#i vaguely remember debating whether i wanted to cut the other string and use it as stuffing in monokuma's tail

[aparticularbandit]

So.

The thing about hoodies is that they have that tie string, right? The one that goes all the way around so that you can tighten the hood if need be. And often when you wash the hoodie, the string comes out or gets stuck or caught or something, unless both ends are knotted (and even then, it somehow finds a way to come out).

When I made the Monokuma hoodie, I expected I would have to remove the strings from both halves, since I was cutting them in half, only to discover that these particular hoodies did not have one string that went all the way around but two partial strings that were sewn I think just past the shoulders? or at the shoulders? So when I cut the hoodies in half, this didn't harm the strings at all! Which meant Monokuma hoodie would have the strings, too, instead of just empty holes!

....

I have since washed Monokuma hoodie (and the leftover pieces).

ONE of the white strings broke.

It remains to be seen if it broke from the leftover piece or if it broke from Monokuma.

[elentiyawhitethorn]

Prompt- Nyx tickles Rhys in front of all the hewn city members. (Rhys is very ticklish)

A Visit to Hewn City

Fluff//1565 words

“You are not taking our child to Hewn City. Absolutely not.” Feyre’s arms were crossed and she had an obstinate look in her eyes.

Rhys just smirked. “Fine. You can take him with you to your art classes.”

Feyre winced, likely remembering the last time that had happened. Nyx had gotten into a bucket of paint, smeared his hands all over the wall in a desperate attempt to get it off, then started crying. “I’ll stay home today.”

“I thought you were short-staffed.” Rhys knew exactly how this conversation would end from the sigh that escaped his mate’s lips.

“Can’t you go to Hewn City another day?” Feyre asked in a last-ditch attempt to keep her son away from there.

Rhys raised an eyebrow. “We’ve both already rescheduled the last few dates we were meant to go. Keir was annoyed enough as it is to hear that only one of us could come today.”

“We could get a babysitter—”

“Mor is off being our emissary. Cassian and Nesta are in the mountains. Azriel’s on a mission. All of our other friends are busy in some way. Do you trust our son with a stranger?”

Feyre squeezed her eyes shut. “I know you won’t let anything happen to him, I just don’t want Nyx in that environment.”

Rhys gaze softened. “I know, darling. I understand. If you really don’t want me to—”

“No,” Feyre cut him off. “I trust you.” She placed a hand on his shoulder and tried for a smile. “Just think of the look on Keir’s face when you show up with a baby. He only found out about Nyx during out last visit, yes?”

Rhys’ lips twitched. “Indeed. I imagine he’ll be rather surprised. And hopefully annoyed too. My dear uncle deserves a bit on trouble every now and then, don’t you think?”

Feyre grinned. “Absolutely. I need to go now.”

Rhys gave Feyre a peck on the cheek. “Have fun.”

Feyre returned the sentiment and winnowed away.

Rhys gathered Nyx in his arms, ready to head off to his meeting. And really, he was the most powerful high lord Prythian had ever seen. Only Feyre’s power rivaled his own. How hard would it be to keep a baby under control for a few hours?

—

As predicted, the look on Keir’s face was absolutely priceless. Rhys winnowed nearby, then strutted into the throne room with a baby in his arms. Of course a few residents of Hewn City dropped their goblets at the sight.

Keir, though… he looked absolutely enraged. The first glimpse of his distantly related grand-nephew did not seem to meet his standards.

Rhys just grinned at him and kept walking. Passing occupants of the Court of Nightmares, who were all scrambling to bow, seemed to please Nyx. He was reaching out of Rhys’ arms at everyone they walked by, excited to meet new people.

Rhys made it to the two thrones and took a seat in his own. Nyx settled on his lap, cooing.

“You brought the newborn,” Keir commented. His voice was strained.

Rhys just smiled. “I hope you don’t mind. Your High Lady is busy today. Subjects, may I present my son, Nyx.”

The whole room seemed to collectively take a breath, processing the situation. They clearly hadn’t been expecting a baby to appear in their domain.

Ignoring the silence, Rhys turned to Keir once more. “Any important updates?”

Keir was still frowning at Nyx. “Everything has been as it usually is. We only need to discuss how to calm down some residents who have gotten a bit worked up about some issue or other.”

