scrambles for words, something, anything to convey how truly sorry he is. “I was scared- I am scared. I’m terrified to lose you again. But I shouldn’t have pushed you away and hurt you.”

“No, you shouldn’t have!” Jimmy snaps.

“I know.” God, he didn’t expect it to hurt this much to hear the rage in Jimmy’s voice. “I- uh- fuck.” Scott fumbles to get the box he put the bracelet in, holding it out. “I brought a gift as an apology.”

Jimmy’s silent for a long moment, examining the bracelet. Scott barely dares breathe as he turns it over and over in his hands, tracing the flower designs with his fingertips. “Did you make this yourself?”

“Mhm. I did my best, but it’s not as nice as I’d like.” And, well, isn’t that just the story of his life?

“It’s pretty,” Jimmy says. He sounds genuine.

Scott lets out a breath, letting some of the tension go. “It’s spelled, too. Protection, good fortune, that sort of thing.”

“Do the flowers mean something?”

“They do.”

Jimmy doesn’t press for details.

“I-” Scott starts, and then pauses. What does he say? An apology would be a start, maybe. “I’m sorry, Jimmy, I really am. I won’t ask you to forgive me, but I needed to apologize before my time ran out.” It’s the truth, as wholly as he can bear to give it.

“Is it that- that dire?” Jimmy’s voice shakes a little, and Scott gives a tiny nod.

“This is what I chose to do with it. Making that, coming here. You deserved an apology.”

Jimmy goes quiet again. His eyes are still on the bracelet, and Scott can hardly breathe again.

Finally, he can’t take the tension. “It wouldn’t be fair of me to ask you to love me. I can’t promise you eternity. I can’t promise you happiness. I can’t promise you that I won’t have to be the elvenking first and a husband second. But I am still yours-” he’s always been, really- “if you’ll have me.”

The silence that falls after that is even more stifling than the previous two. Scott doesn’t expect Jimmy to want him back- far from it. He’s putting his heart in Jimmy’s hands, but he doesn’t expect anything other than it shattering on the floor. Maybe Jimmy will be kind enough to let him down gently, but Scott’s fragile enough that it would only take a tiny nudge to break him. And yet he can’t stop the tiny bit of hope that blooms, though it dwindles minute by minute as Jimmy stares and stares. Finally, he opens his mouth to make his apologies again and leave to his frozen, icy empire-

And then there are hands in his hair and lips on his, warm and sudden and bold. Scott gives a little startled gasp, which is swallowed up by Jimmy’s kiss. Their noses knock together and Jimmy’s teeth click against his just a little in their haste, but Scott’s far too overwhelmed by the sudden rush of warmth to care.

When Jimmy finally pulls away, Scott’s left breathless, cheeks warm in a way no part of him has been since Jimmy died in 3rd life.

He barely pulls himself together enough to manage a wry little “So, I’ll take that as you want to stay married?”

“Of course I do! You absolute idiot!”

Jimmy sounds so startled and offended at the idea that he wouldn’t , Scott’s not sure whether to laugh or cry. “Just checking.”

Jimmy kisses him again in response, and who’s Scott to protest? No, he’s more than happy to let Jimmy pull him close and kiss away the lingering sorrow. When Jimmy pulls away this time, he’s left dizzy, half caught up in the euphoria of being loved, half terrified that this is only a cruel dream.

By the time Scott collects himself again, Jimmy’s holding out the bracelet to him. “Can you help me put this on?”

Scott can only nod, fumbling with the clasp a little. It’s not complicated, but his hands aren’t steady, and it takes him a moment to get it. Jimmy grabs his hands when he lets go, and he’s so warm that Scott can’t muster the energy to even question why.

“Come in and catch up with me?” Jimmy offers.

Scott nods again, and he can’t bear to let go of Jimmy’s hand when Jimmy turns to go inside.

They talk a lot, Jimmy more than Scott. Scott learns that Jimmy’s been picked on by other rulers (no surprise, but his blood still boils at the thought), and he shares minimal details about what he’s been up to. Jimmy doesn’t need to hear about Scott’s issues, he’s already dealing with enough.

Eventually, though, the sun is starting to set.

“I need to get home,” Scott says, though he has to force himself to. “You need sleep, not to stay up all night talking.” He goes to get up, and Jimmy immediately lunges, catching his sleeve.

“Don’t go! Please.” Jimmy sounds almost afraid, which instantly sets off alarm bells.

“Jimmy, darling, we both need to sleep,” Scott tells him, very patiently.

“We can sleep! I just….nevermind.”

Now the alarm bells are really going off in Scott’s head. He knows when his husband is hiding something serious, and Jimmy’s frantic tone isn’t helping his worry. “No, no. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Jimmy claims.

Scott frowns at him lightly. “ Jimmy .”

That’s all it takes. “I don’t want to be alone!” Jimmy blurts. He’s blushing a little. “It’s just, I’ve been alone for a long time, and there’s this demon thing that keeps showing up, and I’ve only just got you back, I’m not ready to let you go, and-”

Oh, Jimmy . Scott holds up a hand in a ‘stop’ gesture. “Hold on. What was that about a demon?”

“There’s this demon creature that I keep seeing, and it’s really messing with me. It sounds like you, sometimes, but all distorted, and I can’t handle it! You know me, I’m not brave or smart or anything, I’m just Jimmy!” Jimmy’s voice pitches up with distress, and Scott’s heart aches for him.

“Alright,” he says, as gently as he can manage. “How about you come to Rivendell for the night, then? I can protect us both easier there.” More like, Aeor can protect them. Scott’s useless, even with Vilya.

Jimmy nods and takes Scott’s hand with a tiny little “Thank you.”

“Always,” Scott murmurs. It comes out softer than he means it to, though it’s the truth. He’ll always do whatever he can to protect Jimmy, which is why he asks “Do you still have the ring I gave you?”

“I do, I just… give me a moment to remember where I put it.”

“Good. It’s important.” Vilya is one of the most important parts of his heritage, actually, and his advisors would pitch a fit if they knew he had given it to a mortal. For once, he can’t bring himself to care what his advisors would think, though. Jimmy is important, more important than any piece of jewelry.

Jimmy follows Scott to Rivendell, and Scott can’t resist a proud smile when Jimmy praises the buildings. He takes Jimmy inside, lets him curl up under the warm covers, his head tucked against Scott’s chest, and it’s only once Jimmy’s asleep that Scott lets himself break. He’s so tired , so utterly exhausted from being brave for so long. Even now that his husband is curled up next to him, warm and solid and real, he can hardly believe that Jimmy actually wanted him back- wanted him at all, really. Scott doesn’t want to move for fear of waking up Jimmy, but luckily for him, he’s good at crying silently. That’s what he does, tears slipping down his face to wet the pillow below. Only the faintest whimper escapes his lips, a tiny broken noise that he’s embarrassed of even in this emotional state. And when another slips out, he buries his face in Jimmy’s hair and forces himself back into silence. He’s not going to cry over the best thing that’s ever happened to him, he isn’t , but he’s just so tired of being alone that being with someone else is almost painful in contrast; he’s so cold that the slightest touch of warmth feels burning.

Jimmy shifts in his sleep, mumbling something that sounds vaguely affectionate and pulling Scott closer, and Scott nearly chokes from the effort of restraining a sob. Gods, Jimmy . He could die like this, tucked in his husband’s arms, and he doesn’t think he’d regret it.

“I love you,” he whispers into the night. It comes out choked. “I love you so much. I’m so sorry, Jimmy, I’m so sorry.”

Jimmy mumbles something that sounds a lot like “I love you too”, and that’s what really breaks Scott. It’s a miracle Jimmy doesn’t wake up, really, with Scott’s quiet sobs shaking the mattress. He cries until he’s all out of tears, as silently as he can manage, and only then does he slip into a sound sleep.

[hoaxsen]

| happy [ late ] new years to one and all <3.

| here's some Levi angst.

| word count; 1,684

I'm coming home. 

" Promise me to stay alive? " 

" I always do, runt. You better promise me. "

" I promise. " 

Not all promises were made to be kept, either from the fact that they're broken almost instantly. Or they can't be kept at all, just empty words being said to fill the dead air created from the promise being said. 

Words that people take so seriously, as if they'd truly mean something. They're supposed to mean something, right? Supposed to mean the world to the people who created this. End it off with pinkies interlocking, like a kid friendly way of signing off a piece of your soul. 

A piece that you'll never get back. Discarded along with the broken seal, like as if finding a product in a store open. Needs to be thrown out.

I'm coming home. 

" This expedition might get us even further in taking back for humanity. " 

" Don't get your hopes up, just focus on coming back alive. . .please. " 

" I promised, didn't I? " 

You did, you promised Levi Ackerman an entire world in that one small and simple line. 

But that universe didn't hold up for long, it collapsed along with the small space of an open heart he had. This expedition was supposed to be clean and simple, Erwin said. It was supposed to run flawlessly, as he's promised time and time again. But failed to keep, this entire mission wasn't supposed to end this way. His new formation was supposed to have fewer casualties, little to no accidents should everyone follow pursuit. 

This time, that wasn't the case. The case that had opened and started it's cruel trial was the one happening here and now. 

The weight of it feeling like a star going supernova inside his heart. Though since that pressure was trapped inside so tightly, there was no way for it to be let out. The captain shut down, his mind going blank and his eyes looking vacant as he drunk in the news. 

Tell the world I'm coming home. 

" They. . .were caught in the hands of a titan, sir. " 

You weren't alive, not here to keep your end of the promise as he did with his. Not here to tell Levi that it was a mistake, they mistook you for someone else. That wasn't the ordeal, as much as he wished it was. All in his mind, playing on loop over and over was a silly little promise made before this. Of course it wouldn't have been kept, not in a world like this. A world where humanity is now at the bottom of the food chain, cornered like wounded animals. 

The captain of the Survey Corps dared not to let his heart leap out of his chest. The man dared not to shed a single tear in front of his comrades. This was the norm, he'd had to chant to himself like a prayer on a broken record over and over for the silver lining to not shine through. Hold it back all the way until he was behind closed doors, locked so tight that letting it all out wouldn't be a problem. So that his regiment could probably see, that even their captain was at this game long enough to realize not every little thing was going to last. 

A captain in front of everyone else, a human with emotions while being alone. That's how he wanted to treat this, tricking himself into thinking that's how he needed to treat this. 

Should he have looked on that cart, pulling the fallen soldiers back to the safety of the walls. Levi knew he would have let that dam overflow with the sounds of a heart aching lover. 

This expedition became the very reason why he loathed titans more. Becoming the very reason why, he started having doubts in his Commander. 

I know my kingdom awaits. 

The freshly dug hole waited for you alright back in Wall Rose. Somewhere maybe just outside the Krolva district, they called this place The Scouts Yard. 

How this one patch of land that could have been used for anything else, soon started becoming overtaken by the bodies of his fallen companions from their ongoing war. 

Now it houses your body. 

The weather of the day was a stark contrast of his mood, the sun was shining with a few small thin clouds in the sky. A pity really, he thought that whatever God was out there might knew how to read a room. Levi slowly got down onto his knees to read the words on the new tombstone. 

Here lies; Y/N L/N. 

The ravenette couldn't bring himself to read the rest, already biting down his tongue to distract himself from the stinging of tears in his eyes. Hands clenched into fists at his side, his nails threatening to dig into his skin and draw blood. The dirt that was gathering at the knees of his uniform was going unnoticed. 

' You promised me, idiot! How could you break it!? ' 

That broken promise lead you into a new world, a world of dirt under the earth. Was it like the hellhole he escaped from? Or was it better than the underground life? Except, there was no stairway fee. It was like your citizenship of this messed up surface world was revoked. Tarnished. Never to be used anymore. Torn away as if it were a fake and the MP's of that world came to collect you. 

The grey orbs of the Ackerman were starting to itch and pulse with the amount of restraint he was using to not let himself cry. Levi's breathing changed into one of a heavy, and broken up pattern. 

All he could think about was not here, not where people could see him at his weakest. Not at his lowest. 

A hand being placed on his shoulder brought him out of his trance. Looking up, he saw none other than the man he promised himself to follow. 

That's funny, huh? How he promised you he'd stay alive if you did, and how he promised himself to follow after your murderer. Every. Step. Of. The. Way. His life he placed in Erwin's hands, the same hands that weren't big enough to take your life into consideration. His own captain snapped at him, pushing his hand away harshly. Grey hues glaring ever so harshly at what seemed to be confused blue orbs. 

Levi stood up to his full height, giving Erwin the greatest stare down of his existence. The commander taking a step back to retaliate, as if he were the victim. 

" Levi- " 

" This. Is your fault. " 

Levi left Erwin with that, not catching how the commander suddenly got the hint, staring down at your grave. 

And they've forgiven my mistakes. 

Was it a mistake, to have broken a promise in this cruel and fucked up world? Was it really? You could catch Levi pacing the shared room with this thought in mind. 

His side of the room was a complete and total mess. Just like his office, papers everywhere, wooden chair pieces scattered over his floor. Yet, should any piece debris get over to your side, Levi is cleaning it like a mad man. Leaving everything the way you had it before, hoping to preserve what he could of your memory. 

Thinking it would bring a sense of calm to his nerves. All it brought uneasiness, abandonment, and a whole battalion of negative emotions that started attacking and swirling inside him. He almost questioned if this was how titans felt when their ends were coming to a near. A silly question, one used to try and distract himself. Not like it was helping in any shape or form, just made him feel worse. Useless even. 

' Did I even say ' I love you enough ' ? Did I show them that I cared? Did I do enough before their time came!? ' 

A sob left him, loud and clear as day. Almost turning into another moment of pure wails and tears. The man was pretty sure he showed enough emotion, even when he tried and didn't really know how. Tried his best not to be closed off and buried in his work twenty-four/seven. He felt like screaming and sobbing this time. Was he even enough for you before death? If he wasn't so tired and dehydrated from doing the said act maybe about twenty minutes prior, Levi would have let the entirety of Wall Rose know his pain. 

Eyes bloodshot from the onslaught attack of tears that kept pouring over from his once shining metallic eyes. How many cups of tea had he had? That somehow didn't end up as glass shards beneath his boots. For once, the mess didn't bother him, his promise to stay clean was broken. Just like almost everything else. One promise he made out of this shit, was to kill each and every titan. Then show Erwin that they're human, not just soldiers waiting to throw away their lives for bastard nobles. 

Those were promises he couldn't break. Along with not forgetting you, a bittersweet reminder on how everyone precious leaves his life one way or another. No amount of rain in the world could wash away that pain. 

Here now sat the Scouts' captain, sitting up against a heavy locked wooden door, holding what was your cloak from the expedition. Levi couldn't bring himself to clean it, the red of your blood, or maybe someone else's stained and clashed with the green. Making it a murky, dark, and odd color, Levi clutched it to his chest. His stray fallen tears turning the fabric a darker shade of its color. 

" I promise you, brat. . .I'll be coming back home alive. " 

Not all promises could be kept, just words to fill the dead silent air that was created. Reminders that it could always be broken in the least expected amount of time, in the most hurtful way. A stupid way to sign off a piece of your soul and hope for the better. 

Tell the world that I'm coming home. 

Levi Ackerman, was now no stranger to it. 

[hannibard]

Waiting for You

My @thewitchersecretsanta gift for @ofxwordsxandxletters. I tried my best to incorporate the things you said you liked and I sincerely hope you enjoy. Happy Holidays!!!

Crossposted to AO3

Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier

It was early afternoon when Geralt made it back to the village covered in monster guts. It wasn’t a particularly difficult hunt, but it did take him quite a bit of time to actually find the cockatrice before killing it, so he returned later than he had originally planned.

The villagers quickly stopped chatting with each other when they saw him and made sure to avoid him as he and Roach passed through a dense road on their way to the alderman’s house. He had been on the path for many years and by now he was used to their hateful gazes along with the rotten stench of fear they always seemed to eminate.

He dropped the pouch containing the cockatrice’s head on the alderman’s threshold and accepted his meagre payment from the man, without having to exchange a single word with him, before going straight for the inn he and Jaskier were staying at.

He left Roach at the stable next to the building and made his way inside, expecting to find the bard singing to a bunch of drunkards, having started his set already, but when he entered the common room, he found it empty and with only a hint of Jaskier’s smell, meaning it had been at least a couple of hours since he’d last been there.

The witcher ignored the small pang of worry in his chest and hurried upstairs to their shared room. He threw the door open with a little too much force and looked around. The bard wasn’t inside as he had hoped, despite all his stuff was still being in the same place he had carelessly thrown them when they first arrived the day before. Even his lute, aka his most prized possession and love of his life, was here and he rarely ever went somewhere without it.

Geralt pinched the bridge of his nose and took a few deep breaths, suddenly feeling stupid for caring this much. Jaskier was a grown man after all. He could do whatever he wanted and Geralt had no right to keep him by his side, despite how much he secretly wanted to, but it wasn’t the right time for such thoughts.

Anyhow, Jaskier was probably off with some barmaid or stablehand that had caught his fancy and had decided to skip his usual performance seeing as they had more than enough coin saved up as of late.

Assuming his friend would be back after he’d had his fun, Geralt started on his typical post-hunt routine: placing his swords and pack on a corner, taking off his armor (though this time without the help of a certain someone’s skilled fingers), calling for a bath and a meal to be brought up and after he was both clean and fed, kneeling on the bed and meditating.

By the time he was done with everything, the sun had long set and with his enhanced senses Geralt could hear the rest of the inn’s guests getting ready for bed, but his bard had yet to return.

Feeling as though enough time had passed for his feelings of worry to be reasonable, the witcher went downstairs to the bar. He placed his empty plate and tankard on the counter and as a man got reluctantly closer to take them away, he asked:

“Have you seen the bard that was with me when I arrived anywhere?”

The man was startled to be addressed but he looked back at Geralt.

“I think he went to play gwent at ‘The Rusty Rapier’ with some guys around midday.”

Jaskier’s skills in gwent were notorious to involve quite a bit of cheating, and since it had been so many hours since he went off, Geralt had a bad feeling about this.

“How do I find this tavern?”

He was given directions by the other man and after going back up to the room to take his swords, he went straight to that place hoping nothing bad had happened to his bard, though he doubted that was the case since neither of them was ever that lucky.

.......

Locked inside an abandoned shed, Jaskier was sitting on the ground, hugging his knees and trying to calm himself down while rocking back and forth in a rhythmic motion.

When he was first thrown in here by the men he had tried to scam, after they’d given him a small beating and taken all the coin he had on him (thank Melitele he had left his pouch at the inn) it was still day outside and he could see clearly around him because of some holes on the shed’s wooden ceiling. And Jaskier was mostly fine at that point, just cheerfully singing to pass the time and waiting for his dearest friend Geralt to come rescue him.

Sure, the few wounds and bruises he had (admittedly deservingly) acquired from his gwent-playing buddies stung a bit but it was nothing compared to what some cuckolded husbands had done to him in the past. Plus, ultimately both in this case and all the previous ones where he’d been roughened up by someone he had brought it upon himself, so he couldn’t really complain.

And yeah, singing was always more fun when he had his lute with him but that wasn’t enough to faze him, he could easily make do even without any instrumental accompaniment. He was a professional musician after all.

But as the hours went by, one after the other, the light from outside started dimming, the temperature dropping and his optimism dying, Jaskier grew more and more anxious. He has always hated the dark ever since his childhood and the whole situation was making him recall old memories that he had tried his best to forget.

By this point he had run out of his own songs to sing and had moved on to the ones he had been taught at Oxenfurt, his voice much weaker than before.

He went to rub a hand over his face and noticed that it was slightly trembling, together with the rest of his body and even though it was very cold, he suspected it was only half the reason. He clenched his eyes shut and rested his forehead against his knees, hugging them closer to his torso. He really fucking hated the dark.

Deep breaths Julian, he though as he dug his nails to his upper arms in order to distract himself and sighed. You have no reason to fear. Geralt will probably be here soon and then both of us can leave this godforsaken place behind in the morning.

Except… what if Geralt didn’t come? What if he used this chance to finally get rid of him? After all it was a well-known fact that the older man only barely tolerated his presence.

Sure, Jaskier’s songs had helped lesser the prejudice that existed against Witchers and made it easier for him to find work, but that didn’t mean he needed Jaskier in his life, he’d made that perfectly clear from the start of their acquaintance. Hell, he still refused to even call Jaskier his friend for fucks sake. The bard had thought they’d grown closer over time but maybe that was only wishful thinking.

Jaskier was only a burden and a nuisance to Geralt, and he couldn’t deny that no matter how much it hurt to admit. Still, the bard loved and cared for him anyways. He always had since that fateful day in Posada.

He might have attached himself to the witcher’s side for mostly selfish reasons at first, but he quickly realized how kind and caring he was behind his tough exterior and how low his self-esteem had become from decades of dealing with humans’ contempt and so he had vowed to do everything in his power to create a better world for him.

And although he knew this love wasn’t mutual and that he should have been content by being able to stay with him, even if only as a travel companion, a small traitorous part of him would always crave for more...

Nevertheless, if the witcher was aware of Jaskier’s feelings towards him he probably would have ditched him in some backwater town a long time ago, and so the bard was careful to lock them up inside his chest and never let them show.

But what if he had been careless? What if he let his touch linger while washing Geralt’s hair a little too long? What if he had written a few too many love songs recently with references to ‘luscious silver hair’ and ‘perfectly sculpted biceps’?

Perhaps the reason Geralt hadn’t come yet was because he had left the village without him as his way of letting Jaskier down gently.

Or even worse, what if he’d gotten hurt? Cockatrices (as the witcher suspected the monster he was sent to kill this time was) were fairly easy for Geralt to handle if they were by themselves but accidents could always happen.

What if he was bleeding to death from a fatal wound right this moment when Jaskier had no way to find and help him? If he wasn’t such an idiot and gotten himself in this situation, he might have been able to save him.

All those what ifs were making Jaskier more and more distraught and he could feel tears fill his eyes. He buried his face in his hands and started sobbing quietly, no longer able to continue his singing when suddenly the door was kicked open. The musician looked up abruptly, but he couldn’t make out who was in front of him because of the darkness.

“Jaskier?!” yelled a very familiar gruff voice.

The bard’s eyes widened, and he wiped his tears with the back of his hand. “G-Geralt? Is that you?”

The witcher dropped to his knees beside him. “Yes, it’s me.” He said and started running his hands all over Jaskier’s body, checking for injuries. “You don’t seem badly hurt. Can you stand?”

The bard nodded and got up with his friend’s assistance. It was a bit hard since he felt as if his legs had turned to putty after staying in one position for so long but after leaning on the wall for a moment, he was able to take a few trembling steps. Geralt helped him get outside and onto Roach’s back before climbing to sit behind him. “How do you always manage to get in trouble?” The witcher asked as Roach started galloping towards the village.

Jaskier gave a weak laugh in response. “Must be a talent. How did the hunt go? Are you hurt anywhere?”

Geralt sighed and shook his head. “How you had time to worry about others when you were in that situation evades me.”

“Don’t avoid the question!”

“…The hunt went well and I didn’t get hurt.”

“Promise?” the bard asked, knowing the older man had a habit of hiding his injuries from him.

“Promise.”

Jaskier smiled softly and leaned on his chest, all of a sudden feeling very tired. “Good. How’d you find me?”

“I paid a visit to ‘The Rusty Rapier’ and asked about you. After a bit of threatening, the men you cheated at gwent told me where you were.”

“Heh…Took you long enough.” Jaskier grumbled.

“I thought you were just fucking someone’s wife or something, didn’t expect you to be locked in a shed.” Geralt answered but he sounded somewhat apologetic.

Jaskier chuckled. “I was kidding big buy. Thanks for coming.”

Geralt just hummed in response and the bard could feel the vibrations of it on his back as he dozed off.

.......

When he woke up, he found himself back at the inn’s room. He was laying on the bed in his nightclothes and as he sat up, he noticed that his wounds had been bandaged. The sight brought a small smile to his face. He was about to get up when the door opened and Geralt walked in, carrying a bowl of what seemed to be stew and a tankard of ale. He looked surprised to see Jaskier awake. “You’re up.”

“So it seems.”

The witcher placed the food on the table. “How do you feel?”

Jaskier thought about it. “A bit sore.”

Geralt huffed a laugh. “That’s to be expected. Come.”

Jaskier obeyed and got up, making his way to the table. He sat down and started eating eagerly, only now noticing how hungry he was. When he was done, he pushed the empty bowl away and looked up at the older man. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, thank the innkeeper that had to get up and prepare this in the middle of the night.”

“No, not just that. For everything.” He said nodding towards his bandaged arm. “And… I’m sorry for always causing you trouble.”

The witcher looked a bit taken aback by that but he quickly schooled his expression. “It’s fine.”

Jaskier gave him a lopsided smile and looked down on his hands that were resting on his lap.       Geralt waited a bit to see if the bard would say anything and when it was apparent that that wasn’t going to happen, he took hold of the bowl and tankard and went downstairs to leave them somewhere for the innkeeper to find in the morning. He also dropped by the stables to check on Roach.

When he returned, the bard barely noticed his presence. He was still sitting in the same position, not having moved at all, looking dazed and forlorn. Geralt’s brows furrowed in worry and he sat down on the bed.

“Jaskier.”

The musician didn’t turn to look at him, still distracted by his own thoughts. “Hm?”

“What’s wrong?”

Jaskier blinked rapidly a few times and looked up at him. “Nothing’s wrong.”

Geralt sighed and rubbed his face. “You’ve been a bit… out of it. Since I found you.” The witcher had never been good with words, that was Jaskier’s job. But he desperately wanted to help his friend, so he pushed on. “I’ve just never seen you so uh. Quiet. You’ve always been unfazed by any situation, cracking jokes even when that griffin dislocated your shoulder.”

The bard glared at him “Well I though you fucking preferred the quiet.” he snapped and then immediately regretted it, his gaze softening. “Sorry… it’s just-” He cut off himself and sighed. He got up and came to sit next to the witcher. “You might laugh at me when you hear this but… I’m afraid of the dark.”

That definitely wasn’t what Geralt expected. “What? How’s that even possible? We’ve made camp in the woods countless times and you always seemed perfectly fine.”

Jaskier let out a nervous laugh. “That’s because you were there with me. I don’t have an issue when I’m with others but when I’m alone I just kind of lose it. Oh, and there’s also a bit of claustrophobia sprinkled in there.”

“Hm. I never would have guessed.”

The younger man snorted. “Well it’s not like I advertise it.” He scratched his cheek and bit his lower lip. “So that’s why being in that shed affected me this much. Anyhow, I’ll be over it by morning probably.” He bumped the witcher with his shoulder. “Don’t worry, my silly little phobias won’t delay our schedule.”

Geralt immediately felt guilty for making his friend think he would care more about being back on the Path than his mental wellbeing. He frowned and took one of the bard’s hands in his own, giving it a little squeeze. “Jask, if you need more time I wouldn’t mind staying here for a few days longer. I-I just want you to be ok.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened and he looked as if he was about to cry. “Oh Geralt… This means a lot to me. Thank you.”

The witcher smiled at him and gave him a look that seemed full of affection, though Jaskier didn’t dare hope. “Anytime.” He coughed to clear his throat. “So… Do you want to talk about it? Your fear of the dark?”

“Well… There’s not much to say really… It started when I was very young, and my parents decided that to keep me from becoming even more of a disappointment they’d have to find new, stricter ways to punish me for my wrongdoings.” He ran his free hand through his hair. “And one of them was locking me inside a dark storage room for days, without giving me any food until they’d deemed that I had learned my lesson.”

Jaskier was retelling all that casually, as if he was talking about the weather but Geralt was horrified by his words. He always had a hunch that the bard likely didn’t have the best childhood- being a disowned noble and all- but he never guessed that it was actually that bad.

Because how could someone that didn’t receive any love as a child be so full of it as an adult? How could someone that grew up in such a joyless environment be able to spread happiness and laughter wherever he went? How could he wear his heart on his sleeve, letting anyone he met just take it from him and trample it down if he knew better?

“Jaskier that’s fucking horrible, how could you call the fear all that trauma has instilled in you just ‘silly little phobias’?!” His voice raised with each word he spoke, and he was yelling by the end of the sentence.

The bard flinched away from him and avoided his gaze. “Because it’s all in the past Geralt. It’s stupid, to be this affected by it still.”

The witcher was at a loss for words. Jaskier was a pretty talkative guy, always chatting about one thing or the other, but he rarely ever mentioned his family and now the older man could see why, even if he couldn’t completely relate.

Part of him would always resent his mother, Visenna, for abandoning him and thus leading him to the life of a witcher but even still, he had retained many nice memories from their short time together. Instances where she hugged and comforted him or sung him a lullaby to sleep, he treasured all of them dearly.

Because at the end of the day, even though it might not have been as strong in comparison to other mothers, Geralt knew in his heart that Visenna loved him.

And knowing that Jaskier probably couldn’t even be sure about that (because how could a parent that starved their child willingly for days and locked them up have any capacity for love and affection? With that being only one of the punishments) was paining him more than the bard could ever imagine. He wanted nothing more than to envelop him in his arms and protect him from the cruel world they were forced to live in.

He was perfectly aware of what all this meant of course. He might have been bad at dealing with emotions but after the first few years of travelling together, even he couldn’t continue to deny the feelings held towards Jaskier.

It was almost inevitable really. After spending so much time with someone like the bard, with his gorgeous smile and cornflower blue eyes, his easy-going attitude, his beautiful singing voice, someone that had not once been afraid because of him and that had stood up for him when others treated him unfairly, he was bound to fall in love.

“It’s not stupid Jask.” He said after a long exhale. “You’re so strong to have gone through something like that. Most people would have broken under such circumstances.”

Jaskier didn’t look convinced and he smiled wryly while shaking his head. “It’s music that saved me y’know. Whenever I was locked up, I would start singing the melody to whatever few songs I knew, and during those times I could almost forget the hunger and the cold and all the expectations I had failed to meet.” He sniffled and rubbed his eyes. “That’s why I decided to become a bard later on. So that I’d be able to create music too, and maybe help other people when they’re feeling down and give them hope through it.”

When the bard finished speaking, Geralt brought his free hand up and wiped a stray tear that had slid down his cheek. “You’ve done a wonderful job so far. I know I don’t say it much, but I really like all your songs. Yes, even the ones about me.”

Jaskier snickered inelegantly, surprised by his words. “You might regret admitting that darling cause I’m never gonna let you live it down.”

Geralt chuckled. “Hm. True that.” He said and gave the musician a small sad smile. Jaskier rolled his eyes elbowed him in the stomach.

“Oh come on, don’t make that face now! Honestly, if I knew you’d be this affected I wouldn’t have told you.” He said teasingly, trying to make this conversation a bit more lighthearted but the witcher wasn’t having it. He grimaced and maneuvered his body to better face the bard.

“Of course I’m affected Jaskier, how could I possibly not be?! To me you are...” He stopped himself before he could finish that sentence. Nothing good would come if he revealed his feelings to Jaskier. Such a bright person that had their whole life ahead of them would never be interested in a witcher. The bard had helped him see himself in a better light in recent years but that didn’t change the fact that he was a monster, a mutant killing machine that was undeserving of the kind and sweet musician.

Jaskier, unaware of Geralt’s internal monologue, tilted his head the side, looking simultaneously curious and adorable. “…To you I’m what?”

Geralt avoided his gaze. Even in the best-case scenario, the witcher could only hope that the bard would take into consideration their friendship and long history together and not show his disgust too much. Maybe even begin a relationship with him out of pity, but it wouldn’t last long.

Geralt had seen the way Jaskier’s previous flings had gone. He always fell head over heels for some random person that he met during their travels and spent a few weeks, or months at most lavishing them with attention but after that time period passed, he’d fall out of love just as quickly and leave his ex-paramour behind as he rejoined the witcher’s side.

It always secretly pleased Geralt, making him feel superior. Because even if he could never really have Jaskier, not like those other people did, at least he had the knowledge that the younger man would always come back to him. It helped lessen the sting of his jealousy.

And if he ever were to be the recipient of Jaskier’s attentions, no matter how nice it could be at first, he wouldn’t be able to bear it when he became the next person Jaskier left behind, especially after getting a taste of everything he ever wanted. That would only serve to haunt him in his dreams.

But the bard deserved to know. He had just laid down his heart and let Geralt see him at his most vulnerable state. That meant he trusted him enough to do that and the witcher wanted to show him how much he appreciated it by in turn showering him with all the love and affection he held for him. So he took one large breath to brace himself and let the truth out.

“To me you’re everything.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened but he didn’t pull away. “Huh?”

Geralt started tracing circular patterns with his thumb on the other man’s hand. “It’s exactly as I said. When I first met you, I thought you were just a stupid kid looking for adventure and easy coin, and that once you had a taste you’d go back where you came from. But you never did. You stuck next to me through thick and thin, no matter how much I tried to push you away or treated you like shit. You were like an angel, entering my life out of the blue and improving it in every aspect.”

“I hadn’t even realized how lonely I was until you came along. Back then I only focused on my job as a witcher, not really caring if I’d make it out alive whenever I fought a monster. But nowadays I’m extra careful and I try harder just so that I can see you again. You’ve made life worth living again Jask and I… I love you.”

Jaskier just stared at him with his mouth hanging open.

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Was it possible that he was still locked in that shed and had begun to hallucinate from the lack of food? Because this whole situation definitely seemed too good to be true.

He pinched himself hard on the arm for good measure.

“Ouch!” Yeah no, it was real. “Are-are you serious?”

Geralt pursed his lips and nodded, looking almost comically grim. He could hear the other’s heartbeat start to pick up.

“And I understand if you feel uncomfortable and want me to be gone by morning, I’m not expecting anything so-hmph!” He was interrupted as Jaskier’s lips crashed onto his. The witcher froze, not able to comprehend what was happening right away but when he did, he wrapped both arms around the other man’s waist and kissed him back with vigor.

When they eventually had to break apart, they were both breathing heavily and Jaskier rested his forehead on Geralt’s, chest heaving, and felt an involuntary shiver run up his spine. “Gods, I’ve wanted to do this for so long.”

The older man brought his hand up and started petting his hair gently, feeling giddy and a little nervous. “Me too.”

This had gone much better than expected and no matter how things turned out in the future, he would never regret this moment.

Jaskier pulled away to look him with the brightest smile on his lips, his eyes crinkling in the corners with the force of it. “I love you too dear heart, I have since the day we met.”

Geralt blinked in shock. “You have? But you never said anything and you’ve been in a thousand relationships since then.”

“That’s because I never expected you to feel the same way! No one else could ever compare to you witcher and now that I have you, I’ll never look at other people ever again.”

Jaskier laced their hands back together and brought them up to his mouth, giving a kiss on the back of the witcher’s palm, letting his lips linger for a few seconds. “I promise.”

With all his worries gone, Geralt grinned at his bard and pulled him to his chest for a tight embrace.

They sat there like that for a long time, just basking in each other’s presence and their close proximity.

“…We’re both pretty stupid aren’t we?”

“Pffft, we sure are.” Jaskier said as he nuzzled his lover’s chest when a thought entered his mind. “By the way, how long has it been since you last slept?”

“Two days give or take.”

The bard looked up at him horrified. “What the hell Geralt! We have to fix that immediately.” He said and blew out the few candles that were still lighting the room, before pushing the witcher to lie down on the bed and joining him. They curled around each other on their sides, torsos facing, and Jaskier buried his face on Geralt’s neck as the older man pulled the blankets over them. When they were settled, he wrapped his arms around the bard and tangled their feet together.

The younger man was about to fall asleep when he heard the witcher’s deep voice calling his name.

“Jaskier?”

“Yeah?”

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you since before this whole thing happened.”

“M’listening.”

“…Do you want to come to Kaer Morhen with me for the winter?”

Geralt held his breath as he waited for a response. It came in the form of Jaskier pulling back slightly, only to give him a long, gentle kiss.

“Of course I’ll come darling.”

The witcher was relieved and felt excited for the months to come. He smiled softly even though he knew the other man couldn’t see it. “Then we’ll have to buy you one of those thick woolen coats you hate sometime soon.”

Jaskier groaned. “Fuck. I guess it’s worth it.” He gave him one last kiss before closing his eyes once more. “Goodnight love.”

“…Goodnight.” Geralt replied and then dozed off to the best sleep he’d had in decades.

[csykora]

Yeah, so, that’s been going on.

I am going to try to summarize what’s been up with Pasha. Thanks to @immoveableobject, the Moscow Times, and the Independent. This is going to be Drunk History in the sense that you should have a stiff drink or another coffee before reading. There’s…context.

After Nikolai II abdicated as emperor in 1917, the Romanov family were sent to live under summer-cabin-arrest in Tobolsk, in Tyumen region (western Siberia). Nikolai spent the summer reading books and chopping firewood to take his mind off things, which he wrote was his favorite activity.

Disagreements between Omsk (the capital of Tyumen) and an acquisitive Yekaterinburg (in the Ural region which neighbors Tyumen to the west), led Moscow to order they move the Romanovs back west. The guards transporting them contacted Moscow to say they had to take a route that passed closer to Omsk, which made Yekaterinburg think Omsk was going to keep them, so they called Moscow too and insisted the convoy stop in Yekaterinburg instead, where the Romanovs were stored in a local merchant’s house.

At that unrelated but unfortunate point, the Czechoslovak Legion came into it. This wasn’t a unit named for the country, which didn’t even exist yet: it consisted of ethnic Czechs and Slovaks who had been volunteered to fight with the Russian army back in 1914. Leaders in the Czech and Slovak homelands of the Austro-Hungarian empire thought this would improve their name recognition in the international community, and build credit toward their own independence after the war. Czech history is actually just dramatic irony.

They were highly effective against the Germans, and then sent east. By 1918 the Czechoslovaks were stationed all along the railroad into Siberia. They were not jazzed about the Bolsheviks. They turned around toward Yekaterinburg to express this.

The guards in Yekaterinburg, who thought the Czechs were coming to take the Romanovs, took them down into the cellar and executed them.

Time passed and so did the Soviet Union. The site of the executions became a church. That church has a shrine in the cellar. It’s not the same cellar, but an exact replica; the church was shifted a bit for a better foundation, so the actual site is now an outside wall. It’s called The Temple on the Blood, although, again, it isn’t on it. 

In 1981 the Romanovs were named martyrs by the Russian Orthodox Church Outside Russia. In 2000 the Russian Orthodox Church that isn’t outside Russia recognized them as passion-bearers. A passion-bearer is believed to have ‘faced their death in a Christ-like manner.’ A martyr is believed to have died defending their faith in Christ. So all martyrs are passion-bearers, but not all passion-bearers are martyrs.

The entire story is going to be like this.

Sometime around 1980, a different man who wasn’t named Nikolai Romanov originally but is now killed someone. He was, of course, a cop. He was sent to a prison camp in Tyumen region for thirteen years. When he was released, he says he walked the length of the Romanov’s last journey to Yekaterinburg.

At some point along the way he changed his legal name from whatever it used to be, became a priest, and took the religious name Father Sergei. 

He found a decrepit old monastery and rebuilt it, becoming the confessor for the nuns that live there. He found the pit outside the city where the Romanovs’ bodies were dissolved in acid, called Ganina Yama, and built a complex around Tsar Nikolai’s final resting place.

Except, again, he didn’t. The bones that had been found in Ganina Yama in 1919 weren’t even human. The Yekaterinburg guards didn’t manage to destroy the Romanovs’ bodies (they apparently didn’t bring enough acid with them, because this was all a fuck up), so they buried them in the forest a few kilometers away. The actual burial place was found in 1978 (with the last two children found a little ways away in 2007), and the Romanovs were finally given a funeral in St. Petersburg in 1998. The Orthodox Church did not attend, and still maintains this did not happen and the Romanovs are nowhere but Ganina Yama.

His new next door neighbor told the Independent she was doing the dishes one evening and looked out to see a bunch of strange nuns performing exorcisms.

 “They circled around the house; devil this, devil that. And then they put a cross outside our toilet.”

The monastery continued on, annoying their neighbors and growing steadily weirder, for years. Nikolai went from passion-bearer to martyr to a direct analogue of Christ, dying for Russia’s sins. Everything superficially connected to him became, at least to some Russians, holy. The monastery and pilgrimage site became one of the most popular in Russia. Father Sergei came to international attention for:

1. his writing desk, which is a coffin

2. getting big mad about the 2017 film Matilda, which is about young Nikolai fucking ballerina Matilda Kshesinskaya, which he very much did do. 

Politician Natalia Pokolnskaya, who attends Father Sergei’s services, had the film pulled and audited for its “anti-Russian” Tsar-sex scenes. Another follower of Father Sergei drove his car into a movie theater and then tried to set it (the car, although also the theater I guess) on fire with a Molotov cocktail after attending services at the Temple on the Blood. Another made his own film in response to the film, saying, 

“Imagine someone makes a film showing your mother as a prostitute and your father as a German gay porn actor. Go inside the church, look at the lord tsar’s blue eyes and you will see how moral he is.”

Everyone forgets the longer verses of John Lennon’s Imagine.