Rhys, accustomed to the vague references to his people, wasn’t bothered by the lack of willingness to share. He was, however, bothered by the way Keir scowled at Nyx throughout this little speech. Even now, his eyes were on the baby who was currently pulling at Rhys’ hand.

“Do you have an issue with the presence of my child, Keir?” Rhys’ voice was icy.

Keir’s eyes snapped to Rhys. “He has wings.”

Trying to keep from throttling the male in front of his son, Rhys kept his tone even. He noticed the whole room tense at his words. “Does that matter?”

Keir frowned. “Being commanded by an Illyrian and his bastard Illyrian friends was bad enough. Now the child?”

Rhys wanted to use his power on the man. He’d done it before. Feyre had as well. But with Nyx there… absolutely not.

Instead, Rhys smiled. “I’m glad you’re pleased with him. Now go fetch some wine for me.”

Keir tensed, debating whether to argue, as he’d done many previous times. But something hard in Rhys’ eyes had the male scampering away.

Nyx seemed totally oblivious to the encounter. He gave his small wings a flap and scooted on Rhys’ lap. A string of babbled baby language left his mouth.

Rhys smiled fondly at the boy. “Hello, son.”

The entirety of Hewn City was watching their high lord coo at his baby, but Rhys paid them no mind. He wasn’t going to be cold and ruthless in front of Nyx.

Keir reappeared with the wine and Rhys took the goblet, not bothering to thank him. Then he dismissed Keir with a wave of the hand and went back to playing with his son.

—

Rhys wasn’t meant to be at Hewn City for long. After a couple of hours, Rhys had the small issue Keir had mentioned sorted out. He’d also entertained the court for as long as his lordly duties required.

Ready to leave, Rhys tried to scoop up Nyx, who had crawled over on Feyre’s empty throne. The baby managed to get Rhys back on his own seat and clung to his tunic, babbling.

“Now, Nyx, it’s time to leave,” Rhys said in a gentle voice, much of the court still watching curiously. They certainly had a very long attention span.

Nyx remained uncooperative. He tried to climb up Rhys’ shirt. In the process, his little baby fingers dug into Rhys’ side.

Rhys let out a startled laugh.

Pleased with the reaction, Nyx repeated the movement.

Prepared and trying to hold it in, Rhys lasted a few seconds before laughing once more. The entire court was staring at them now, entirely unsure of how to react to seeing their high lord being tickled. Keir was glaring with disapproval from the sidelines.

Nyx didn’t let up, surprisingly strong for a baby. Rhys had a bit of a laughing fit while trying—and failing—to corral his son.

Not sure if he’d be able to pick up the rascal and make it out the door, Rhys just smiled at the Court of Nightmares and said, “Your High Lady and I will visit next month. Be on your best behavior.” Then he winnowed away, hoping he didn’t sound as embarrassed as he was feeling.

Gods, Rhys’ face felt warm. He was blushing. Maybe they’d blame it on the wine.

Having appeared in his home, Rhys straightened and stepped toward the bedroom door, hoping to make inside before Feyre caught him. Nyx, still unused to winnowing, clapped his hands excitedly at the change in scenery.

“What did you do?”

Rhys slowly turned. “Do?”

Feyre had her arms crossed. She didn’t look particularly angry; she only seemed curious as to why her unflappable mate was blushing and trying to sneak into their bedroom.

“Did he get into trouble?”

“He was on his best behavior, actually. You shouldn’t be so doubtful toward him, darling. It hurts his feelings.”

Feeling entirely unhurt, Nyx hiccuped and reached for his mother. Feyre lifted him out of Rhys’ arms, rolling his eyes at the pathetic attempt at a deflection.

“What did you do then?”

Rhys winced. “Why do you think anything happened at all?”

Feyre impatiently knocked at her mate’s mental shields, not trusting a word that came out of his mouth. Reluctantly, Rhys lowered them, allowing Feyre full access to his mind.

After witnessing the day’s events, Feyre burst out laughing. “Oh, gods.”

Rhys pouted. “Stop that.”

“Being tickled by a baby in the middle of the Court of Nightmares. How will you ever look them in the eye again?” Feyre managed between laughs.

Rhys sighed. “I won’t. You’re on permanent Hewn City duty.”