At some point in the mid 2000s, hockey player Pavel Datsyuk started going to Father Sergei as his confessor. He very much did do that, and stuck by him through the movie thing. When he won gold at the World Championships he gave the medal to the monastery, saying, “we won it together.”

This summer he told Championat, “Father Sergei has been my spiritual father for more than 10 years. [He] has a burning, loving heart, he sees me through and through." Maybe not a great choice of adjective, given the arson.  

Then coronavirus. 

This spring, Patriach Kirill of Moscow issued a decree to suspend church services. As in most things, though, the rest of Russia runs on the words, “Moscow is far away.” Whether or not the Patriarch has power to tell churches outside Moscow to do anything without a full Synod is its own debate: it doesn’t matter, because they didn’t listen.

Russian Orthodox churches held Pasha like usual, and a lot of people got sick, with at least one bishop dying and the virus spreading dangerously in monasteries. Patriarch Kirill repeated himself, threatening that any priest who conducts services with members of his congregation present may be penalized by an ecclesiastical court.

Father Sergei thinks coronavirus tests are an excuse for Putin to inject people with tracking devices, so back in June—you remember June, right?—he and a bunch of armed Cossacks holed up in the monastery, saying, “I’m not going anywhere... they’ll have to chase me out with police and the National Guard.”

Remember he is writing that statement on his coffin.

The ostensible head of the monastery, Mother Superior Varvara, did not appreciate Cossack boots on her carpets, and quit “to avoid unnecessary infighting, to which Father Sergei is prone, and give him a chance to come to his senses.”

Patriach Kirill and the ecclesiastical courts booted him from the church, although not the monastery, which he is very much still inside.

At that point we got reports that Pavel was holed up in the monastery with him to avoid coronavirus testing. There was a brief flurry on certain (old) parts of hockey twitter that Pasha was off his rocker.

His agent, Dan Milstein, responded by posting a video on twitter, accompanied by the comment, “Pavel Datsyuk’s morning workout and family breakfast at the cottage. Have a good summer everyone!”

It’s short, showing, for some reason, a man from behind against a generic wall. We don’t need to get into whether or not it is Pavel, and if so where and when. I’d hope no one but a hockey player hikes his socks up like that. But whatever Pavel’s role in creating it, in context there’s something unsettling about the choice of subject: like Nikolai Romanov, he’s chopping firewood.

[neondrawsthethings]

Uhm... Hey everyone lol. And welcome to my Danny Phantom & Flynn Fenton story.

I am alive, I’ve just been so busy with personal stuff and college. I mostly wanted to post this because I am an avid fan of Danny Phantom and I absolutely wanted to talk about the video Butch put out a few days ago with Danny having a “mysterious older brother.”

This has actually inspired me to write for the first time in a millennia and while I’m a bit late to the party and very nervous, I really wanted to make my own version of the story on top of expressing my opinions. So here we go!

--------------------

I don’t like Butch like most people in the Phandom but I just want to preface this by saying that I think that his idea for a mysterious older sibling for Danny isn't a bad one, but the execution of it was very poor. The issues I mostly have of it is that it messes up some consistencies with the show, it has plot holes and instead of making Jack and Maddie slightly incompetent with people's safety, it makes them out to be negligible criminals.

A Summary Of The Original Story:

The original story went that they had 3 kids, Flynn Fenton (who's age was not disclosed but he might have been about 10), Jazz Fenton who was 4 at the time and Danny who was 2. Jack and Maddie had created a uncompleted Ghost Portal that Flynn had turned on, wandered too close to when it somehow started working and was subsequently grabbed by a mysterious ghost from the other end. The portal suddenly stopped working afterwards. Jack and Maddie found out about this after reviewing security footage in the lab, which they coincidentally didn't have when Danny had turned into a ghost.

After the whole incident, they hid the fact that Jazz and Danny had an older brother for years and take their time getting the portal to work again so they could save their son. Years pass and Jazz suddenly has a dream about Flynn and eventually confronts their parents over what happened and they tell their kids everything.

As for Flynn, Butch goes off in a tangent about a ghost who was responsible for the uprising and rebellion against Pariah Dark. I forget her name, but it was edgy and she honestly looks like a cartoon concept design for Thor's sister in Ragnarok, but if she had a Spiderman appeal to her.

Anyway, once Pariah was sealed away in the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep, she wanted to rule the ghost zone fairly and with justice. Or something. However chaos ensued now that the ghosts were free to do as they please without Pariah's wrath hanging over their heads. Over time, trying to keep balance in the Ghost Zone took a toll on “Thor’s sister” and she one day stumbled across and open portal and saw Flynn on the other side. She essentially kidnapped him and raised him to be her soldier for justice. Like the Winter Soldier.

The logic for this was that humans have ghost powers in the Ghost Zone. I mean, yeah they can fly and phase through things, but it was never actually mentioned whether or not humans had super strength in it. But go off Butch. Then he goes on to explain that in some reference to the Ant Man movie, over time Flynn just sort of gained powers as he became "one with the Ghost Zone" and became a powerful protector called "Exodus." Then Fartman went on to mention it was a reference for a machine in the Halloween episode.

So yeah, eventually Danny finds him and they've kind of got that dynamic of "I think you're the bad guy in this situation" when they aren't and duke it out until Danny eventually convinces this dude they're related. Oh yeah and Flynn had no memories of his human life.

Gonna be honest, I might have misremembered a few things but it’s honestly close enough.

--------------------

The issues I have with this concept are as follows:

⦁ Jack and Maddie have essentially been the direct cause for 3 people being harmed (and sorta killed) in some way by their Ghost Portal experiments. This doesn't even border on negligible at this point. It basically is, especially considering they should have learned not to let Danny near their experiments after losing their first son.

⦁ They come off as criminals considering they hid all traces and knowledge of Flynn from Danny, Jazz and most likely all family members and didn't even report his disappearance. They even had cameras in their lab and that honestly puts across the idea that they disabled them in case one of their other kids gets hurt.

⦁ There's already a ghost who considers himself to be the law of the Ghost Zone and it would appear that Butch forgot he created Walker for that exact purpose.

⦁ The female character who was responsible for putting away Pariah Dark honestly isn't well fleshed out. She can imprison the most powerful ghost in existence but is essentially useless at stopping lesser ghosts from causing chaos? Even if she did have help, how exactly was she capable of such a feat to begin with?

⦁ This messes with the cannon a bit considering there are some plot holes that can't really mix well with the established story.

I saw some of these concerns were also mentioned by the Phandom. Giving Butch the benefit of the doubt here, I don't hate the concept but I think it needs to be worked on more. I've read about what some people's opinions were and at least the ones that gave real critiques had some good ideas. Like maybe making the sibling either Jack's or Maddie's and it would have helped with their obsession of ghosts.

I have my own plot hole filled ideas with how this could maybe be told better. I'm not a storywriter and this might come off a little edgy, but man I love coming up with ideas. So here's mine:

-------------------- 

My Story:

After the incident with Vlad, Maddie and Jack decide that their ghost hunting days are over and resolve to live a normal family life. They have their first son Flynn, who had solidified their decision to quit ghost hunting and settle. After a few years, Jazz and Danny were eventually born and it seemed they had the perfect life.

One day while vacationing in a wooded area (location can change), Flynn had wandered not too far from the camp. Then a flash of light suddenly burst in front of him and he could see a whole other world. Jack and Maddie were alerted to the sound and ran towards where it came from. They gasped at what they saw and knew exactly what Flynn was staring into; a ghost portal. 

Before they could yell for him to stay away, a hand suddenly reached out and pulled Flynn in, the portal immediately closing as soon as he entered. Maddie and Jack were devastated. No one believed them when they explained what happened to their son, and this incident became the catalyst for them to start their ghost hunting careers again.

They worked tirelessly for years to get the portal to work again. Jazz had eventually chalked up their obsession to being a coping mechanism because they couldn't handle the guilt of losing Flynn and were in denial that he was gone. Danny was more of a social outcast than ever because people assumed his parents had something to do with Flynn's disappearance.

--------------------

Now with regards to why Flynn was pulled into the Ghost Zone, I would actually like to think Clockwork played a hand in it. I watched the Blood of Zeus recently and I kind of wanted to play around with an idea that inspired this next part.

--------------------

Clockwork knows that Dark Dan was never going to stay imprisoned forever. The fact that he still exists, even outside of time, was an omen he needed to heed. So maybe he meddled with a few future possibilities. Maybe he tried to get Maddie and Jack to realise Ghost Hunting was something they shouldn't mess with after hurting Vlad, which led to their decision to settle for a family. Maybe... He wanted Flynn to exist for a purpose.

He was the one who pulled Flynn into the Ghost Zone. Clockwork told Flynn that he would be the key to saving the future from Dark Dan, but withheld information on who he really was until he was old enough. He taught him everything he needed to know on how to defeat Dark Dan and trained him over the years in combat.

Going off the idea that Danny is kind of really average in comparison to the rest of his family, Flynn is a technological prodigy. He created weapons that Vlad could only dream of creating and can utilise technology that puts Tucker to shame. Once he was old enough, Clockwork finally revealed who Dark Dan was and how he came to be.

--------------------

As for the fighting portion of everything, I'm honestly not too sure how I could go about writing it. Obviously they team up to destroy Dan for good and Flynn gets reunited with everyone. He might actually prefer to stay in the Ghost Zone and be Clockwork's assistant. Idk.

This is as far as I can go with regards to the story and it was super fun to write. Hope you guys enjoyed reading it too!

[annewritesfic]

Happy Endings Don’t Exist

this au is not dead!!!!!!!!!!!! wow!!!!!!!!!

it has been. a month. i am so sorry.

fun fact: i actually wrote this like a month ago but never actually posted this yes hellbrain is still suffering from writer’s block it’s not wonderful i am fine

uhhhhh word count: 2823

tw: oh god uh, mentions of guns/bullet holes, blood, tyrannical rulers, death, parent death, mentions of stabbing, mentions of hospital rooms, please tell me if i missed anything

Kate ran a hand over the smooth rock that the throne was carved from, relishing the silence. The throne room itself was a mess, furniture still strewn across the floor, marked with bullet holes, and it reeked of the cleaning supplies that had been used to scrub the blood from the floor. Kate’s blood, Levana’s blood, Farrah’s blood, Mattie’s blood… so much blood. But it was quiet and otherwise empty, so Kate had escaped there.

So many things had happened in this room. Kate shivered when they thought about it, about all the people who’d sat in this chair before her. Levana, most recently. Before her, Kate’s own mother. Channary and Levana’s parents, Kate’s grandparents.

Kate thought about Channary a lot. In one of the palace’s hallways, there was a line of holographic portraits of past kings and queens, names Kate didn’t want to know but that their system committed to memory anyway. At the end of the line was Channary Blackburn, and Kate had sat in front of her holographic portrait for an hour, staring at the face of her mother. A woman Kate had no memory of - she’d died just weeks before Kate’s first birthday. She’d been queen for just about two years before she’d died, leaving Levana as queen regent, and Kate’s system had put together an entire file in their head with all the articles and papers and history there was about Queen Channary. But the articles didn’t tell Kate as much as the people who remembered her did.

Queen Channary had died fifteen years ago, so there weren’t many people left who’d also worked under her, but Kate had asked to see everyone who had. There was Clark’s father, Garrison Winslett, a tall palace guard with a soft voice and kind eyes. He’d made Kate feel safe, but he’d refused to share many details, claiming Kate didn’t need to know.

“That’s in the past now, Your Highness,” he’d said. “You need only concern yourself with Luna’s future.”

Which, while that hadn’t told Kate any of the details that they’d been looking for, did say volumes about what kind of queen Channary had been.

As Kate met the rest of Channary’s former subjects, they learned more and more about her. When Kate was a kid, living with Adri, they’d used to spend the bad nights imagining what her mother would have been like before the hover crash she’d been told had killed their parents. She’d imagined a kind, loving woman, with a soft voice and a gentle smile, who’d loved Kate with her entire heart. Kate had imagined walking home from school and telling their mother about their day while she listened attentively, a hand stroking Kate’s hair as they walked together. Snowy days where Kate’s mother would take her sledding at a neighborhood park, then bring her home and wrap them in a blanket and tell stories until Kate fell asleep.

Sitting in that dark, abandoned hallway, face lit up by the gentle light from the hologram, Kate thought about those old daydreams and scoffed a little bit. That’s not who Channary was.

Channary was beautiful and cruel. She was impulsive and vain and saw being queen as a right, not a privilege, not a responsibility. She didn’t care much about improving Luna, about helping the citizens she was sworn to protect. Instead, she threw dozens of lavish parties and flirted with just about every man that entered the palace and left most of the important decisions to the thaumaturges and to her younger sister, Princess Levana.

Honestly, it wasn’t a surprise that Levana had so easily won over the Lunar population. While she was terrifying, murderous, and corrupt, at least at the beginning she’d been dedicated to the job and did help grow Luna’s economy, which was probably a relief after Channary’s lazy, unproductive, brief rule.

Kate had sat alone in the hallway with the smiling image of her mother for exactly an hour, seven minutes, and eighteen seconds, according to their internal clock, before Eva appeared around the corner, calling Kate’s name. Kate glanced up at her, then looked back at Channary, and didn’t watch Eva while she came and sat next to them on the cold marble floor.

“Whatcha thinking about?” Eva asked softly.

Kate didn’t touch her - normally, she was comforting, but Kate couldn’t handle being touched right now. “My mom.”

They didn’t speak for a moment.

“She was a really terrible queen,” Kate murmured eventually. “And a shitty person.”

“I read up a little on her, when I was on the Rampion with you guys,” Eva said softly. “I just… I knew a bunch about your aunt, but not about her, so…”

“I almost did. I was too scared, though.” Kate thought for a moment, then dryly laughed. “I had reason to be scared. She fucking sucked.”

“She sort of did,” Eva agreed.

They were quiet for a few more minutes.

“She looks a lot like me, doesn’t she?” Kate asked softly. “But, like… a thousand times more beautiful.”

“She looks like…” Eva hesitated. “Your glamour. At the ball. When you fell and your glamour came up… you looked like that. Almost exactly.”

“Oh.” Kate hugged their knees, a headache pulsing behind her eyes.

They sat awkwardly in silence for a while, before eventually Kate couldn’t take it anymore. “Can we go?”

Eva let Kate help her to her feet. “Let’s go.”

That was yesterday. Now, Kate sat in the throne room, Luna’s artificial night darkening the corners, a crescent Earth visible in the dark sky beyond the protective dome. Sitting on the throne made Kate think of Channary, wonder how many meetings they’d attended as a baby, but this was also the room where Levana had finally been dethroned.

Those last few minutes were sort of a blur. Kate remembered firing the gun, remembered Levana pretending to surrender, and then there was just a flash of pain through their chest, and warnings flashing across her vision, and Eva screaming, and then… nothing. Waking up in that small, white, sterile room with a stranger bent over her left hand and Eva holding their right.

But Kate was told what happened. That Levana died and Kate didn’t. And Queen Selene finally took her throne.

Kate leaned her head back against the hard marble throne and breathed a shaky sigh.

“I thought you’d be in here,” said a familiar voice. Kate didn’t open their eyes but smiled. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Kate tapped their human fingers against the arm of the throne. “Just… wanted to be alone. Did you know that when you’re a queen, it’s surprisingly hard to find alone time?”

“Crazy,” Eva said flatly. “I never would’ve thought.”

Kate scrunched her nose, eyes still closed. “I mean, I get it. There’s a lot to be done, a lot I’m responsible for fixing, but… I just needed a minute. So I’m hiding.”

Eva laughed a little and walked into the room, her footsteps echoing off the walls. Kate finally looked at her, taking her in, her gentle smile and soft eyes, one hand behind her back. “A hoodie makes a pretty good disguise, you know. Wanna borrow mine?”

“Ugh, please.” Kate tucked their legs up, curling up on the throne. “Did you bring it with you?”

“I did, actually.” Eva shrugged. “It’s, like, a comfort object at this point.” She turned to look out the window, at the view Kate was staring at. “It’s so weird to see Earth where I feel like the moon should be.”

“It’s beautiful.” Kate leaned their head against the chair again, smiling softly when Eva turned back to look at her.

Eva bit her lip. “I have to tell you something.”

Kate’s smile faded. “You’re leaving.”

“Not now. But yeah, I am.” Eva scuffed the floor with her shoe. “My ship is supposed to leave the port in about 46 hours.”

Less than two days.

Kate looked away, at a crack in the wall. Mattie, Farrah, Chess, and Cairo had left yesterday. About a week from now, Annleigh and Clark would leave for their first ambassadorial mission to Earth. And now Eva was leaving, and Kate (and Reese, they supposed) would be left alone.

“I don’t want you to go,” she whispered, angry at how small and pathetic it sounded. “I mean, I know you have to, and you have your own country to worry about, but…”

“I know.” Eva’s voice was gentle and understanding. “I don’t- I’m not looking forward to being so far away from you, but I have to.”

“Sometimes I forget, you know?” Kate admitted. “That we’re… you know. Monarchs. Revolutionaries. Whatever. Like, people know us, know our names, and we’re responsible for them, but it’s hard to remember that sometimes. You’re just… you. You’re just Eva, you’re my girlfriend and you’re dorky and sweet and awkward and I love you, a lot, and I really like it when the world is just you and me.”

“Me, too.” Eva sighed. “Maybe- maybe you should come and visit soon? It could be, like, symbolic of the new alliance, or I could make up some sort of political crisis…?”

Kate smiled. “We’d never pull it off.”

“We could try.”

Kate laughed a little, and Eva did too, and for a second, things were better again, but then the reality crashed right back into Kate like a wave. “I’m going to miss you. So much.”

“Being a queen might not leave much time for being lonely.”

“I doubt that.” Kate suddenly felt awkward sitting on the throne, and stood up, coming to stand beside Eva, close enough to touch - but not quite touching, not yet. Two more days just… wasn’t enough time. Kate wanted more - wanted Eva every damn minute of every day. Wanted to hold her close and never let go. Wanted to grab her and drag her onto a ship and just leave, live forever in the stars, just the two of them.

But they couldn’t.

“You know,” Eva said thoughtfully, slipping her hand into Kate’s, “I spent so long avoiding a marriage alliance with Luna. But now, when it’s no longer necessary, it doesn’t seem so bad anymore.”

Kate lightly nudged her. “Stop that.”

“It’s a shame you can’t blush.” Eva leaned over and brushed a light kiss against Kate’s temple. “I’m not saying I didn’t mean it, though.”

Kate bit their lip and rolled her eyes.

“I have something for you.”

“I swear to fuck, it had better not be an engagement ring,” Kate threatened.

Eva grinned mischieviously and stepped back, kneeling on one knee.

Kate crossed their arms, tamping down the flutter in her stomach. “Eva-”

“I’ve been waiting a long time to give this to you.”

“Eva, wait-”

Eva pulled her hand from behind her back, revealing a small metal foot. A cluster of wires stuck up from the cavity, and the whole thing had smudges of grease.

“I hate you,” Kate muttered.

“Are you, like, disappointed?” Eva asked. “Because if you want, I bet Luna has some great jewelry stores-”

“Shut up.” Kate took the cyborg foot from her, studying it. It was so familiar, yet so foreign. “Why the hell do you even have this?”

“I don’t know, really. I kinda wondered…” Eva went a little bit pink. “I thought maybe if I could find the cyborg who fit this foot, it would be a sign we were meant for each other? But then I realized it would probably only fit an eight-year-old.”

“Eleven.”

“Close enough.” She bit her lip. “But really, I just… it was all I had when I thought you were- when I thought I’d never see you again. I couldn’t let you go that easily.”

Kate studied it for another moment, then glanced up at Eva, one eyebrow raised. “Why are you still kneeling?”

“You’ll have to get used to people kneeling to you. Happens a lot when you’re royalty,” Eva said, standing up.

Kate reached for her hand. “Maybe I should make a rule that the proper way to address your monarch is with a high-five.”

“Genius. I’m gonna do that too.”

Kate stepped closer, just an inch from Eva’s face. “Maybe I’ll also make a rule that the proper way for the queen of Luna to greet the empress of the Eastern Commonwealth is a kiss.”

“Even better.” Eva kissed them, and Kate reveled in it, in the feeling of finally, unapologetically loving Eva the way she wanted to love her, and being loved back just as much. “Although,” Eva murmured as they broke apart, “I doubt it’d be relevant in a hundred years or so. Might be a bit awkward.”

“Actually, about that…” Kate led Eva to the edge of the room and sat down, both of them dangling their legs over the edge of the balcony, over Artemisia Lake. “Can I ask your opinion on something?”

“Anything.”

“I think…” Kate took a deep breath. “I want to dissolve the Lunar monarchy.”

Eva didn’t react with horror or surprise, just smiled and put an arm around Kate and said, “When?”

“Not now. That’s too much of a change, too soon after… you know.” Kate leaned into Eva’s side. “But once things have settled down, started getting better. When I think Luna can handle a change in power. As soon as possible. I don’t- I can’t risk another Levana.” They hesitated. “Or another Channary.”

Eva pressed a kiss into her hair. “It won’t be easy. The people will be pissed. And they have that whole superstition. But you’re right. Luna needs a checks and balances system.”

Kate breathed a sigh of relief and snuggled even closer. “Okay. Thank you.”

“So what are you planning to do after you abdicate?”

Kate blinked. “Oh- I guess I hadn’t really thought that far ahead? Maybe Farrah would want a full time mechanic.”

“Or…” Eva rubbed Kate’s shoulder. “You could come stay in the Eastern Commonwealth as an ambassador. A show of good faith. Prove Luna and Earth can work together, side by side.”

“And be with you?”

“And be with me,” Eva agreed.

Kate considered it. “I think the Eastern Commonwealth hates me.”

“Hates you? You saved them from Levana. I think there’s a toy company that wants to make action figures of you, and Torin just showed me an article suggesting a statue where your booth used to be at the market.”

Kate shuddered.

Eva smiled and kissed the spot right next to Kate’s eye. “I promise, if you decide to come back, you’ll be welcomed with open arms.” She pressed her lips against Kate’s hair. “And if you want to come to the Annual Peace Ball next year, you’ll have hundreds of people begging to take you.”

“Oh, God.”

“I thought I might as well get my name on the list now. Maybe I’ll even have time to teach you to dance.”

Kate tried not to smile.

“Please say yes?”

Kate pretended to consider it. “Do I have to wear a dress?”

“Not if you don’t want to.”

“Maybe I’ll come in cargo pants.”

“I’d be so okay with that.”

Kate made a little humming noise. “Can I bring my friends?”

“Absolutely. I’ll extend a personal invitation to the entire crew.”

“Even Reese? Because there’s a rule against androids coming to the ball.”

“I might know someone who can change that rule.”

Kate couldn’t resist a smile. Going back to the ball, facing all those people who’d so openly hated them for years, should’ve sounded terrifying, but the idea of doing it with Eva sounded perfect. “Yes, I’ll go to the ball with you.”

“What about those dance lessons?”

“Mm, I wouldn’t push your luck if I were you.”

“Fair enough.” They kissed again, and Kate sighed against Eva’s lips, tired but happy.

Eva pulled away eventually and pressed her forehead against Kate’s. “Katie, I know- you’re a great ruler already. You’ll be even better till you abdicate. But… I know you never really wanted this.”

Kate chose to stay quiet.

“But… maybe, one day… would you consider being an empress?”

The silence hung in the air, but wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable.

“Maybe,” Kate eventually assented. “One day.”

Maybe meant yes, and both of them knew it.

Eva was right - Kate didn’t want to be a ruler. Didn’t want to be in that position of power, making real decisions that impacted real people. But Kate did want Eva, more than anything, and Eva came with an entire country, whether or not Kate liked it. And Eva was worth it. Eva was worth anything.

Kate leaned against Eva’s chest and looked back down at the foot. This too small foot had hurt for years, had made it hard to walk, and had represented everything Kate hated about being cyborg. It had never done anything but make Kate feel like shit.

Kate held the cyborg foot over the shining water of Artemisia Lake and let go.

[limitededitionsanderssidesblog]

The Snake and The Frog

Pairings: Romantic Moceit, platonic moxiety

"The sins of the father are to be laid upon the children." William Shakespeare.

Janus had once told him that balance rested in karma, a life for a life, but Patton didn’t believe in such a thing. If nature dictates that the child shall pay for the sins of the father, then he will reshape the natural order and refuse to take revenge so that the next generation can be spared.

Or

Patton, cursed by an unknown sorcerer, is now forced to live his life as a frog, alone in the forest. That is until he meets a snake named Janus, a fellow cursed being.

AO3 - Here

-

Having only four, webbed fingers was something Patton wasn’t sure he’d ever truly get used to, not to mention being one-tenth his size. The long tongue was odd too, and many nights he went hungry because he still wasn’t quite sure how to catch his food. Not to say he wanted to eat disgusting things like crickets or flies, but Patton wasn’t too sure that he could walk up to the local baker and ask for a cookie without being squashed.

Overall, life as a cursed one was something he never believed he could get the hang of completely.

Only two weeks ago, Patton had been an ordinary twenty-three-year-old man, enjoying his life as the son of a wealthy tenet master who owned most of the land the local farmers worked. Every day was spent with games and fun, he never had a care in the world. He and his best friend, a sorcerer named Virgil, would hang out at his father’s estate, doing whatever they wanted.

That is, until a strange young man, about his age, appeared at their doorstep. He didn’t see it coming, but without any warning or caution, Patton felt the world fall away from him and turn black. When he woke up, the man was gone, and he had been turned into a frog.

Distraught, his father hadn’t recognized his own son in that amphibian’s body and cast him out of the estate, dumping him in the forest that surrounded his home.

Patton had tried to return home several times within the last few weeks, but he had always been attacked and chased away by the guards that once protected him. 

He hadn’t given up, however, and continuously made plans to sneak his back into his home and show his father that he was, in fact, his son.

But first, he would try to catch the firefly floating over the lake.

Hopping over the lily pads, a bit clumsily as he still wasn’t used two his new body even after a fortnight, he chased after the firefly, aiming his tongue unskillfully and missing the bug each time. Patton whined and whimpered to himself, feeling pity for the little fly that was just trying to go about its day, but the growling in his stomach reminded him that he couldn’t give up, and he continued to chase after the firefly. However, while he was so engrossed with his own bit of hunting, Patton failed to notice that he, himself, was being hunted as well. As quick as a flick, right as Patton was finally about to nab the little fly, a yellow head popped out of a nearby bush and struck him, capturing Patton in its wide jaws. 

“Ah! Please don’t eat me!” He shrieked, flailing wildly as he was pulled off of his lilypad and back onto shore.

However, as soon as he was back over the ground, away from the lake where he had been hunting, he was quickly let go and dropped. Still too stunned by the attack to flee, and much too scared to try and fight, Patton huddled on the ground, covering his eyes with his little webbed hands, waiting for the final strike to come.

“You… talked?” A cool and elegant voice said in surprise.

Confused as to who had just spoken to him, Patton looked up and around for a human but found only a yellow corn snake.

“You… did too?” Patton answered in wonder. Since he had been turned into a frog, Patton had tried over and over to communicate with the other animals of the forest, but to no avail. None of the animals could understand or speak with him—except this one. “Are you like me?”

“Cursed? Yes. I’ve been trying for the past week to undo the spell myself, but my magic isn’t strong enough in this form.” The snake grimaced, curling his body around in a loop to rest himself on like a bench.

“Wow! You know magic?” Patton gasped in excitement, forgetting completely that the snake had tried to eat him only a minute before.

“I just said that didn’t I?” 

Ignoring his rude tone, Patton began to hop around in excitement. He couldn’t believe it, not only did he meet another cursed one, but he met one who knew magic. If he was lucky, perhaps the snake would help him find a way to gain his father’s attention or even turn him into a human.

“That’s so cool! Can you do any cool tricks? My best friend is a sorcerer and he can fly. Can you do anything like that?” Patton asked, speaking fast and fumbling over his words, as he was too ecstatic to pause to properly breathe.

“Well normally I can shapeshift, but as I said before, this small body has weakened my magic. I can barely do anything now.” The snake hissed sourly, dropping his small head down on himself, obviously annoyed and wanting to drop the topic of conversation. 

Realizing that he had upset him, Patton gingerly hopped over to him and reached out a hand to him but froze when he hissed at him and turned away. Sighing, Patton lowered his hand and laid down on his stomach next to him.

He knew the feeling, not being able to do anything like he used to. He still had trouble walking, or rather hopping, not to mention the fact that he struggled to catch anything to eat. It felt weird and wrong to be in another body. Their lives had been stolen from them, Patton had lost his father and best friend, and he couldn’t even imagine what the snake had lost. Life as a cursed one was not pleasant or kind, as the name suggested, it was a cursed existence to live.

But at least it didn’t have to be a lonely one now.

“Do you want to be friends?” Patton asked, looking over at the curled up snake.

His question went unanswered for a heartbeat until he was met with a gruff and snarky chuckle as the snake turned his head a little to peer at him.

“You aren’t too bright, are you?” The snake ridiculed him, “I just tried to eat you, and now you want to be friends with me?”

“Well, there’s no one else to be friends with, here,” Patton replied softly, looking down at his webbed toes.

The snake continued to watch him as though he were analyzing him to his core, trying to reach inside his mind and understand his thoughts. Perhaps, with the help of his magic, he was doing just that. 

With a long and tired sigh, the snake replied and said, “Janus.” Patton raised his head and looked over at him in confusion, waiting for the snake to follow up and explain himself. Once the snake realized that he was waiting for an explanation, he groaned in exasperation and continued. “That’s my name, friends call each other by name, right?”

Smiling wide, Patton hopped up and landed on the snake, pulling him into a hug. “I’m Patton!”

Hissing at him, Janus tried to shake him off but was able to get him off. Eventually, he gave up and accepted his fate of being hugged by the overly affectionate frog.

“I already regret this.”

“Too late!”

...

Growing up the son of a wealthy Lord, Patton had never had to worry about things such as his daily meals and shelter, but both proved to be difficult to come by as a small frog in the forest; especially before he met Janus. 

His first night in the forest was spent underneath a bramble bush as the rain around him threatened to flood his newfound home away. After that he found a little hollowed out log and stayed there for a few days until he was chased away by a badger. The next day Patton found a little hole under a tree and made it his new home.

His meals were also hard found and almost always came in a meager amount. He was surprised by how much he needed to eat despite his small body. However, once Janus came into the picture, finding food became just a little bit easier.

“You closed your eyes again.” A sardonic voice said, interrupting Patton in the middle of his attempt to catch a dragonfly. “Are you expecting the bug to fly its way into your mouth?”

Without being asked, Janus took it upon himself to teach Patton how to properly catch his own food, mostly by criticizing and correcting his every move. It never took the snake long to find his own meal, so he would often spend his time watching Patton try to fill his empty and sad belly while he was happy and full. And while Patton did appreciate the help, he did wish sometimes that his friend would be a little nicer about it.

“But it’s so pretty! And it’s just going about its day. I don’t want to hurt it.” Patton complains childishly, watching the dragonfly flutter away high above his head.

Sighing loudly, Janus slithered his way over to Patton and circled his way around him, draping his long body around him in an almost intimate embrace. With his head, Janus directed Patton’s gaze over the lake.

“Dragonflies eat the gnats that hover over the lake, fish eat the dragonflies that go for the gnats, and humans capture the fish that swim too close to the surface. It’s a perfect cycle that has existed for eons, natural order, and balance.” He murmured into his ear, his voice smooth and sweet, but precise and cold. Patton gulped and shivered uncontrollably. “The magic that you are so fond of is no different. When a being takes a life, another will take it back, that is the karma and balance that maintains order.”

“Even so, does life have to be taken? Can’t someone break the cycle so no more life needs to be lost?”

Janus went quiet, pondering that notion as if it hadn’t occurred to him before. There was a haunting pain in his eyes, old yet fresh, as though a past wound had been agitated by his innocently intended words.

“Hm, perhaps.” He murmured, winding himself around the frog. Patton relaxed once he was let go, yet his body subconsciously followed after the snake to maintain their embrace before he was able to catch himself and remain in place. “You’re an odd one, Patton.”

“Thank you?” The frog said in confused gratefulness, unsure whether he was just complimented or insulted.

Janus gave no further explanation either and only directed him to follow after.

“Come along, I caught enough for both of us to eat, just in case you came up empty-handed again.”

A wide grin spread across his face and he quickly hopped after the retreating serpent. His stomach growled loudly again, almost as if it knew it was about to be filled.

After that, food had become much easier to find, as Patton simply made a daily habit of going to Janus’s den and eating whatever he brought back. The fellow cursed one commonly voiced his complaints about his doing so, but he never failed to bring back enough for both of them.

…

There was something Patton had been wondering about for a while now. The thought came to him fleetingly as a secondary thought as he watched how Janus caught his food.

After his mornings became lonely from waiting alone for Janus to return from his hunts, Patton decided to join him. He promised to stay a ways away to not scare away the prey and he was able to peacefully observe the snake from a distance. It was then that Patton was able to see Janus use magic for the first time.

Sneaking up on whatever creature he was hunting, whether it be a mouse or shrew for him or cricket or grasshopper for Patton, he got just close enough before he would shoot out, yellow light and haze surrounding him, and his prey would be rendered motionless and free for the taking.

It seemed to be a simple spell as Janus was able to use it multiple times in a single day without tiring himself out. Patton recalled his best friend, Virgil, learning a similar spell when they were younger. After two casts he would become faint and would need to rest. Eventually, as years passed and he received training, Virgil learned to cast the freeze spell with ease. Even so, he still had his limit on how many spells he could cast in a single day. Yet Janus never showed any signs of fatigue.

Surely that meant that either the spell was simple and didn’t require a lot of energy, or that Janus was an extremely powerful and talented sorcerer. Which then begged the question as to why he still remained a snake.

“Hey, Janus?” Patton asked unprompted,

“Yes, Patton?” The snake replied, stopping in the middle of a long sip of water he had been taking from the lake.

“If you’re a wizard-

“Sorcerer.”

“Then how did you get turned into a snake? Did you mess up a spell or something?”

Janus paused and sat quietly for a moment, turning his eyes down at his reflection in the rippling water, gazing into it as though it were a Jin Mirror that would tell him all he wished to know. Patton looked down into the water as well but saw nothing besides a snake and a frog.

“I went to a sorcerer more proficient than I and asked to use his advanced spellbook. He agreed, but once he learned what spell I was tampering with, he turned me into a snake and threw me into the woods.” He explained, his voice full of bitterness and loathing. His eyes burned with something harsh and fierce, but it oddly seemed to bear a close resemblance to regret.

“But aren’t you a shapeshifter? Can’t you just shift back?” Patton asked.

“I wish I could, but spells and curses are different. If it had been a simple transformation spell I would have changed back weeks ago. But a curse is much more powerful and can only be undone by the one who caster.” He explained, hanging his head low in despair. “And I doubt that man will change me back anytime soon.”

Remorse was not a good look for the snake. Patton was so used to his usual sardonic smirks and sarcastic grins that it appeared wrong for him to look any other way. What was more, the pain in Janus’s eyes was too raw and made Patton’s heart ached for him.

“Well, that isn’t right!” He declared loudly.

Janus pulled his head up off the ground and looked at him in astonishment, gazing at him as if he couldn’t believe he had just heard what the frog said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“It isn’t right!” Patton repeated, hopping over to his friend and reaching out to hold the snake’s head in his webbed hands. “Just because you wanted to learn a spell isn’t a good reason to be cursed! If I knew this sorcerer, I would march right up and command him to change you back!”

Janus stared at him with wide eyes, lifting his head up further slowly as if to try and confirm that he wasn’t dreaming and that he had actually heard Patton’s silly declaration correctly. After a moment passed between them, the wind and chirps of the forest the only audiable noise between them, Janus erupted in laughter, but Patton didn’t join in with him because it sounded almost sad.

“You're too kind, Patton.” Janus breathed, catching his breath between laughs. “Too kind for your own good.”

“What do you mean?” Patton asked, confused by his odd choice of words.

“Nothing, forget what I said.”

…

Life was, oddly enough, boring as an amphibian. Despite having a human mind and consciousness, he was still in fact a frog. Sleep had come to him more often, so by the time he woke up, half the day was already spent and gone. But, once he was awake, he had almost nothing to do.

Like a snake, Janus slept much more frequently than Patton, around sixteen hours in fact, although he’d never be able to tell since he can’t close his eyes. This meant that, despite their shared meals, the two of them had pretty much nothing to do except sleep. It wasn’t as though there were many options for leisure activities when you were cursed into a small body with tiny, webbed hands, or with no hands at all.

Usually, when he wasn’t with Janus, mostly because he was busy napping, Patton would go to the lake and swim. One small perk of being a frog was the fact that he could go under for hours on end and still be fine. He liked wandering down at the bottom of the lake, looking around and exploring the depths of six feet.

Patton learned very quickly not to venture in too deep, as one sour meeting with a bass taught him that one wrong move could end him up as a tasty snack in a predator’s belly.

Still, the thrill of swimming only lasted so long, and Patton would eventually become bored again. Without Janus, Patton had very little to do, and it became a lonely stretch of hours while he waited for Janus to wake up again.

In spite of his appearance, Patton could not communicate with any of the other kinds of frogs in the forest. It was possible that they themselves knew what Patton was, as all of them stayed clear away from him and never came near him. The fairy tale books were all a lie, he didn’t get any friendly forest animals to befriend.

Although he hadn’t asked, Patton had the hunch that it was the same for Janus, or else he probably wouldn’t have proper cause to remain with Patton. He knew he didn’t have much to offer the snake, he couldn’t help hunt, and he lacked any skill in magic to help him try to find a solution to the curse. Even so, Janus continued to spend his days idly with Patton, chatting and sharing meals, doing nothing of great importance.

Cursed ones were damned in more ways than one, the transformation into lesser creatures was one thing, but then they were sentenced to live life alone in isolation, understood neither by man nor beast. They had no one but each other in their large, forest world. Life as a cursed one was meant to be a life of torment, but at least with each other, it was more tolerable.

Patton sat in a hollow log, not too far away from the entrance to Janus’s den, nodding off as he waited for Janus to wake up. He was determined to stay awake until his friend resurfaced so they could spend the rest of the daylight together. However, the calm strings of the gentle, summer breeze, the chimes of a distant brook, and a choir of birds all sang a soothing lullaby that pulled at him sweetly, weakening his resolve. 

Before he knew it, he was being roused awake by the yellow snake, looming over him with an amused glint in his eyes. Patton smiled up at him and sat up, stretching in a way that was most likely more proper for humans than frogs.

“Afternoon sleepyhead.” Janus teased, backing up as Patton sleepily made his way out of the log.

“I should be saying that to you.” Patton giggled, “Are you all rested up, beauty queen?”

“Trust me, if it were up to me, I wouldn’t spend more than half the day asleep. I can hardly get anything done in just eight hours.” The snake grimaced, slithering away from and around the log.

“I, for one, would love to sleep the day away.” Patton sighed, subconsciously following after him. “I barely got any sleep when I was human, what with all the tutors my father hired to teach me. I still remember the time my Math tutor refused to let me leave for over three hours until I got all the questions on my trigonometry worksheet correct. Mister Nelson was really strict like that all the time, but my Literature teacher was probably worse. She-” 

He went on and on continuously, sprouting random stories from his years of education, which would then inspire more stories from his childhood and teen years. He chased after bunny trails, telling Janus about random things, unsure if the snake was actually listening.

Patton was so focused on talking that he failed to focus on where they were going, only making sure that he remained at the snake’s side so he could keep telling him more stories. It was only when Janus came to a sudden stop that Patton paused to look around at where they had been going the entire time.

In front of him expanded a wide and vast meadow, filled to the brim with tall grass, and a brook that ran through the center, heading back towards the lake. Patton gasped and gawked at the scenery, edging closer to the beautiful field.

“It’s gorgeous,” Patton said,

“Indeed it is.” Janus agreed, his voice soft and tender.

Patton turned around to say something but was caught off guard by the gentle expression Janus was directing at him. Patton could not physically blush, but his heart certainly skipped a beat.

“I want to show you something,” Janus said, slithering on ahead once more. 

Patton remained where he was, watching his every move intently, almost fearful that if he looked away, Janus would disappear like a sweet dream, leaving him alone.

The snake slithered a few paced ahead to where a large rock rested on its side. Climbing up, he settled himself down on the highest point and stretched his body out as far as he could. He closed his eyes, stilled himself, and began to glow a beautiful gold, shimmering in the sunlight. Patton held his breath and time seemed to slow down around them.

Then, almost out of thin air, golden specters were lifted into the sky and took on the form of a snake and a frog. They took to the air and began to chase each other and play, frolicking through the clouds. They ran back down to the ground but continued to hover just above the earth. The specters turned into balls of pure light and circled around Patton in a spiral, sprinkling glitter upon him. Patton giggled and began to chase after the lights, trying to catch one of his hands.