Feyre smiled. “Right. Gods, I need to go tell Mor.”

Rhys’ eyes widened. “You need to do no such thing!”

“And Cassian. He’ll never let you live it down.” Feyre was fighting a smile.

Rhys crossed his arms. “Think of the child. What would poor Nyx think of his mother bullying his father so terribly?”

Feyre grinned. “He seems rather pleased with himself, actually.” Indeed, Nyx was stretching his lips, smiling toothlessly, tugging on Feyre’s sleeve.

Rhys sighed. “Oh, well. I think I’ve about given up on dignity at this point.”

Feyre smiled fondly at her husband. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Rhys guided his wife to the bedroom so that she could set down Nyx and let him play.

Upon asking how her day was, Rhys discovered she’d had a great time with her students, teaching some newbies how to mix the colors.

Despite the lingering embarrassment, Rhys was no longer upset about what had occurred in Hewn City. After all, a little bit of sheepishness was definitely worth seeing the look on Keir’s face. Maybe he’d bring Nyx with them again next time.

———

Tag List:

@feysand-loml

@aelin-bitch-queen

@story-scribbler

@live-the-fangirl-life

@midsizewitch

[maybedefinitely404]

Day 22: Dukexiety

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 22:  When you close your eyes, you can see what your soulmate sees.

Content warnings: Sleep deprivation/what could be considered insomnia, food mentions, energy drinks, parental abuse, drunk abuse, mentioned anxiety attack, physical altercation, dissociating, school security, maybe PTSD?

Word count: 3.5k 

For as long as Remus could remember, he’d hated sleeping. 

At some points it got so bad he couldn’t function. Falling asleep at the breakfast table before violently jolting awake, asking his mother or teacher to repeat things four or five times until it finally clicked that they were asking if he was okay, staring off into space for what felt like a couple minutes, only to learn that it was several hours later and he’d missed dinner. Roman had gotten used to his twin’s habit of losing sleep, and although it never ceased to worry him, it became more of a given thing that if Remus forgot to do his chores, it was (most of the time) an accident. He’d walk into their shared room and snap his fingers in his face a few times, ask if he wanted dinner until Remus finally understood, and then help him stumble downstairs. 

It was also a given in their family that if Remus ever did fall asleep, whether in his own bed, or on the couch, or outside in the backyard, never wake him up. He so rarely got any rest whatsoever that the seldom times he was able to conk out, it wasn’t uncommon for him to be down for over twenty hours. In those cases, their parents would silently close all the curtains and shut off the lights if he was indoors, or cover him with their deck umbrella and lay a blanket on him if he was outside, and make it law to not disturb him. He’d miss school, it was fine, just let him sleep.

And it was all because of his soulmate. 

Because it wasn’t so much the act of sleeping in itself that he hated. No, the times he actually got deeper than the REM phase, when he was actually out, it was amazing. Blissful and relaxing and made him so hyper aware when he finally woke up. Like the colors were no longer dim and words made sense the first time they were uttered. It was the actual act of falling asleep, when he had to close his eyes but was still fully conscious, that he hated. 

He didn’t have a proper idea who his soulmate actually was. Every time he closed his eyes and their vision fused, when he saw everything his soulmate saw from their perspective, they never seemed to be around a mirror. That would have made life a whole lot easier, if he only knew what it was. Then at least he’d have a chance to save them.

It started when he was little, when their soulbond was just forming. Back then, it was still shaky and glitchy, sometimes showing what his soulmate was seeing, and sometimes just showing the blackness of his eyelid. He saw grassy fields of a park that he couldn’t identify, a dimly lit bedroom with toys scattered on the floor, the night sky from a window that wasn’t his. But then it morphed; playgrounds becoming littered liquor bottles on the floor of an unkempt living room, dark lego-covered carpet evolving from something once played upon to something his soulmate was thrown harshly onto, the view of the stars suddenly filled with the face of a screaming man. The man. 