The lights suddenly took to the sky once more and began to take on new forms, but this time they took the appearance of two men, one he recognized as himself, while the other he did not know. The man had a rigid and sharp face and was impeccably handsome. Patton looked over at Janus, still stretched out on the rock, and wondered if the man was him.

The two men joined hands and began to waltz, dancing elegantly across the heavens as though it were a ballroom. Their movements were smooth and graceful, hypnotizing Patton with their dance. Eventually, the two men began to float down together, returned to pure light, and faded away into glitter. Janus ceased his glow and relaxed, resting back and curling his body around.

“That was amazing!” Patton cheered, hopping over to him, “It was so pretty and cool! I can’t believe I just saw that! How’d you do it?”

“It’s a simple light animate spell. I usually prefer to animate shadows, but I thought you’d like the light puppets more.” Janus explained, slightly out of breath.

“I did, I loved them!” Patton grinned and pulled Janus into a hug. The snake stiffened and turned solid, but gradually began to loosen up. “Thank you, Janus.”

“You’re welcome, Patton. It’s the least I could do.”

Patton wanted to ask what he meant by that, but he didn’t. Janus would often say things that he didn’t understand, but every time he asked about it Janus wouldn’t answer.

…

It had been one full month since Patton had met Janus that day he had coincidentally almost been eaten by the said snake. In that time that they had spent together, they had grown close as friends. Their mornings would be spent over breakfast, chatting about random nonsense, and laughing over their mutual love of puns. After that, they would often spend their time around the lake, where Patton would splash around in the shallow end and Janus would sunbathe on the stones along the water’s edge. Once they began to feel famished, Janus would go out and hunt for their next meal and they’d share it again in Janus’s dugout den. As soon as their bellies were full once again they would part ways to go to sleep and start it all over the next day.

It was during one of Janus’s hunts when Patton didn’t join him, that he decided to wander around and explore in search of a new home while he waited for him. As much as he enjoyed his home underneath the tree, it was too small for him to do anything besides sleep, and the wide-open hope in the trunk made it easy for other forest life to find his way into his home. At this point, Patton was tired of chasing away squirrels trying to hide their nuts in his home.

Instead, Patton found a small crevice in the earth, no deeper than four feet. Tall and luscious grass was growing inside the hole, which would make for good bedding; and a large bramble bush grew at the top, overshadowing the hole and offering shelter from the sun, wind, and possible rain.

In blind excitement, Patton rushed down into the crevice to get a better look at what may be his new home. However, a patch this perfect surely had to already be occupied, but Patton was too enthusiastic to think that far ahead.

While pushing around the grass, looking for the best patch for a bed, Patton uncovered a pre-dug hole that had been hidden by the tall grass. Upon seeing it, Patton knew that something else had made that hole and it was not naturally occurring. Even so, Patton had noticed it too little too late, and before he could backtrack his way out of the crevice, a brown and black rat snake shot out of the entrance and aimed its fangs directly at him.

“Janus!” Patton screamed, launching himself into the air and away from the rat snake.

Quick as he could, Patton scurried back up the slope and out of the crevice. However, once glance backward told him that the rat snake was right on his heels chasing him. He tried desperately to shake the predator of his tail, hopping over and underneath rocks and fallen branches, but all his efforts proved futile as the rat snake remained practically glued to him.

“Help me! Janus!” Patton cried again, unsure if his friend could hear him or where he even was.

However, a voice called back in reply to his cry, filling him with relief.

“Patton!” Janus suddenly shot out from the side, tackling his body directly into the rat snake.

Finally free from the chase, Patton was able to escape up a high rock, and subsequently found a vantage point to watch the fight. Janus had plunged his fangs into the backside of the rat snake right underneath its head. The rat snake thrashed and struggled, attempting to wrap itself around Janus to strangle him, but it failed to do so properly, giving Janus leverage to do just that.

The fight lasted several minutes, neither reptile wanting to back down. They twisted and turned over and around each other until the rat snake finally went limp. Once the fight was done and won, Janus let go of his hold on the other snake and slithered over to Patton, who had hopped down from the rock.

“Are you okay?” Janus asked upon reaching the frog.

“Yes, I think I’m all right,” Patton replied and moved to greet him, but once he moved his right leg he winced at a pain he hadn’t realized was there, most likely hidden by the adrenaline rush while escaping.

Janus noticed and commanded him to remain still as he moved closer. Patton complied and remained where he was as the snake slithered up until their faces were resting against each other. At that time, Patton was incredibly grateful that it was physically impossible for frogs to blush, because Patton was sure that if he were still human that he’d be as red as wine from being in such close proximity to his friend.

A moment passed between them in expectant silence, Janus gazed intently into Patton’s eyes, and he looked right back into his, not knowing what else to do. Gradually, a warm, welcoming yellow light began to surround them both, encasing them in a small dome of energy. Slowly, as they remained together in that light, the pain in Patton’s leg began to fade away until it was eventually completely gone, and with it, the light went as well.

“Wow, you’re amazing!” Patton gasped in awe, hopping around in glee that the pain was gone.

Patton had seen a similar spell from his friend Virgil, in fact, he had watched as his friend struggled to learn the healing spell for several weeks until he was able to master it. It was unclear how long Janus had been studying magic, but if he was able to carry out such a spell in the state that he was, he had to be incredibly gifted.

“It’s nothing really,” Janus said sheepishly, turning his head away.

“No, it totally is! You have an incredible gift!” Patton hopped over into the snake’s line of vision and gave him a wide smile. “Thank you, Janus. You saved my life today.”

It had been minuscule, and Patton had almost failed to see it, but he saw the way Janus flinched at his words as if Patton had slapped him with his praise. Patton almost frowned at it, but Janus quickly turned away again and changed the subject.

“It’s nothing. Let’s get you back to your home so you can rest.” He said, leading the way back towards the lake.

His smile fell away at his friend’s aloof behavior, but he gave a shy smile as he chased after and caught up to him, hopping at his side as they went across the forest ground. The ambiance of the singing birds overhead filled their silence and made their walk a little more comfortable, but Patton still couldn’t bear the silence between them, nor could he understand what made his friend act so coldly. After a second of thought, Patton decided to take it upon himself to fill the gap between them.

“This reminds me of when I fell off my horse when I was twelve.” Patton said, laughing lightly as he thought back in his memory, “My dad blew a gasket and confined me to my bed for a week so I could heal. But my friend Virgil, who was apprenticing under the family sorcerer, snuck in and healed me so we could go out and play.”

“Sounds like a strict father,” Janus mumbled, keeping his eyes straight ahead on the forest path.

“I guess. What about your parents?” Patton turned the subject onto the snake, hoping to keep the conversation going. “Did they do things like that too?”

Janus stopped slithering and froze, looking up to the tops of the trees and out beyond to the lake morning sky, which had begun to be overshadowed with gathering clouds. The eerie calm before the coming storm.

“Well… there was this one time I fell sick with a cold. My mother made me hot duck soup and fed me while I laid shivering in bed. My father sat at the fire for the whole night, keeping it lit so that I would be warm.”

“They sound amazing,” Patton said with a warm smile, wondering if his mother had done the same when he was sick. 

“Yeah,” Janus continued on, “They were.”

Now it was Patton’s turn to freeze in place, as he realized he had unknowingly crossed a line and brought up bad memories for the snake. Quickly, he hopped back to the snake's side and tried to apologize for his mistake.

“Oh, Janus I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-”

“No, it’s alright.” Janus stopped him, letting him off with what would have been a sad smile if he didn’t have the face of a snake. “It was a long time ago.”

One by one, drop by drop, the sky began to cry out and rain fell from the heavens to the earth. The wind picked up and began to beat at the trees, shaking the branches into a wild dance. In the distance, rumbles from the sky began to roar across the land, followed by bright, angry flashes of light and fire.

The two cursed ones rushed their journey to take shelter away from the elements. Then forgoed returning to Patton’s home under the tree, as they risked a lighting strike by doing so. Instead, the snake and the frog went to Janus’s den underground.

Breakfast had not been caught that morning, as Janus had abandoned his hunt once he heard Patton’s panicked call. That meant that their empty stomachs were left to growl and complain at them for the foreseeable future, as it was too dangerous to attempt a hunt during the storm.

The den was dark and cold and damp. The only insulation the hole had was sticks and leaves. Janus, who was now a cold-blooded creature, tucked himself under the small patch of foliage and coiled around himself to keep warm. Once he was comfortable, the snake invited Patton to join him, as frogs were also cold-blooded.

A bit sheepishly, Patton crawled under the leaves and laid down beside the snake. The two rested there quietly, listening to the echo of the rage outside. Slowly, Patton began to tire and grow sleepy, yawning as he let his eyes close.

“Do you ever think about your father?” The snake beside him asked out of the blue, shaking Patton back into wakefulness.

Patton blinked at him in surprise, not expecting Janus to bring up their families again after the last conversation. Janus didn’t look back and kept his face turned away, but Patton still smiled at him.

“All the time.” He answered simply, “I know he didn’t mean to kick me out. He was just so scared that he didn’t recognize me. But eventually, I’ll be able to go back home.” He said confidently, sure to himself that his father was looking everywhere for him, and that Virgil would find a way to turn him back into a human. 

Perhaps Janus could come with him, he was sure that his father would welcome such a powerful sorcerer, and Virgil always loved meeting others in his trade to exchange knowledge and skill with.

“It will be good riddance for me. Then I won’t have to keep hunting for two, freeloader.” Janus huffed, finally looking over at him, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes.

“Hey!” Patton cried and tackled the snake, landing on his back and wrapping his arms around his long body. Janus let out a squeak and tried to shake him off, cursing him, but laughing nonetheless.

Eventually, the two cursed ones settled down, giggling at each other and panting to catch their breath. Outside, the storm grew stronger, leaving the two stranded together in the den. Tired from the stressful day and their roughhousing, the two fell asleep together, Janus loosely wrapped around Patton like a comforting blanket.

…

Patton woke up sometime later, at what hour he couldn’t know, but the sheer darkness that surrounded him told him that it was late into the night. In that darkness, however, was a pale light casting shadows around him, pulsating instead flicker as a flame would. A tingling sensation covered his body and a warmth settled in his stomach and chest.

It didn’t take long for Patton to direct his gaze up and realize that it was Janus, still wrapped around him, who was giving off the light. The whole of his body glowed a soft yellow color and acted as a sort of lantern. His eyes were glossed over and he appeared to be intensely focused on something.

The frog decided then to remain quiet and simply watch as the snake did whatever he was doing. The intensity of the glow would grow and wane, almost to the point of going out, until it would grow again. Janus looked exhausted and seemed to be struggling greatly, almost as if he had been casting repeatedly without rest for hours on end.

Although Patton wasn’t a sorcerer himself, he did know much about the art from growing up with Virgil. He knew for a fact that casting multiple spells one after another without rest caused severe fatigue and strain on the body. Just as running ten miles with no rest could damage the body, so too could spell casting.

Patton knew it was taboo to interrupt a sorcerer while they were in the middle of casting, as losing focus could cause them to lose control of the spell and harm themselves or the interrupter. But he couldn’t bear to see Janus continue to suffer and endure such pain any longer.

“Janus?” Patton whispered, moving to sit up.

The snake flinched and gasped, breaking focus on the spell and stopped glowing as his eyes snapped down to look at the frog. A force pushed Patton back a bit, drawing a squeak out of him, but Janus’s tight grip around him kept him from falling over.

“Patton, you’re awake.” He noted in surprise, clearing his throat and relaxing his grasp on the frog.

“Couldn’t really sleep with the light flashing.” Patton chuckled sheepishly.

“Right…”

An awkward silence fell on them, heavy with unspoken tension about the spell casting. Patton knew it was rude to try and get Janus to reveal to him what he was doing, and sorcery was a sacred trade, but curiosity remained burning in his gullet to know why and what the snake had been casting. However, instead of intruding on his art any further, he decided to change the topic to his well-being, as Janus was still wheezing ever so slightly.

“Are you feeling alright?” Patton inquired.

“I’m fine.” He answered plainly, laying his head down on the ground.

“Did you want to talk about it?” Patton edged closer.

“I’m okay, Patton, don’t worry. Let’s just go back to sleep.”

The frog pouted but decided to let the topic go and follow Janus’s lead and go back to sleep, but not before he gave one more reassurance.

“Well, alright, but if you ever need it, I’ll be here to listen. Nothing could make me turn away from you, Janus.” Patton told him kindly.

Janus lifted his head sluggishly and peered over at him, his eyes dim and hesitant.

“Are you sure?” He asked softly.

“Of course! We’ll always be together!” Patton grinned.

Janus didn’t smile back but laid his head back down on the dirt floor. Not long after, the steady intake of breaths and light snores told him that Janus had fallen asleep, likely due to exhaustion. 

Patton continued to watch him for a while more, his heart clenched and torn in concern for the other. He wished he had the innate ability to read others’ minds as some sorcerers had, or at the very least could know how the snake was feeling. It was obvious that whatever had caused Janus to act so miserably was somehow linked to whatever spell he had failed to cast.

He worried that Janus might try it again and end up hurt. Especially since it appeared as though Janus was trying to cast it on Patton. The last thing he wanted was for Janus to be hurting because of him.

…

The storm had not yet ended, but merely calmed down to a drizzle. The thunder and lightning had passed over their heads, but could still be heard in the far off distance. However, it was enough for the local wildlife to peek their heads out of their hiding places, drawn out by their hunger from the long night.

Patton was roused awake from the slow dripping water droplets that had seeped down through the earth to reach the den. Shaking his head dry, Patton yawned and stretched, pulling himself out of his little bed nest of leaves and sticks. Behind him, Janus remained asleep, snoring peacefully in a little curled up ball.

He smiled and then frowned; Janus still panted lightly in his sleep and looked sick and pale from overexertion. Patton remembered the look of desperation he had on last night as he struggled in his spell cast. The pain looked torturous and it concerned Patton greatly. He wondered what had caused him to push his body that far, and why he had been trying to spell cast on Patton.

A thought crossed his mind about the possibility that Janus had attempted to break their curse, but he ignored it, as Janus had told Patton himself that only the caster could take away the curse, and Patton didn’t even know who had cursed him.

It had happened all too suddenly for him to completely grasp the situation. He had been out on his daily stroll through the garden, he had heard that a strange man was visiting the manor and was on his way back to the house to greet him when a shadow appeared before him in the center of the walkway. A black puddle, rippling and swaying minisculely like tar, seeped up through the gravel. Patton was about to ignore it, thinking that maybe some ground oil had been pushed to the surface, but then a hand, seeping with the tar-like substance, reached out to him. Panicked, thinking someone was trapped underground, ignorant to the sinister forces at work, he reached out to save them and grabbed hold of the hand.

However, the second that he did, the shadow began to swirl around him and seep into his body through his eyes, mouth, and skin. He had tried to fight it off, but he was helpless to resist the dark magic. Everything went dark, and the next thing he knew, he woke up in the body of a little, green frog.

His father, in grief and anger, refused to believe that the frog was his son and demanded that he be executed. However, Virgil, in defense of Patton, convinced his father to merely banish him, and his father agreed. The guards then took Patton and threw him out over the wall, laughing as they watched him flail around and land harshly on the other side. Patton wandered around, trying to get back to his father to convince him he was indeed his son, but he was never able to make it past the guards. After a week passed, he went and settled in the forest by his home, waiting for the day when he’d finally be able to return.

This was the reason why Patton never learned the identity of who cursed him or their reason for doing so. It had happened all so fast, his cursing and his exile, he wasn’t even sure if his curser had been caught.

However, Janus knew who cursed him, he said so himself, it was another sorcerer who shared different beliefs than him about sorcery and cursed him for it. If he wanted, Janus could have used his magic to find the sorcerer and try to undo his own curse, but he remained with Patton anyways.

Janus had done so many things for Patton in the time that they’ve known each other. He’s fed him his daily meals, saved and healed him from a rat snake attack, and more so just offered his comforting company and ear to listen. Patton wanted to show his gratefulness to the snake for all that he’s done for him but knew he could never fully pay him back for all his kindness.

But he decided to at least start with something small and decided to be the one to provide breakfast that morning so Janus could sleep in just a while longer. 

Leaving the den, Patton went around the rim of the lake and decided to catch some of the flies that usually hovered above the surface. Since Janus usually provided all the meals, Patton still wasn’t that good at catching his food and lacked coordination and timing. However, once he sat in position on a lilypad, floating on top of the water, Patton recalled back to the advice Janus had given him all those weeks ago. 

He kept his eyes trained on the rain-rippled water, searching for any and all prey that may come into view, and once one did, he never took his eyes off of it. Some reservations still nagged at him, but Patton mostly ignored it, knowing that Janus would only get weaker if he did not eat. Once he was locked onto the dragonfly and had a clear shot, Patton shot out his tongue and caught the insect in his snare, yanking it back into his mouth, but making sure he didn’t swallow it.

Happy with his first catch, Paton hopped off of the lilypad and back onto the grass to return to the den to drop off the dragonfly so that he could go and catch more food. The snake usually preferred mice or shrews over crickets and flies, but Patton just had to make do with what he had.

As he returned back to the den, a strange and peculiar light began to shine above his head, creating a dim trail behind it. The light was much too large to have been created by any insect and had an odd purple hue to it. Before Patton could ponder it any further, loud footfall resounded behind him.

Taken off guard, Patton quickly lept into a bush and hid, peering out from behind the leaves to see who had created those footsteps and that light. Out from behind the foliage and trees, walked his best and oldest friend, Virgil. His face was hidden by his favorite black cloak, covered in odd, little purple patches, but Patton still recognized him nonetheless.

Overjoyed to see his childhood friend after so long apart, Patton chased after him as quickly as he could. He almost called out his name to catch his attention, but the words caught inside the back of his throat when he saw him stop directly in front of the den Janus was sleeping in. The purple light he had been following began to fall down slowly and seep into the ground, A light began to shine out of the den’s entrance, signifying that the light was now inside the little hole in the ground. Patton moved again and opened his mouth to say something, but was startled when Virgil suddenly punched his fist through the ground, his hand bursting with magical energy, and ripped a now awake Janus out from the ground.

Janus hissed, screamed, and failed around, but all his efforts were weak and fruitless. He was still too weak from last night, he couldn’t even use magic to defend himself. 

Reaching into the back of his cloak, Virgil pulled out a long, twisted dagger and raised it to strike the snake. But before he could make any sort of move to hurt him, Patton screamed at him, dropping the dragonfly from his mouth, and threw himself at Virgil’s legs.

“Stop it, Virgil, don’t hurt him!” Patton cried and begged, grabbing Virgil’s pants and yanking him as hard as he could, although he knew it didn’t do anything.

Shocked by the sudden intrusion and the familiar voice, Virgil stepped back and looked down at the little frog that was clinging to the cuffs of his trousers. Instantly he recognized who Patton was and his eyes widened in welcomed surprise.

“Patton! You’re okay!” He said in joy and relief, but then a brief look of confusion passed across his features before he switched over to anger and accusation as he asked him, “Why would you defend this bastard?”

“Because he’s my friend!” Patton exclaimed, trying to climb his way up Virgil, clinging to his clothes, in order to get to where Janus was still thrashing around. “Please let him go, Virgil, Janus hasn’t done anything wrong!”

Reaching the top of Virgil’s arm, Patton quickly went to the fist that kept Janus captive and forced it open, causing both he and the snake to fall down. Reacting quickly, Virgil was able to catch Patton before he hit the ground, but he gladly let Janus crash into the dirt. Patton tried to hop away and go to the snake’s side, but Virgil cupped his hands around his small body and forced him to look at him.

“Hasn’t done- Patton, who do you think cursed you?” Virgil questioned him, his dark eyes drilling at him unforgivingly with an unbelievable truth. 

Patton stared back at his oldest friend with wide, incredulous eyes. He hadn’t realized it, but he began to pant heavily as his heart rate spiked and his lungs failed him. His whole body had gone stiff, frozen in terror, and at a loss for what to do or how to react. 

“You’re… you’re lying. Janus wouldn’t… he would never…he...” Patton said aimlessly, unsure whether he was trying to convince Virgil or himself of Janus’s innocence and benevolence. He looked down to Janus for a rebuttal, a shake of the head, a cry of dispute, anything to show that Virgil was wrong. But the snake said nothing, refusing to even look at him, and instead, he hung his head in shame.

After all, they had been through together, the countless hours spent in each other's company, the sweet and tender moments, the silly and nonsensical moments, he is now to believe that Janus had cursed him to live in misery. Janus, kind and caring, snide and cunning, protective and compassionate, had committed such a heinous act against him. Now he was to understand that the cursed snake, who he had been endeared to, who risked his life to save and heal him, was the sorcerer to make him the being that he was, taking him away from his family and friends and everything he had ever loved and known. But Janus was all that he loved and knew in the new life he had built as a cursed one. A false life created after his real one was ripped away.

Patton hopped down from Virgil’s hand and slowly hopped closer, but kept a sharp distance between them. Janus backed away as though the frog’s mere presence had burned him, widening the rift that had been created.

“You… cursed me?” Patton asked, still clinging to the last shred of hope inside of him that it wasn’t true.

“I’m sorry.” Was all that the snake said.

The world crashed around him in that instant and his heart shattered like glass hitting the floor. His breath was stolen away from his lungs like a relentless punch to the stomach. He choked on the sobs that began to spill out of his throat like vomit, the acid of betrayal stung his mouth. He couldn’t cry, however, no matter how much he wanted to, because of the creature he had been turned into. The creature that Janus had turned him into.

“So it’s true?” Patton croaked, “You did this to me?”

Janus looked up at him with sorrow and regret in his reptilian eyes, but Patton refused to see it, no longer able to trust anything the snake did.

“I didn’t mean to, well I did, but that was before I got to know you. At first, I was just trying to get revenge for my parents, but then-” Janus tried to explain himself, but Patton stopped him and cut him off, not wanting to hear his petty excuse for what he had done.

“But then what? How did me becoming this way solve anything?” Patton shouted in a shrill voice, his eyes locked uptight, his body overcome with tremors.

“It didn't solve anything, I know that now. I just wanted to get back at your father and wasn’t thinking about-”

“So even if you didn’t curse me you would have hurt my father to achieve your own selfish goal? No matter what you had done, I would have suffered and you didn’t even care.” Patton accused him, glaring him down with brokenness and unfettered rage, too consumed with grief to concern himself with his own words. “It’s because of people like you that there’s suffering in this world.” He scoffed bitterly.

Janus physically retracted from him, his mouth hung open and eyes wide in surprise and hurt. Patton realized a moment too late that he had gone too far, but he refused to apologize despite the feeling of guilt that gnawed at him. The snake hung his head and breathed slowly to steady his readily increasing pulse.

“Suffering in this world?” Janus repeated in a small, harsh voice, and raised his furious glare back up to meet Patton’s hesitant but firm gaze. “Don’t you dare speak of the world to me, young lord. You’ve lived in a mansion your entire life, having your every need met with the ring of a bell, you’ve always had a full stomach, a warm bed, and a safe home. You don’t know anything about suffering, Patton. You have no idea what I’ve been through.” He yelled,

Patton stared back at him in shock, and regret. After the weeks they had spent together, Patton had believed that he knew Janus very well. Despite not knowing that much about his past, besides him being a sorcerer and without parents, he had thought he was able to understand him. Yet, that notion had been torn away from him that day because he couldn’t understand him at all. He couldn’t see what had brought him to do such harm on those he barely knew, nor did he believe there was a reason that could justify his actions. 

“You’re right, I really don’t know anything about you, do I?” Patton said sadly, his voice quiet and defeated. The anger on Janus’s face immediately fell away and turned to worry and fear. Patton gave him one last smile, forced, and miserable, and then turned away to leave, “Come on Virgil, let’s go home.”

Virgil, who had been silently watching the argument from the sidelines, stepped in and bent down, offering a hand put for Patton to hop on so he could carry him. Patton stepped into his palm and was led away, leaving Janus alone on the cold ground. The light drizzle that had been falling since morning grew heavier and began to pour down more harshly, washing away the earth as the floodwaters began to rise once more. 

“No, Patton, wait!” Janus called out in desperation, “Take me with you! Only the caster can take away the curse. Let me fix this!” 

The small yellow snake tried to chase after them, but Virgil whipped around and hit him with a paralysis spell, stunning Janus and leaving him flopped over on the ground frozen. Patton flinched when he saw Janus get hit and fought the urge to go to his side. Instead, he simply looked away.

“Stay away from Patton! If you even try to go near him again then I will personally end your life.” Virgil threatened him with a deathly serious glower before turning and striding away.

The cursed frog let himself be taken away from his once dear friend in the palms of his oldest, and most trusted friend. He whimpered silently as Janus’s screams resounded through the trees, echoing and crescendoing on the howl of the wind. The tears that he could not physically shed himself, fell from his eyes as the rain ran down his face, allowing him to weep in sorrow as the pain of losing Janus consumed him as his reality.

“Patton! Please, forgive me!” The wind wailed, “Patton! Don’t leave me, please!”

…

The anger of the heavens had died away since last night and had since turned into grieving as the sky wept over the earth and its creatures, flooding the land with tears to wash away the heaviness that had settled in the atmosphere. The earth could not stand the mourning of its beloved friend and reflected those cries with a lament of its own as the earth shook and creaked, land sliding and trees falling, weighed down too much from the shared anguish.

Virgil rode through the rain and the wind on a skittish horse, none too happy about being forced to travel in the terrible weather. Patton sat on his shoulder, taking shelter underneath the brim of his hood. He lied down wordlessly, his eyes low and empty, barely registering the journey away from the forest and back to his father’s estate. His body was cold and soaked, but he didn’t mind too much and welcomed the feeling of icy skin, shivering. 

The sorcerer made a few attempts at light conversation, but Patton only responded with simple noises or grunts, if he answered at all. Eventually, Virgil got the message that he didn’t want to talk and let him be. Although, Patton could feel his anticipation and curiosity eat away at him; and he could understand why. After all, he had at last escaped from the one who cursed him and was to return back to his father and old life, he should be ecstatic and celebrating. That’s how any normal person would be reacting anyway.

After a strenuous period of travel, both physically and emotionally, the two childhood friends arrived at the familiar iron gates. Virgil muttered to Patton to hide further in his hood, and he complied quickly, frightened for what would happen to him if his father’s guards spotted him. Like the last time he saw them in his current form they had tried to kill him and then catapulted him over the wall.

Virgil strode up to the gate and called to be let in. The two men who had been charged with guarding the entrance that afternoon, got up from their bums on the ground, stumbling drunkenly to Virgil to inspect him.

“Sir Virgil? ‘Ere ‘ave you bin all mornin’?” One of the men asked, lazily scratching his ass with one hand and rubbing his bright red nose with the other, a bottle of brandy tight in his grip and spilling out the top. 

“I was searching for the young lord, as per usual.” Virgil responded his head up high and face scrunched up in distaste for the foolish man.

“When’re ya’ goin’ a give up on that?” The second guard asked, equally if not drunker than the first. “We all know he’s dead.”

“Don’t be witless, the boy is not dead but alive. Sober yourselves up and go to the lord of his house and tell him that he will see his son by sunrise tomorrow.”

The two guards, now frightened by what Virgil had said, quickly moved to open the gates, allowing Virgil to enter, before going ahead to the manor to give the message they had been sent with. Patton, who had been listening to the conversation the entire time, peered out from the hood and up at Virgil and asked, 

“What do you mean by ‘sunrise tomorrow’? I doubt my father will welcome me back the way I am.”

“Be patient, I have a plan for that.” Virgil replied as he guided his horse to the stables. Once there he dismounted and handed the reins to the stableboy to unsaddle and care for the animal.

Turning to the house, Virgil went and entered through the servants doors on the far side of the building. The inside was not that much different temperature-wise compared to the outside, and was even darker than it had been out in the rain. Patton looked out at the surroundings over Virgil’s shoulder and instantly recognized it as his old home. The walls and floors were all the same, all the candlesticks sat in their usual places, however they were not lit. Even the curtains, which were normally drawn to let in the sunlight, were pulled shut, allowing the halls to be consumed in darkness. Indeed this was Patton’s home, but it felt more despondent than usual.

Maneuvering his way through the meandering hallways, Virgil arrived at and entered his study, locking the door behind him so that no one could bother him. Stepping to his desk, he lit a single candle with a vocal spell and sat down at his bench and began gathering different ingredients from the many shelves above and beside him. Patton took this opportunity to hop down from his shoulder and onto his desk, choosing to watch his friend work from his seat on an old book. The study was dark and dusty, filled with many odd smells from old spells. The room was in chaos and disarray, books and pamphlets littering every surface. Patton found this peculiar, as he had always known Virgil to be neat and tidy, but he chose not to ask about it at that time.

“So,” Patton began, “You said you had a plan?”

“Oh, yes, I do.” Virgil agreed, getting up in a hurry across the room to rummage around in his aged, wooden chest. He pulled out a filthy looking velvet bag and looked inside, gave it a whiff, and grinned, rushing back to his bench and setting it to the side. “Since you were banished, I’ve been scouring the library for spells powerful enough to undo the curse. After more than a month of searching, I found one that lets you take on a human appearance in the sunlight. So as long as we hide you at night and keep you away from darkly lit places, we should be fine.”

Patton didn’t voice the wave of disappointment that passed over him when he realized that he wasn’t going back to normal forever. He should have suspected as much though, after all, Janus said only the caster can remove a curse. 

Patton shook his head and shooed away any and all thought of the snake.

The bottom line was that he would be human and with his father and best friend again, and that was enough for him to be happy at least for now.

After nearly an hour of preparation had passed with Virgil scurrying around the room, grabbing various ingredients, measuring them into different containers and mixing them in his caldron, Virgil clapped his hands and spoke a vocal spell, igniting the furnace at the far side of the room. The flame had a curious purple tint to it, which symbolized the caster, as most sorcerers preferred to differentiate their magic with a specific color, and Virgil’s was a deep violet. Speaking another spell, Virgil telepathically lifted the small cauldron and set it on top of the flame. It burned and boiled there for about ten minutes until Virgil spoke the same spell and carried the cauldron out of the fiery furnace. He cast another spell to cancel out the fire as well for good measure.

Patton, still sitting atop a stack of books, watched as Virgil took a small cup and dipped it in the caldron to measure out a small portion of whatever concoction he had cooked. Virgil, analyzing the potion, grinned to himself and reached into his pants’ pocket, pulling out a small vial filled with a few drops of a red liquid that looked strangely enough like blood.

“What’s that?” Patton asked,

“Janus’s blood,” Virgil answered plainly, removing the cork from the lid and pouring it carefully into the cup. “a key component to the spell. It’s a good thing that I only cursed him instead of killing him.”

“You were the one who cursed Janus?” Patton questioned, taken aback.

“Of course, there was no way either your father or I would let him get away with what he did without punishment. After you were cast out, I led a hunt for Janus and found him in the city near the orphanage where we lived as children.” He explained, his face turning sour at the mention of the orphanage.

“You knew him?” Patton said, shocked. He never would have guessed that the two had known each other by the way they interacted back in the forest.

Virgil paused in the middle of stirring the cup, setting it down softly and keeping his eyes trained on his own distorted reflection in the liquid. A peculiar air settled around him, Patton wasn’t sure if it was more akin to hatred or fondness.

“It was a long time ago, before the Sage, Thomas, took me in here. Thomas was going to take Janus in too when he saw that he too had the potential to learn magic, but…”

“But what?” Patton pressed further, literally on the edge of his seat as he leaned in to hear more.

“Janus was too angry and wild after his parents’ death, which left him orphaned. Thomas feared that if he was trained that he would use his power for evil.” Virgil scoffed bitterly at that, “Turns out he was right. He may lack proper training, but Janus’s magic is raw and powerful. I was only barely able to win when we fought.”

The frog, and soon to be human, frowned and sat back on his haunches. He knew that Janus had lost his parents, but he hadn’t realized that he had been so young when it happened. Patton had lost his mother when he was young too, but he had been so young that he had almost no memories of her. However, for Janus, he was old enough that he not only could remember them, but young enough to where they were his entire world. 

Sympathy filled Patton for Janus and his experience and he longed to offer him his condolences and comfort. And then he remembered what Janus had done to him, and how he had planned to take away his father, and that feeling of sympathy dwindled down, but didn’t leave entirely.

“Alright, it’s ready, drink.” Virgil directed him, setting the cup down on the table.

Patton looked at the cup, which had become a dark mahogany and was lightly steaming, and hopped down from the stack of books and made his way to the cup and peaked his head over the edge. It smelt both sweet and sour at the same time, which made him flinch away and gag slightly.

Virgil chuckled lightly and helped Patton up with one hand so that he could reach the cup’s contents. Heaving a deep breath, Patton went back and put his lips to the liquid. Part of him hesitated when he realized he’d be drinking Janus’s blood, but he pushed through and took a large gulp.

Again, he ripped himself away and gagged, but this time from the horrible taste. Just then, a numbing sensation took over his body and he flopped over on Virgil’s palm. The sorcerer took him to the center of the room and rested him on the floor and took a step back.

A stinging pain erupted in his veins and boiled throughout his body, the entirety of his flesh broke out in a near unbearable itch, and his bones began to ache and groan in discomfort. A scream tore its way from his throat as he shook and shuddered on the wooden floor. Not even a minute passed before the pain became unbearable and he blacked out.

When he came to, he was lying down in a mock bed on a floor mat with a thin seat cushion under his head. He opened his eyes slowly and took in his surroundings, noticing that he was still in the study. The light of the rising sun shone directly on him from the window, and bathed him in a warm orange glow.

Instantly, Patton could feel the difference in his skin and body. He didn’t feel cold anymore, his back was stretched and straight, and his arms and legs under the blanket felt longer, thicker, and distinctly human. Patton sat up from the bed and reached up to touch his face, and he let out a sob when the soft touch of his cheeks, nose, and forehead was all there.

Virgil, who sat at his side, offered him a kind “welcome back,” as he handed him a mirror. Patton took it from his hands with a “thank you,” and glanced at his reflection, and indeed his old face is what greeted him. Patton sobbed again in joy, relieved and overjoyed that he had at last become human once again.

“I’m human again… I’m…” Then a terrifying realization hit him. “I can’t cry.”

Patton looked at his reflection and realized that no tears had fallen despite his cries, in fact his eyes hadn’t even glossed over. They remained dry and cool, showing no emotional reaction. Patton lifted his hand slowly to his face again and felt around his eyes, but felt a discernible change in them, they weren’t swollen or puffy and held no wetness.

“I can’t cry,” Patton repeated, his voice quiet and empty.

He wasn’t human, after all he had gone through, what he did and who he left behind, he still wasn’t free from the curse. He almost wanted to laugh at the cruel irony.

“I’m sorry Patton, the curse was too powerful, even for me. I could only give you a human appearance.” Virgil apologized, pulling him into a loose hug.

“No, it’s okay.” Patton said, shaking Virgil off and standing up, “Let’s go see my father.”

Virgil followed at his side as Patton walked down the familiar halls and up the stairs to his father’s personal study, where he often spent most of his time. For much of his childhood, his father would work away the day in his study, leaving him to eat alone at the table and play by himself. This meant that if he wanted to be reunited with his father as soon as possible, he would most likely find him in his office.

Once he reached the door, he gave a tentative knock on the door, knowing that his father had a distaste for being interrupted.

“Leave me! I don’t wish to see anyone right now.” His father’s gruff voice called through the other side of the door. 

“Father? It’s me, Patton.” He called back shyly,

A crash and the sound of shattering glass could be heard from inside the room but the door was ripped open swiftly before Patton could worry for his father. A short, wrinkled old man stood before him still wrapped in his nightgown and robes. His eyes were sunken and bloodshot from lack of sleep and his face was grimy and unshaven. Patton briefly wondered who the man before him was, as he had always known his father to be prim and proper, until it dawned on him that in his absence, his father had become a hollow of his former self, shriveled and faded by grief.

However, despite his dismal appearance, in that instant, his father lit up like a bright Christmas candle as he teared up and cried in disbelief and joy. He reached out warily and gently laid his hands on his face, as though Patton would turn to dust before his very eyes and disappear from his life again. However, once he was sure that it was his son standing before him and not an apparition, he pulled him into a bone-crushing hug.

“Patton, my son, you’re finally back!” He wept gladly,

“I’m home,” Patton said weakly, feeling the wetness of his father’s tears soak into his shirt, but nothing from himself.

“Why did you leave me?” His father asked, more to himself than as a legitimate question towards his son.

Because you cast me out. Patton thought but did not say.

...

A week had passed since he had come back to his father’s house, and since then he had not been allowed off the premises. Most days he was confined to his room, with the occasional excursions to the dining room or bathroom, but he was always accompanied by at least two guards from the moment he stepped out of his room. 

The first day his father had thrown a banquet in celebration for his arrival back at the estate and had sent out speedy word to all of his close business partners and people of note from the town to join in the festivities. However, the party had been stiff and awkward, as Patton didn’t know any of the guests well and most of them only spoke to him in congratulations for his return and their interest in their future as partners once Patton took over his family’s wealth and tenant farms.

Since then he saw his father every day at all of his meals, but only then. His father would always speak about the prospect of spending a day together in town, but whenever Patton would ask about it, his father would always say he would have to postpone it for later, as he was far too busy with work. When they finally did go to town, it had been a short, awkward outing, surrounded by four guardsmen, neither of them knowing what to talk about. They went out to lunch and bought Patton a brand new, tailored suit and spoke about his father’s business as the old man showed him around his town office where his employees managed his tenant's harvest quotas and debtors interest and balances. 

Patton only half-listened to the lectures as they walked through the little port town’s streets. Instead, he looked around at the buildings and people, searching for something, but he wasn’t sure what until he spotted it. At the end of once long street was a little half-decayed brick building--the town’s orphanage. Three young boys played jacks together in front of the steps to the building, and, despite his current feelings, Patton couldn’t help but imagine what Janus would have looked like as a young boy playing outside the orphanage, possibly with Virgil.

Once the sun sunk past noon, his father decided it was time to head back to the manor and the two of them loaded into the carriage, while the four guards and the coachman sat on the front and back seats. During the ride, his father continued to talk about his company and his future plans to start Patton as an intern next spring so that he can gain experience before he took over, as his father was planning to retire within the next few years as his old age began to weigh down on him. Again, Patton mostly tuned him out and simply watched the scenery pass by as they left the city and began to enter the countryside.

After a while, they entered the forest that surrounded their house, and Patton immediately perked up. He couldn’t help but scan the trees and bushes for Janus, hoping to at least catch a glance of the snake. He hated to admit it, but ever since he left, Patton often found himself wondering about him and whether he was okay. He had left him while he was weak and tired, and he feared he may have gotten sick in the storm. But then the remainder of what Janus had done to him would always come to his mind soon enough and he would cut his worries short. 

It didn’t take long for Patton to realize that it wasn’t only his inability to cry that had presented itself. Patton still slept at odd hours and could hold his breath underwater for over an hour, which he had tried while he was bathing, and his palette still held the desire for insects, which meant he often had to force his food down unwillingly. Thankfully, those traits were easy to disguise as a human in the few hours he interacted with his father and the staff and no one was none the wiser to his true condition. Except of course Virgil, who had been the one to continuously help Patton navigate the changes to his body.

Every night after the sun had set, Virgil would come to his chambers with different potions and spells, researching and testing ways to undo the lasting effects of the curse--and also to feed Patton insects so he wouldn’t starve from going a day of stomaching very little food. If it had been anyone else, the staff probably would have become suspicious of the constant nightly visits in his personal chambers. However, since it was Virgil, who had been raised alongside Patton and treated like a brother to him, no one batted an eye.

A week had gone by with no progress, but Virgil still came by that night after his outing with a brand new potion for him to try. Unsurprisingly, it bore no fruit when Patton drank it and there had been no physical change to his body. Virgil frowned and groaned when yet another attempt failed to work and opened up his spellbook on transfiguration to look for another solution.

Patton sat in the middle of his bed, munching on a few of the crickets Virgil had caught in the garden. He watched Virgil hover a foot off of the ground as he flipped through his book, which was suspended in the air by a purple glow. It was a little odd to see Virgil use his magic so easily and without much thought. Despite growing up with him and being more than well aware of his affinity for the magical arts, Patton couldn’t help but compare it to Janus’s style of magic, which had always appeared more strenuous and focused. Perhaps it was because of his cursed form hindering his powers, or maybe it was the fact that he was self-taught, but Janus always had to take his time and use all his strength to spell cast. While Virgil on the other hand, cast spell after spell as easily as he breathed air through his lungs.

Then again, the more Patton thought about it the more he realized that Janus had rarely spell cast at all in the time he was with him. He often preferred to use his own physical strength over his magic. The only times Patton ever saw Janus use magic was when he was using it for him, such as well he put on that light show or when he healed him after he was attacked by a rat snake. He never used his magic for himself, he was never selfish or cruel with his power, only thoughtful.

An ineffable emotion settled in Patton at the thought of Janus acting selfless, because that image had been tainted by his selfishness. Even so, Patton couldn’t help the fondness in his heart as he reminisced on the memories he shared with the cursed snake. But the bitterness still lingered in the back of his mind like a dark shadow.