Remus had no idea who the man was, but he knew his face well. He knew every fury filled expression on his drunken face, the way his nose wrinkled in disgust, how his mouth twisted and contorted as he screamed. Their ears weren’t connected, so he couldn’t tell what the man was saying, but it was punctuated with flying fists and hands gripping collars, thrown beer bottles and pushes to the ground. It didn’t happen every time he closed his eyes, but it had happened enough for Remus to suddenly jerk awake the moment their vision was shared out of pure panic. It happened enough that if his mother reached up to adjust his hoodie strings, he’d flinch violently, or when Roman snuck up on him just a little too quietly, his hands would fly over his face to protect himself. He wouldn’t develop bruises, or take the undoubtedly cruel things the man said to heart, but he was still affected. If he tried to sleep, and the man appeared in his sight, he’d bury his face in his arms, eyes wide and staring at his pajama pants, knowing what was happening to his soulmate however far away they were and he was unable to do anything to help. At least he could open his eyes and be free of the horrors. It was only in the rare instances when he’d close his eyes and his soulmate was already asleep, revealing nothing but the black void behind his eyelids, that he could actually sleep. 

When Roman awoke that morning, he blinked his bleary eyes and turned to the other bed in the room, sighing when Remus’ bloodshot eyes met his from where he was curled against the wall, blanket wrapped around his shoulders. The bags under his eyes had worsened more than they had before. If he was counting right, this was the third night in a row that Remus hadn’t slept at all. The last time he’d slept had been days ago, and only been for a couple hours before he awoke with a sob.

“Are you okay?” 

In a move unlike Remus, he shook his head no. He rarely admitted that he wasn’t fine, but it was getting to that point of almost mania where his eyes glazed over every couple minutes, hands constantly shaking, unaware of anything around him.

“You probably shouldn’t go to school today.”

“It’s f’ne,” Remus mumbled, hitting his head into his arms, “T’st in Engl’sh. Gotta go.”

“It’s not like you to care about school.” Roman threw his blankets off, noticing the way Remus flinched at the sudden movement, and began to change out of his pajamas.

“S’nior year. Failing Engl’sh. Ac’demic probation.” 

“Ah,” Roman hummed, gingerly placing a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie in front of Remus. “Is English your first class?”

“Mmhm.”

“How about I drive you back home after your test?”

Remus had zoned out, staring blankly at the clothes in front of him, so Roman took that as a yes. As much as he hated letting Remus go to school when he was like this, he knew that if he didn’t drive him, Remus would find a way to go by himself and probably accidentally walk into the highway or something. 

By the time Remus zoned back into the real world, Roman had left the room. Lethargically, he changed into the lazy outfit Roman had placed in front of him and pushed himself off the bed, debating if he had the energy to brush his teeth or not. Just as he was considering just pouring the toothpaste into his mouth and gurgling it, Roman walked into the bathroom with an open can of Monster. 

“I have a stash in the basement so Mom doesn’t find them. Keep it down low and don’t take them, or I’ll cut you off.”

Remus didn’t even realize he’d grabbed the energy drink until he had half finished chugging the can, almost sighing at the immediate burst of adrenaline. 

“Hell yeah.”

“Get ready and be downstairs in twenty minutes or I’m leaving without you.”

It was an empty threat, they both knew it, but Remus rolled his eyes anyways and set about to brushing his teeth, pulling out his phone to check the time. There was a barrage of missed messages and notifications that he hadn’t been able to care about after sleepless night number two, so he sent back explanations to the people who’d questioned his disappearance and gotten up to date on what he’d missed on social media. 

He stumbled downstairs as Roman was opening the front door, offering him a bagel silently. Their parents were both at work already, so they locked the door and got into Roman’s car. Remus wasn’t allowed to get his license, not when there was a solid chance that he’d fall asleep behind the wheel. 

“I’m driving you home after English, capiche?”

“I’d probably skip after the test either way.” His hands twitched against his bouncing legs, still unbearably exhausted but now with his heart beating at a rabbit’s pace. 

“You are not walking.”

“Yes, mom.”

Roman let out a tired sigh, leaving the drive quiet except for the soft sounds of the radio hosts. When they pulled into the school lot, minutes before the bell, Remus was getting out of the car before it had stopped all the way.

“Meet me in the main office after first period, dipshit!” Roman yelled as Remus disappeared into the building, flipping him off and letting the doors close behind him just as Roman shouted something else. Whatever. 

While caffeine was perhaps his most helpful crutch in this nightmare that was living, it had side effects. As soon as his test paper was down before him, his mind completely blanked of every word he’d ever heard in his entire life. Though, in all fairness, that also probably would have happened without the energy drink. He was so used to barely sleeping that it had become a norm to him, but it wasn’t a healthy way to live, so even if he’d learned how to function on twelve hours of sleep a week (on good weeks), his brain hadn’t quite caught on.

The instructions for the test wavered and throbbed before him as he blinked his eyes rapidly, trying to banish the blurriness from his sight. He could barely hold a pencil in his shaking hands, his thoughts somehow flying at the speed of light and equally as stuck and lethargic. Pretty much how he felt. 

“Remus?”

His head flew up, his unruly bangs flopping into his eye. Since when did he need a haircut?

“I’ve been calling you for a few minutes now,” His teacher said quietly. Although they were trying to hide it, he could see his classmates glancing at him from the corners of their eyes, “Are you alright?”

As if perfectly on cue, he could feel his mind zoning out again, vision going blurry as his thoughts disappeared. Vaguely, he could feel a gentle hand on his arm slowly lifting him to his feet, a voice giving a foggy command to the class, and then he was led out of the room, the painfully bright hallway lights blinding him. It also brought him back to the present, ever so slightly, as he was taken down the hall to the main office. In the back of his mind, he was grateful for it, because this was where Roman would pick him up. Did this mean he was going home now? Was the test over?

“-last time he slept. He keeps zoning out. I think it would be best if he went home and retook the test another time.”

Hm? He blinked hard, until his eyeballs hurt, to try and get the gears in his brain to start working again. The teacher was talking to one of the secretaries, and they both kept looking to him in concern. 

“Can I call someone to come pick you up, Remus?” The secretary asked, already flipping through her contacts book.

“His brother also goes here, and can probably take him home. Would be easiest,” The teacher cut in before the question had even fully settled in Remus’ mind, and he internally cheered. At least that was settled. And by the sounds of it, he could do his test another time, which was a huge weight off his shoulders. He didn’t have, nor desire, Roman’s perfect grades, but he at least wanted to graduate.

“I’ll get him excused from class. Thanks for bringing him by.”

Remus blinked again and realized the teacher had left, leaving him wavering in the middle of the office in front of a very worried secretary. She was saying something, her mouth was moving, but the words didn’t compute. However when she gestured to a dimly lit backroom, he got the message and stumbled in, nearly collapsing on the small cot in relief. The door was closed nearly all the way, leaving just a crack of light shining through. 

As much as a nice break the darkness was, it just made his eyes want to close farther, and took twice as much effort to keep them open. Pulling at the skin in the corners of his eyes, he reluctantly sat up and focused his stares on the miscellaneous anatomy posters on the wall. 

That was when his gaze fell to the hunched form in the corner, staring at him with dark glistening eyes, and he nearly fell off the cot.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” He yelped. The figure flinched back, curling more into the chair they were perched on. 

“Sorry. She told you I was here when she brought you in. Didn’t you hear her?”

“In all honesty, no. I didn’t.” The two kept at their staring contest for longer than necessary, before Remus decided to break the silence, “So, what are you in for?”

For a good minute, he didn’t think he would get a response. The guy kept staring back at him, like he was trying to size him up, before he muttered, “Anxiety attack in class. Teacher forbade me from staying here.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“Yeah, well…” He finally broke the eye contact, staring down the nails he was picking at. “What about you?”

“Haven’t slept in three days, I think. Maybe four? I was all zone-y during a test so the teacher said I had to go home.”

“Damn teachers and their sudden respect for mental health.”

Remus snorted, resting his head against the wall. “Why’d you have a panic attack?”

“None of your business. Why haven’t you been sleeping?”

“Soulmate stuff,” Remus answered easily, not put off by the other’s suddenly annoyed tone. It wasn’t common to be unable to sleep due to a soulmate issue, whether it was trauma or another issue entirely, but it wasn’t unheard of either. 

“Oh.”

“Yeah, it sucks. Still don’t wanna tell me why yo-?”

“No.”

“I accept your rejection and will now take my leave to cry in the bathroom stall.”

The other boy actually snickered, a reaction Remus had been wishing for but hadn’t dreamed to expect. He waved a hand dismissively. “I hope you have a good cry.”

“Aw, thanks,” Remus cooed, leaning forward on his hands. “I haven’t seen you around. What’s your name?”