His heart and mind were in conflict with each other and confused about what image he should remember Janus by. As the caring friend who shared in his suffering in their cursed world. Or as the liar and manipulator who had cursed him with ill intent towards his father. Patton couldn’t settle on one and be left to wonder how Janus had become the way he was; what had brought such a kind-hearted man to be filled with such hate. 

He remembered that Virgil had mentioned that Janus was angry and unhinged as a child after he was sent to the orphanage, which meant that whatever had caused him to become the way he was had to do with the reason why he was sent there in the first place: his parents. The only time Janus had ever mentioned his parents it had been with sorrow and longing, accompanied by the mention of their deaths. Now, Patton was no detective, but it didn’t take a genius to connect the dots between Janus’s wrath and the loss of his parents. However, while that explanation certainly filled in pieces of the picture, much of the canvas was still left unpainted. 

“Hey, Virgil?” Patton asked suddenly,

“Yeah, Pat?” Virgil responded without looking away from his spellbook.

“You said you knew Janus when you were in the orphanage. Do you know why he was there?” He asked hesitantly, unsure if Virgil would even answer him. It was more than a little obvious that Virgil had a distaste for the snake, but he was the only one Patton could talk to and possibly answer his questions.

Virgil, startled by the question, immediately snapped him away from the book and over at Patton, his face riddled with shock, dubiety, and bewilderment. The book ceased its magical glow and fell to the floor in a defiant crash as Virgil lost his concentration, ending his own hovering as well and standing to his feet. After a taut, wordless moment passed between them, Virgil sighed and walked over to sit at the edge of the bed. Once he was seated, Patton inched cautiously to rest at his side.

The sorcerer’s face was tight and twisted in discomfort, as though the answer to Patton’s question was not a pleasant topic to speak of and weighed heavily on him. Patton waited patiently next to him until Virgil was okay to reply if he wanted to at all.

“I don’t know the details, but I overheard our house mother speaking with the baker while he was making his delivery the week he arrived. According to her, his parents had been jailed and executed.”

“What, executed?” Patton gasped, taken off guard, “Do you know what for?”

Virgil shook his head slowly. 

“No, Janus never said anything about it either. Although, he did once say that he lived on a debtor’s farm.”

Patton looked up at Virgil in fear and disbelief, and then looked off at nothing as he took in what he had just been told. To lose his parents at such a young age is one thing, but for them to have been executed was something else entirely. Of course, the death of his parents, no matter the cause, would surely be a source of resentment and anguish; but their execution gave Janus a direction to point all of those negative feelings. That revelation made Patton fear whatever reason had brought Janus to point them at his father.

Virgil, noticing Patton’s troubled expression, turned the conversation back towards him, steering away from Janus’s parents’ cause of death.

“Why do you care? He’s the one who cursed you, remember?” Virgil told him,

“I know.” Patton mumbled, turning his head down at the bed, “I just want to know why he did.”

...

Since Patton was no longer allowed to leave the residence without his father’s permission, and Virgil often spent most of his time in search of a cure for his condition, Patton was left with little to do to entertain himself. In order to alleviate his boredom, he would take light strolls through the manor’s gardens daily and tend to the flowers. Of course, the family already had a hired gardener, but the old man never minded the little extra help. His assigned guards would sit under a nearby tree and monitor him, but otherwise never spoke to or bothered him. The old man, on the other hand, Patton soon learned loved to tell stories from his youth. Patton enjoyed the company and would ask him questions to keep him talking.

Yet, there was only so much work that could be done in a day, and Patton would always be left with nothing to busy his hands and mind with to keep his thoughts at bay. After some odd hours passed, the old man would call it a day and head back inside to rest, leaving Patton alone without direction for what to do next.

His family’s property was quite expansive, so not only was there a beautiful garden, but also a shallow pond. Patton would regularly use the pond to swim in as a small child, but he had long since grown too large for the water, so he would simply rest at its edge, dipping his feet in and kicking the water around. By himself, not including the guards' several paces away, he would hum and sing to himself an old tune his mother would sing to him. He didn’t remember her too well, and in fact, this song was the only memory he had left of his mother.

“Upon a hill, under the sky, sat a bakers mill, alone without a wife. Lonely little man, on his own without his true, a flower in his hand, and his knees in the morning dew.” 

Patton’s voice shook and cracked as he held the last note, his throat clenched and closed in the middle of a breath, causing him to lightly choke. He inhaled and exhaled deep breaths to steady and calm himself, but his emotions raged and stirred inside him like a typhoon, scratching at him to be let out.

In an outburst, Patton ripped at the grass beside him and threw it with a scream. Next, he tore the glasses from his face and reached his hands into the pond and splashed the water over his eyes, allowing the tears that could not fall to fall.

It had been ten days since he had learned that Janus had been lying to him, ten days since he had left Janus alone in the forest, and ten days that he’d been longing to see him again. Patton was still so angry and hurt that Janus had cursed him, but more so that he had acted as though wasn’t the one who did it and played innocent. He was resentful that he had to, and still has to, live a cursed life as a frog because of something he had no part in, and that if it hadn’t been him, it would have been his father, who he loved.

And yet, at the same time, Patton felt empathetic towards Janus’s plight. Although he couldn’t comprehend it entirely, he did understand the grief of the loss of a parent to some degree. Patton would give almost anything to have his mother back, and if the disease that took her was a person, he surely would hold hatred towards them.

Besides that, Patton purely just missed the snake. He longed to hear his sarcastic comments and sardonic humor once again. He wanted to be able to rattle on and on and be comforted by his inviting presence. He loved the way Janus would always respond to his puns with an even cornier pun and missed the way they would constantly try to outdo the other, only to be left a giggling mess by the end of it.

He was stuck, unsure of what he should do and how he should feel. He tried to ignore his emotions in hopes that he could simply forget him, but Janus was like a stick of gum trapped in his hair and refused to leave his mind no matter what he did. Worst of all,  the part of him he remembered the most, was the way he had been begging when he left. It was clear he was repentant and wanted to right his wrong and help Patton become human again, but he had been too consumed by his anger to listen.

Patton still held the belief that no act of revenge was ever completely justified. An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind. Even so, he had never even bothered to try and learn Janus’s side of the story and made a judgment based on his own personal experience. That’s why he knew what he had to do, he had to learn the truth of what happened between Janus’s parents and his father, from both sides.

Paying no attention to his guards, Patton placed his shoes back on his feet and stood from the grass and marched back to the house, entering from the back door next to the stables. The halls were dark and dimly lit by odd patches of sunlight from the barely parted curtains. Patton strode through in a flurry, yanking the drapery open as he went and flooding the area with light. The servants and maids watched him go by scrupulously as they worked, muttering amongst themselves in hushed whispers.

He rushed to his father’s office, practically sprinting his way up the stairs, and pounded his fist against the wood once he reached the door. He was sure that he looked like he had gone mad to the staff, but at that moment he was too single-minded to care.

“Who is it?” His father called gruffly from inside, sounding a bit annoyed and offended by the abrupt, loud knocking.

“It’s your son,” Patton responded, pushing his way in through the door, not bothering to wait for his father’s approval to be allowed in. “I need to speak with you.”

“I’m preoccupied at the moment, son. Perhaps later?” His father said without looking up from the letter he was busy writing.

“It can’t wait.” Patton said firmly, standing his ground and refusing to budge or leave.

His father paused in his scribing and looked up at Patton with a raised eyebrow. Patton had always been quiet and submissive, never asserting himself to or refusing his father in anything he did. This time was different though, he stood up taller and more confident, putting his foot down in this matter. His father looked at him, almost impressed and welcoming to his new manner.

“Very well,” He conceded, setting his quill down, “What troubles you?”

Patton faltered slightly at that, unsure what to say now that he finally reached the moment of truth, but he steeled himself, took a breath, and pushed forward, ready to hear it straight from the horse’s mouth.

“Father, did you ever know a man named Janus?” Patton asked bluntly,

“Humph, he’s the wicked sorcerer who cursed you isn’t he?” His father harrumphed, crossing his arms over his chest and leaned back in his armchair.

“Well, yes, he is, but do you happen to know him personally, or his parents?” He pushed further, walking closer to his father’s grand, dark oak desk. 

His father scowled at that and turned his head over to the side, scrunching his eyebrows in what seemed akin to remorse, or perhaps detestation. Whatever the emotion the mention of Janus’s parents brought up in him, it was clear that they were not a pleasant memory for him.

“I never knew the boy myself, but his parents were debtors of mine that owed me more than their weight in gold combined. They were minor nobility, barely even scraping the bottom of the barrel, and in financial ruin. Frederick came to me for a loan, but never paid a cent back and eventually lost all I gave him. They worked one of my plots for a few years, but they were unskilled laborers and struggled to bring in any grain to pay back what they owed. After a while, they had tried to make a run for it, and I had them thrown in a debtors prison and they were eventually executed. I took pity on the boy, however, and had him sent to the orphanage; a mistake I now regret.” His father explained, his voice and expression shadowed with tainted memories of the past.

Patton’s body tensed up and his jaw clenched as his breath caught in his throat and he had to force it down. Deep inside, he had already known the truth but could not bear to accept until now. After all, Patton loved his father and didn’t want that image of him to be blighted.

“You… killed his parents?” Patton murmured, 

“Not me, son, the authorities did. I simply turned them over once they were caught.” He corrected,

“But, you could have shown mercy, couldn’t you? You could have lowered their interest rate or forgave them of their debt!” Patton tried to argue, trying to find a solution or a loophole for a consequence that had already taken place and could not be altered.

“If I forgave every debtor of their account then I would drive myself into financial ruin. It was their actions that brought them to poverty, and their decision to run that led to their demise.” His father expounded in his own defense. Yet, he didn’t try to justify what had happened, only explain the extent of his role. “I admit that I could have gone about it in another way, but what’s done is done. I cannot bring those two back from the dead.” His father sighed and leaned his elbows on his desk, resting his face in his palms, suddenly looking much older and tired. “Learn from my mistakes, son, so that when you become the landlord you will be wise as to where to lend a hand and were to draw a line.”

Patton wanted to retort and argue, but at that point it would only be for the argument's sake and would not serve to bear good fruit. His father was right, what happened in the past could not be changed, choices were made and lives were unfortunately lost, and a boy was left orphaned and alone. No amount of apologies or plans for revenge would ever undo what had been done.

Janus had once told him that balance rested in karma, a life for a life, but Patton didn’t believe in such a thing. If nature dictates that the child shall pay for the sins of the father, then he will reshape the natural order and refuse to take revenge so that the next generation can be spared. He could never speak for Janus, nor could he ever understand what it felt like to lose his only family in such a horrendous way, but the cycle of hate had to be broken, and he will end it with him by choosing to forgive and go back to Janus.

Despite his previous reservations, Patton could deny himself no longer, he had to see Janus. He needed to apologize to him, for everything he had done and what his father did.

So, that evening, as the sun began to kiss the horizon, Patton retreated to his chambers and began to pack his bad in secret. He hoped to sneak out before the light of the sun disappeared and left him to return to his amphibian state. Slipping past the guards wasn’t going to be easy, but he used to do it all the time when he was little. Of course, he had the help of Virgil and his magic, but he was sure he could pull it off on his own.

“Going somewhere?” Virgil asked behind him. 

Patton jolted up and spun around, hand on his chest as his heart threatened to burst from his chest. Virgil, who had been hovering upside-down behind him, laughed and spun around in the air to face right-side-up and settled himself back on the ground.

“What’s all this about?” He inquired, gesturing to the half-packed sack on Patton’s bed.

If not for the side effects of the curse and spell, Patton would have been bright red, but instead he simply smiled sheepishly and turned back to his back around to grab an extra change of clothes and place it in his bag.

“I’m going back to the forest to see Janus.” He stated.

“Why would you do that? Did you forget what he did to you already?” Virgil questioned him, losing the previous light-hearted and mischievous disposition.

“My father is responsible for the death of Janus’s parents.” Patton told him, walking over to his bedside table and reaching into his drawer to pull out a small sack of gold coins. “That’s why he cursed me, to take away the only family my father had, just as he had done to him.”

“And? You're gonna forgive what he did just like that? What your dad did was shit, but that doesn’t change the fact that what Janus did was fucked up too.”

“I know that, and I’m still mad at him!” Patton retorted, raising his voice, “But, now I understand his reasons. It still doesn’t justify it, but it does explain it.” He said, his eyes then softened and his voice went quiet again, “He was just suffering.”

Malicious acts of revenge brought on by suffering only breeds more suffering. The only cure to pain is to move forward and live life well. When his time came to take up his father’s mantle he will be responsible for hired workers and debtors, and it will be his responsibility to be gracious and compassionate towards those under him. He will not be the kind of man his father was, he will show mercy and protect those he’s been charged with. But he will also show restraint and solidity, so that he will not be viewed as weak and taken advantage of.

Patton was willing to forgive Janus and give him a second chance because he showed remorse for his actions and a will to change his ways. Had he not, Patton wasn’t sure he would have allowed himself to go back, no matter how much he wanted to.

“You fell in love with him, didn’t you?” Virgil grinned, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“W-what? Why would you ask that?” Patton spluttered in embarrassment, staring back at Virgil with wide eyes while his friend laughed.

“Come on Pat, it’s kinda obvious.” He said, wiping away a tear from his eye.  Patton kept his mouth shut and crossed his arms away, not wanting to give anything away despite being an open book. Virgil shrugged and reached past him to grab his packed bag and threw it over his shoulder and walked over to the open window, where he had most likely come in from in the first place. “Are you coming?”

“You’re not going to stop me?” Patton question, having expected a bit more resistance from his childhood friend.

“Would you listen if I tried?” Virgil countered, 

Patton chucked and grinned, already knowing the answer and glad to have Virgil’s, perhaps begrudging, support. He went to the window and grabbed Virgil’s outstretched hand, and with one word from the sorcerer, they were out the window and flying away towards the forest. The sunlight shone its last bit of rays over the horizon before disappearing, and by the time they landed back to earth, Patton had once again reverted back into a frog.

…

The twilight forest glittered and glistened as fireflies danced through the trees like flickering candles. The sky above their heads became stained with black ink as the crescent moon began to rise into the sky. Hues of purple and pink remained far off on the edge of the earth, fading away as the night grew long. The crickets chirped and strung their instruments in an orchestra, filling the quiet void with music as the singing birds slept. A new melody then rose up to accompany their strings, a pounding drum of footsteps running across the forest floor, with the occasional clang of a symbol from crunching leaves and snapping sticks.

Virgil sped down the dirt paths to the lake with Patton tucked safely in his hood, peering over his shoulder and directing him where to go since his frog-state granted him night vision. They had flown most of the way there, but they had to land in the open meadow before they reached the den since landing in the trees was too risky to do in the dark. Luckily, Patton recognized their whereabouts and was able to guide them to where they needed to go.

Soon enough, they had arrived at the threshold of the den at the base of an old cedar tree. Virgil slowed down to a stop and lifted his hand to Patton for him to step into and sat him down on the ground.

“I’ll be right here. You go do your thing.” Virgil told him with a tilt of the head, crouching to settle down comfortably in the grass.

Patton nodded and turned to the den entrance and suddenly felt extremely nervous. It had only been a little less than two weeks since he last saw Janus, but it felt like much longer. He didn’t know what to do or say or how Janus would react to seeing him again. It could be that Janus wouldn’t want to see him and cast him away, or perhaps he would be overjoyed and welcome him back readily. Well, no matter what reaction he was met with, Patton decided that he would go and was not about to back down from that decision.

Patton took his first step, and then his second, and continued on until he was on his way down the tunnel into the den. The air was stiff inside and slightly dank, it seems colder than usual as well despite the night air being warm above.

“Janus?” Patton called out cautiously, peering around the den, “Are you here?”

“Patton?” A hoarse and sleepy voice answered.

Patton turned his head to where the voice had come from. At the far side of the den, among the pile of twigs and leaves, Janus stuck his head out and stared at him in disbelief. 

“Janus!” Patton squealed in excitement, hopping over to him swiftly like lightning and pulled him into a tight hug. Janus lurched in surprise from the sudden act of intimacy, and yet he did not pull away. “I am so sorry Janus, I should have let you explain yourself, I should have listened, I was just angry and-” Patton said in rapid-fire succession all in one breath, not pausing to breathe or rest. Janus quickly interrupted him, though and quickly put an end to his long-winded apology.

“Stop, Patton, stop, please don’t apologize to me. I’m the one who should be begging for your forgiveness.” He told him, his voice quiet but earnest, “Why did you come back?”

“Because I’ve missed you, and I know what happened, to your parents I mean.” Patton explained sympathetically.

“Oh,” Janus said, becoming uncomfortable and didn’t say anything more, clearly not waiting to visit or talk on the subject.

Patton didn’t really know what to say either, but still tried to offer his condolences, even if they meant very little to alleviate his pain.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that.” Janus didn’t openly respond to his solace and let the topic fall, and instead turned the conversation back around and at Patton.

“You’re not angry anymore?” He asked,

“No, I am,” Patton said bluntly, smiling softly, “But that doesn’t change the fact that I still love you.”

Patton could see Janus physically and mentally halt at his words, as though he was still processing what he heard.

“You love me?” He echoed slowly,

“Yeah, I-” Janus then out of nowhere, shocked him by nipping at his leg. Not enough to make him bleed, but enough for it to sting. “Ouch! What was that for?”

“Are you sure you’re not dreaming? You realize who you’re talking to right?” Janus asked for confirmation, still looking unsure and doubtful.

“Yes I do, but now you’re starting to make me rethink-” Again, Janus surprised him, but this time with a, albeit awkward, embrace as the snake did his bed to hug him as a creature with no limbs.

“I love you too.” He whispered back,

Patton gasped a little at the confession, half of him expecting to be rejected, and his heart filled with joy and exuberance. He suddenly felt like he was floating high above in the sky, dancing across the surface of the moon.

“I’m so sorry.” Janus whimpered,

“I know, I am too.” Patton shushed him, petting his scales soothingly.

“I’ve wanted to undo the curse for a long time, but my magic is too weak in this form.”

“I may have a solution to that,” Patton said, pulling with a smile.

He gestured for Janus to follow after him and led the snake out of the den and outside to where Virgil remained seated in the dew-soaked grass. Janus immediately tensed up upon spotting him and hissed, backing away defensively.

“Sup, Janus.” Virgil greeted nonchalantly,

“What are you doing here?” Janus questioned impudently,

“I’m here for Patton, not for you; and let me just say one thing.” Virgil rose to his feet menacingly, “If you hurt him in any way again, then next time I’ll turn you into a flea and squash you myself.”

“Please don’t do that.” Patton chimed in, sighing, “Can you undo his curse?”

Virgil narrowed his eyes at Janus, and Janus narrowed his eyes right back. The two appeared to be having a silent game of wills. It could also be that they were using a spell to speak to each other telepathically as sorcerers because after a few moments passed, the two seemed satisfied as if they had come to a mutual agreement.

“Fine, just hold still, snake,” Virgil commanded, holding his hand out at Janus as both it and his eyes began to glow. Words of an unknown language began to spill from his mouth, and at the same time, Janus began to glow with a purple gleam.

Gradually, Janus’s shape began to alter and change, and as this happened, his power and magic began to be restored to its former strength. So, without waiting to finish his transformation, Janus turned to Patton, stuck halfway between a snake and a human, and started to lift the curse on him as well. A radiant gold surrounded Patton as he began to shift back into his human form. However, unlike all the times before when he had turned once he was touched by daylight, it wasn’t excruciating or painful. Instead, it was soft and comforting and filled him with new life and energy.

After a minute or two, the light around them began to fade, leaving the two cursed ones to be cursed no more and fully human once again. Patton looked down at his hands and feet and saw that they were his own, however, it wasn’t until tears of joy began to prickle at his eyes that he realized that he was indeed back to himself for good. 

“I can cry again.” He sniffled, wiping the tears away from his eyes and staring down at the water in his palms with jubilee.

“And I can finally do this,” Janus said before grabbing Patton by the bicep and pulling him into a kiss.

It was short and not very deep, but it was sweet and passionate, and more than enough to make Patton flush a bright red. The moment passed quickly, however, as Virgil soon stepped between them and pushed them apart.

“Dress first, kiss later, you damn snake.” He said, throwing a set of clothes in his face and handing another pair and glasses to Patton.

It wasn’t until he said that that Patton looked down at himself and realized that he was, in fact, nude. He squeaked and rushed to cover himself, blushing even more furiously and not daring to lift an eye towards Janus.

“You just had to ruin my fun, I actually prefer to do it undressed-”

“Thank you for the clothes, Virgil, but do you mind giving us some privacy so we can talk?” Patton hastily interrupted, stopping Janus before he could say anything too risque.

Virgil looked hesitant to comply, obviously against leaving his friend to be left alone naked with the other man, but eventually gave in to the puppy eyes that Patton gave him.

“Fine, but I’ll be watching,” Virgil said and floated directly upward into the trees to sit on a branch high above their heads, out of earshot, peering down at them like an owl.

Patton watched him as he went, and once he saw that his friend had settled down he looked back to Janus, who was staring at him intently. 

“Um, Janus, you mind turning around?” Patton asked shyly, fidgeting awkwardly on the balls of his feet.

“If you insist, although you are rather beautiful to look at.” Janus complimented with one last look before turning himself around and getting dressed in the spare clothes Patton had brought along in his bag. Patton twirled around as well, keeping his eyes up and not daring to look anywhere south.

The two remained quiet for a moment as they clothed themselves in the dark. Patton missed his ability to see in the dark as a frog for just a moment, as he ended up putting his shirt on backward twice before he was able to get it right. Once they were decent, the two spun back around and looked at each other, both at a loss for words. 

The forest was poorly lit in the night, the crescent moon unable to provide as much light as when it was full. Due to that, despite Janus standing right before him, he could only see his silhouette and couldn’t determine any distinct features. What he did notice, though, was that he was slightly taller than Janus by about an inch or two. 

Janus must have had a similar train of thought because he silently cast a spell to illuminate the area around them, the same light spell he had used in the meadow as a present. All at once, Patton was able to see Janus for the first time as a man and not as a snake. He had sharp, pointed features and medium length, wavy brown hair. Although, what stood out to him the most was his beautiful heterochromatic eyes, with his brown right eye and golden-hazel left. His beauty took his breath away and he was left to stare at him in wonder.

Tenderly, Janus reached out a hand to cup Patton’s cheek and run his thumb across his cheek, wiping away the tears that had begun to fall. Patton sighed and leaned into the touch, placing his hand over the others. They remained like that for a few moments longer, neither wanting to let the feeling of each other pass. However, something left unsaid still remained between them that needed to be voiced.

“So, what now?” Patton murmured,

“I don’t know.” Janus stated, frowning and lowering his hand, “Despite my love for you, I don’t believe I’ll ever be able to forgive your father.”

“I thought so.” Patton said with a sad smile, “But maybe you don’t have to.”

“What do you mean?” The other asked,

“Perhaps we can go away together, travel around until my time comes to be the landlord. I can live among the commoners, so that I may better understand them and their lives. That way I can be a kinder master to the tenants.” He suggested,

Patton still loved his father, and although he was angry with him for what happened in the past, he wasn’t sure he’d ever truly been able to hate him. But that’s because of their familial bond and he can’t, and shouldn’t, expect the same from Janus. He would miss him, but he needed to get away so that he could think and grow on his own. His father has been overly protective and stifling since his mother’s death; he was already twenty-three years old and had never set foot out past the port town. It was a time that he left the nest, even if he didn’t have his father’s permission. As long as he had Janus by his side he knew he'd be okay.

“How would your father feel about your sudden departure?” Janus asked him,

“I will write to him when I can so he will know that I am well.” Patton responded, “So, what do you think?”

Janus brought his fist up to his chin and lightly tapped his skin with a finger, humming in mock thought.

“It sounds like the perfect revenge.” He grinned.

.

.

Taglist: @enragedbees @canvas-the-florist @self-taught-mess

[all-things-are-nothing-to-me]

The New Nihilism

It feels increasingly difficult to tell the difference between—on one hand—being old, sick, and defeated, and—on the other hand—living in a time-&-place that is itself senile, tired, and defeated. Sometimes I think it’s just me—but then I find that some younger, healthier people seem to be undergoing similar sensations of ennui, despair, and impotent anger. Maybe it’s not just me.

A friend of mine attributed the turn to disillusion with “everything”, including old-fashioned radical/activist positions, to disappointment over the present political regime in the US, which was somehow expected to usher in a turn away from the reactionary decades since the 1980s, or even a “progress” toward some sort of democratic socialism. Although I myself didn’t share this optimism (I always assume that anyone who even wants to be President of the US must be a psychopathic murderer) I can see that “youth” suffered a powerful disillusionment at the utter failure of Liberalism to turn the tide against Capitalism Triumphalism. The disillusion gave rise to OCCUPY and the failure of OCCUPY led to a move toward sheer negation.

However I think this merely political analysis of the “new nothing” may be too two-dimensional to do justice to the extent to which all hope of “change” has died under Kognitive Kapital and the technopathocracy. Despite my remnant hippy flower- power sentiments I too feel this “terminal” condition (as Nietzsche called it), which I express by saying, only half-jokingly, that we have at last reached the Future, and that the truly horrible truth of the End of the World is that it doesn’t end.

One big J.G. Ballard/Philip K. Dick shopping mall from now till eternity, basically.

This IS the future—how do you like it so far? Life in the Ruins: not so bad for the bourgeoisie, the loyal servants of the One Percent. Air-conditioned ruins! No Ragnarok, no Rapture, no dramatic closure: just an endless re-run of reality TV cop shows. 2012 has come and gone, and we’re still in debt to some faceless bank, still chained to our screens.

Most people—in order to live at all—seem to need around themselves a penumbra of “illusion” (to quote Nietzsche again):—that the world is just rolling along as usual, some good days some bad, but in essence no different now than in 10000 BC or 1492 AD or next year. Some even need to believe in Progress, that the Future will solve all our problems, and even that life is much better for us now than for (say) people in the 5th century AD. We live longer thanx to Modern Science—of course our extra years are largely spent as “medical objects”—sick and worn out but kept ticking by Machines & Pills that spin huge profits for a few megacorporations & insurance companies. Nation of Struldbugs.

True, we’re suffocating in the mire generated by our rule of sick machines under the Numisphere of Money. At least ten times as much money now exists than it would take to buy the whole world—and yet species are vanishing space itself is vanishing, icecaps melting, air and water grown toxic, culture grown toxic, landscape sacrificed to fracking and megamalls, noise-fascism, etc, etc. But Science will cure all that ills that Science has created—in the Future (in the “long run”, when we’re all dead, as Lord Keynes put it); so meanwhile we’ll carry on consuming the world and shitting it out as waste—because it’s convenient & efficient & profitable to do so, and because we like it.

Well, this is all a bunch of whiney left-liberal cliches, no? Heard it before a million times. Yawn. How boring, how infantile, how useless. Even if it were all true... what can we do about it? If our Anointed Leaders can’t or won’t stop it, who will? God? Satan? The “People”?

All the fashionable “solutions” to the “crisis”, from electronic democracy to revolutionary violence, from locavorism to solar-powered dingbats, from financial market regulation to the General Strike—all of them, however ridiculous or sublime, depend on one preliminary radical change—a seismic shift in human consciousness. Without such a change all the hope of reform is futile. And if such a change were somehow to occur, no “reform” would be necessary. The world would simply change. The whales would be saved. War no more. And so on.

What force could (even in theory) bring about such a shift? Religion? In 6,000 years of organized religion matters have only gotten worse. Psychedelic drugs in the reservoirs? The Mayan calendar? Nostalgia? Terror?

If catastrophic disaster is now inevitable, perhaps the “Survivalist” scenario will ensue, and a few brave millions will create a green utopia in the smoking waste. But won’t Capitalism find a way to profit even from the End of the World? Some would claim that it’s doing so already. The true catastrophe may be the final apotheosis of commodity fetishism.

Let’s assume for the sake of argument that this paradise of power tools and back-up alarms is all we’ve got & all we’re going to get. Capitalism can deal with global warming—it can sell water-wings and disaster insurance. So it’s all over, let’s say—but we’ve still got television & Twitter. Childhood’s End—i.e. the child as ultimate consumer, eager for the brand. Terrorism or home shopping network—take yr pick (democracy means choice).

Since the death of the Historical Movement of the Social in 1989 (last gasp of the hideous “short” XXth century that started in 1914) the only “alternative” to Capitalist Neo-Liberal totalitarianism that seems to have emerged is religious neo-fascism. I understand why someone would want to be a violent fundamentalist bigot—I even sympathize—but just because I feel sorry for lepers doesn’t mean I want to be one.

When I attempt to retain some shreds of my former antipessimism I fantasize that History may not be over, that some sort of Populist Green Social Democracy might yet emerge to challenge the obscene smugness of “Money Interests”—something along the lines of 1970s Scandinavian monarcho-socialism—which in retrospect now looks the most humane form of the State ever to have emerged from the putrid suck-hole of Civilization. (Think of Amsterdam in its heyday.) Of course as an anarchist I’d still have to oppose it—but at least I’d have the luxury of believing that, in such a situation, anarchy might actually stand some chance of success. Even if such a movement were to emerge, however, we can rest damn-well assured it won’t happen in the USA. Or anywhere in the ghost-realm of dead Marxism, either. Maybe Scotland!

It would seem quite pointless to wait around for such a rebirth of the Social. Years ago many radicals gave up all hope of The Revolution, and the few who still adhere to it remind me of religious fanatics. It might be soothing to lapse into such doctrinaire revolutionism, just as it might be soothing to sink into mystical religion—but for me at least both options have lost their savor. Again, I sympathize with those true believers (although not so much when they lapse into authoritarian leftism or fascism)— nevertheless, frankly, I’m too depressed to embrace their Illusions.

If the End-Time scenario sketched above be considered actually true, what alternatives might exist besides suicidal despair? After much thought I’ve come up with three basic strategies.

1) Passive Escapism. Keep your head down, don’t make waves. Capitalism permits all sorts of “lifestyles” (I hate that word)—just pick one & try to enjoy it. You’re even allowed to live as a dirt farmer without electricity & infernal combustion, like a sort of secular Amish refusnik. Well, maybe not. But at least you could flirt with such a life. “Smoke Pot, Eat Chicken, Drink Tea,” as we used to say in the 60s in the Moorish Church of America, our psychedelic cult. Hope they don’t catch you. Fit yourself into some Permitted Category such as Neo-Hippy or even Anabaptist.

2) Active Escapism. In this scenario you attempt to create the optimal conditions for the emergence of Autonomous Zones, whether temporary, periodic or even (semi)permanent. In 1984 when I first coined the term Temporary Autonomous Zone (TAZ)

I envisioned it as a complement to The Revolution—although I was already, to be truthful, tired of waiting for a moment that seemed to have failed in 1968. The TAZ would give a taste or premonition of real liberties: in effect you would attempt to live as if the Revolution had already occurred, so as not to die without ever having experienced “free freedom” (as Rimbaud called it, liberte libre). Create your own pirate utopia.

Of course the TAZ can be as brief & simple as a really good dinner party, but the true autonomist will want to maximize the potential for longer & deeper experiences of authentic lived life. Almost inevitably this will involve crime, so it’s necessary to think like a criminal, not a victim. A “Johnson” as Burroughs used to say—not a “mark”. How else can one live (and live well) without Work. Work, the curse of the thinking class. Wage slavery. If you’re lucky enough to be a successful artist, you can perhaps achieve relative autonomy without breaking any obvious laws (except the laws of good taste, perhaps). Or you could inherit a million. (More than a million would be a curse.) Forget revolutionary morality—the question is, can you afford your taste of freedom? For most of us, crime will be not only a pleasure but a necessity. The old anarcho-Illegalists showed the way: individual expropriation. Getting caught of course spoils the whole thing—but risk is an aspect of self-authenticity.

One scenario I’ve imagined for active Escapism would be to move to a remote rural area along with several hundred other libertarian socialists—enough to take over the local government (municipal or even county) and elect or control the sheriffs & judges, the parent/teacher association, volunteer fire department and even the water authority. Fund the venture with cultivation of illegal phantastice and carry on a discreet trade. Organize as a “Union of Egoists” for mutual benefit & ecstatic pleasures—perhaps under the guise of “communes” or even monasteries, who cares. Enjoy it as long as it lasts.

I know for a fact that this plan is being worked on in several places in America—but of course I’m not going to say where.

Another possible model for individual escapists might be the nomadic adventurer. Given that the whole world seems to be turning into a giant parking lot or social network, I don’t know if this option remains open, but I suspect that it might. The trick would be to travel in places where tourists don’t—if such places still exist—and to involve oneself in fascinating and dangerous situations. For example if I were young and healthy I’d’ve gone to France to take part in the TAZ that grew around resistance to the new airport—or to Greece—or Mexico—wherever the perverse spirit of rebellion crops up. The problem here is of course funding. (Sending back statues stuffed with hash is no longer a good idea.) How to pay for yr life of adventure? Love will find a way. It doesn’t matter so much if one agrees with the ideals of Tahrir Square or Zucotti Park—the point is just to be there.

3. Revenge. I call it Zarathustra’s Revenge because as Nietzsche said, revenge may be second rate but it’s not nothing. One might enjoy the satisfaction of terrifying the bastards for at least a few moments. Formerly I advocated “Poetic Terrorism” rather than actual violence, the idea being that art could be wielded as a weapon. Now I’ve rather come to doubt it. But perhaps weapons might be wielded as art. From the sledgehammer of the Luddites to the black bomb of the attentat, destruction could serve as a form of creativity, for its own sake, or for purely aesthetic reasons, without any illusions about revolution. Oscar Wilde meets the acte gratuit: a dandyism of despair.

What troubles me about this idea is that it seems impossible to distinguish here between the action of post-leftist anarcho-nihilists and the action of post-rightist neo-traditionalist reactionaries. For that matter, a bomb may as well be detonated by fundamentalist fanatics—what difference would it make to the victims or the “innocent bystanders”? Blowing up a nanotechnology lab—why shouldn’t this be the act of a desperate monarchist as easily as that of a Nietzschean anarchist?

In a recent book by Tiqqun (Theory of Bloom), it was fascinating to come suddenly across the constellation of Nietzsche, Rene Guenon, Julius Evola, et al. as examples of a sharp and just critique of the Bloom syndrome—i.e., of progress-as-illusion. Of course the “beyond left and right” position has two sides—one approaching from the left, the other from the right. The European New Right (Alain de Benoist & his gang) are big admirers of Guy Debord, for a similar reason (his critique, not his proposals).

The post-left can now appreciate Traditionalism as a reaction against modernity just as the neo-traditionalists can appreciate Situationism. But this doesn’t mean that post-anarchist anarchists are identical with post-fascism fascists!

I’m reminded of the situation in fin-de-siecle France that gave rise to the strange alliance between anarchists and monarchists; for example the Cerce Proudhon. This surreal conjunction came about for two reasons: a) both factions hated liberal democracy, and b) the monarchists had money. The marriage gave birth to weird progeny, such as Georges Sorel. And Mussolini famously began his career as an Individualist anarchist!

Another link between left & right could be analyzed as a kind of existentialism; once again Nietzsche is the founding parent here, I think. On the left there were thinkers like Gide or Camus. On the right, that illuminated villain Baron Julius Evola used to tell his little ultra-right groupuscules in Rome to attack the Modern World—even though the restoraton of tradition was a hopeless dream—if only as an act of magical self-creation. Being trumps essence. One must cherish no attachment to mere results. Surely Tiqqun’s advocacy of the “perfect Surrealist act” (firing a revolver at random into a crowd of “innocent by-standers”) partakes of this form of action-as-despair. (Incidentally I have to confess that this is the sort of thing that has always—to my regret—prevented my embracing Surrealism: it’s just too cruel. I don’t admire de Sade, either.)

Of course, as we know, the problem with the Traditionalists is that they were never traditional enough. They looked back at a lost civilization as their “goal” (religion, mysticism, monarchism, arts-&-crafts, etc.) whereas they should have realized that the real tradition is the “primordial anarchy” of the Stone Age, tribalism, hunting/gathering, animism—what I call the Neanderthal Liberation Front. Paul Goodman used the term “Neolithic Conservatism” to describe his brand of anarchism—but “Paleolithic Reaction” might be more appropriate!

The other major problem with the Traditionalist Right is that the entire emotional tone of the movement is rooted in self-repression. Here a rough Reichean analysis suffices to demonstrate that the authoritarian body reflects a damaged soul, and that only anarchy is compatible with real self-realization.

The European New Right that arose in the 90s still carries on its propaganda—and these chaps are not just vulgar nationalist chauvenist anti-semitic homophobic thugs—they’re intellectuals & artists. I think they’re evil, but that doesn’t mean I find them boring. Or even wrong on certain points. They also hate the nanotechnologists!

Although I attempted to set off a few bombs back in the 1960s (against the war in Vietnam) I’m glad, on the whole, that they failed to detonate (technology was never my metier). It saves me from wondering if I would’ve experienced “moral qualms”. Instead I chose the path of the propagandist and remained an activist in anarchist media from 1984 to about 2004. I collaborated with the Autonomedia publishing collective, the IWW, the John Henry Mackay Society (Left Stirnerites) and the old NYC Libertarian Book Club (founded by comrades of Emma Goldman, some of whom I knew, & who are now all dead). I had a radio show on WBAI (Pacifica) for 18 years. I lectured all over Europe and East Europe in the 90s. I had a very nice time, thank you. But anarchism seems even farther off now than it looked in 1984, or indeed in 1958, when I first became an anarchist by reading George Harriman’s Krazy Kat. Well, being an existentialist means you never have to say you’re sorry.

In the last few years in anarchist circles there’s appeared a trend “back” to Stirner/Nietzsche Individualism—because after all, who can take revolutionary anarcho-communism or syndicalism seriously anymore? Since I’ve adhered to this Individualist position for decades (although tempered by admiration for Charles Fourier and certain “spiritual anarchists” like Gustave Landauer) I naturally find this trend agreeable.

“Green anarchists” & AntiCivilization Neo-primitivists seem (some of them) to be moving toward a new pole of attraction, nihilism. Perhaps neo-nihilism would serve as a better label, since this tendency is not simply replicating the nihilism of the Russian narodniks or the French attentatists of circa 1890 to 1912, however much the new nihilists look to the old ones as precursors. I share their critique—in fact I think I’ve been mirroring it to a large extent in this essay: creative despair, let’s call it. What I do not understand however is their proposal—if any. “What is to be done?” was originally a nihilist slogan, after all, before Lenin appropriated it. I presume that my option #1, passive escape, would not suit the agenda. As for Active Escapism, to use the suffix “ism” implies some form not only of ideology but also some action. What is the logical outcome of this train of thought?

As an animist I experience the world (outside Civilization) as essentially sentient. The death of God means the rebirth of the gods, as Nietzsche implied in his last “mad” letters from Turin— the resurrection of the great god PAN—chaos, Eros, Gaia, & Old Night, as Hesiod put it—Ontological anarchy, Desire, Life itself, & the Darkness of revolt & negation—all seem to me as real as they need to be.

I still adhere to a certain kind of spiritual anarchism—but only as heresy and paganism, not as orthodoxy and monotheism. I have great respect for Dorothy Day—her writing influenced me in the 60s—and Ivan Illich, whom I knew personally—but in the end I cannot deal with the cognitive dissonance between anarchism and the Pope! Nevertheless I can believe in the re-paganaziation of monotheism. I hold to this pagan tradition because I sense the universe as alive, not as “dead matter.” As a life-long psychedelicist I have always thought that matter & spirit are identical, and that this fact alone legitimizes what Theory calls “desire”.

From this p.o.v. the phrase “revolution of everyday life” still seems to have some validity—if only in terms of the second proposal, Active Escapism or the TAZ. As for the third possibility— Zarathustra’s Revenge—this seems like a possible path for the new nihilism, at least from a philosophical perspective. But since I am unable personally to advocate it, I leave the question open.

But here—I think—is the point at which I both meet with & diverge from the new nihilism. I too seem to believe that Predatory Capitalism has won and that no revolution is possible in the classical sense of that term. But somehow I can’t bring myself to be “against everything.” Within the Temporary Autonomous Zone there still seems to persist the possibility of “authentic life,” if only for a moment—and if this position amounts to mere Escapism, then let us become Houdini. The new surge of interest in Individualism is obviously a response to the Death of the Social. But does the new nihilism imply the death even of the individual and the “union of egoists” or Nietzschean free spirits? On my good days, I like to think not.

No matter which of the three paths one takes (or others I can’t yet imagine) it seems to me that the essential thing is not to collapse into mere apathy. Depression we may have to accept, impotent rage we may have to accept, revolutionary pessimism we may have to accept. But as e.e. cummings (anarchist poet) said, there is some shit we will not take, lest we simply become the enemy by default. Can’t go on, must go on. Cultivate rosebuds, even selfish pleasures, as long as a few birds & flowers still remain. Even love may not be impossible...