“Virgil. Only moved here recently.”

“How recent is recent?”

“Couple months.”

“Ah. I’m Remus. School disgrace, nice to meet you.”

“Oh boy, befriending the wrong crowd already.”

“I would be offended if you weren’t correct,” Remus grinned, hitting his baggy eyes a couple times with his fists.

“Virgil?” The nurse poked her head through the door, squinting in the low light, “Your dad’s here.”

Virgil stiffened immediately, casting Remus a look he didn’t quite understand before getting to his feet, pulling his bag onto his shoulder. She smiled at him and opened the door wider, gesturing for him to exit.

That’s when Remus saw him.

Him.

It took him a moment to understand that yes, his eyes were open, and yes, this was the man from his shared vision with his soulmate. 100% him, the same dark eyes and half grimace, except now wearing a pristine three piece suit that very much didn’t match his memories of him. He was signing a sheet, presumably to ensure that he’d picked Virgil up, and didn’t notice as his son stood frozen in the doorway, watching him with fear filled eyes.

Remus jumped to his feet, stepping next to Virgil.

“That’s your dad?”

Virgil let out a choked hum, one that was probably meant to be an affirmation, before gripping the strap of his backpack. “Why?”

“I’m your soulmate,” He said with absolutely zero tact, and the way Virgil’s face paled was enough indication that he’d understood. He gently laid a hand on the shorter’s shoulder, a silent indication to ‘stay here’, and marched towards the man at the desk. 

“Can I just say one thing?”

He looked up, surprised, and gave Remus a once over. His stomach twisted, being under the man’s gaze, the person who had made it impossible for him to sleep, now in front of him. Eye to eye, he appreciated, because in all the times he’d seen him second hand, he’d towered over him. Now they were the same height, and that brought a sick joy to him.

“I suppose?” The man asked, voice as calm and professional as his suit, looking to the secretary with an almost laugh.

“With all due respect,” Remus snarled, hand curling into a fist, “Fuck you.”

And then he hit him. Hard. All his pent up anger, years of watching his soulmate get beaten to a pulp, losing sleep until he was a zombie of himself, panic attacks of pure worry and fear, flew out in one punch, hitting him square in the nose and sending him stumbling back.

The secretary yelled something he didn’t hear over the blood pounding in his ears, and suddenly two arms were wrapped around his waist.

“Let me the fuck at him!” Remus screamed, fighting against the grip with everything he had. The man was on the ground, staring up at him with equal parts horror and pure rage, dabbing at his bleeding nose.

“Remus, breathe. Just calm down, you’re okay. Just breathe,” A shockingly calm voice whispered in his ear, and he immediately sagged against his brother, the restraining arms becoming supporting. 

“That’s him,” He said weakly, pulling away so he could turn to Roman, “That’s him.”

Roman furrowed his brow for a moment, looking between his twin and the man on the floor, before his eyes widened. He knew all of Remus’ stories, being the one a young Remus would come to when the visions got so bad he’d break down, listening to his rants about the abusive guardian of his soulmate. 

“Call the police,” He deadpanned, turning his glare to the secretary.

“I don’t think Remus-”

“Not for Remus, for him!” 

A gasping breath caught everyone’s attention and the focus shifted to the boy still standing on the doorway, his expression one of absolute terror, staring at his father. Remus broke completely away from his brother to cross to him just as the office door slammed open, two security guards-- the secretary had probably called them at the first punch-- taking in the scene before them. He could vaguely hear Roman explaining the situation, glad that he didn’t have to justify anything because he would most likely just end up throwing hands again. 

Virgil watched him approach, almost cowering in on himself, as Remus extended a hand. 

“Let’s get out of here. You’re not going back with him.”

It took the shorter boy a second, a nervous glance between his earnest eyes and the outstretched hand, before he took it in his own. Remus let a relieved smile take over, interlocking their fingers and leading him past the scene. As he passed a still talking Roman, he swiped the car keys from his pocket with no one any wiser.

“He’ll notice eventually,” He stage-whispered as they exited the large double doors, making their way through the parking lot. “I can’t drive, but we might as well sit in the car until Roman’s done.”

Virgil was quiet, allowing himself to be led through the rows of parked cars before Remus stopped, unlocking the doors and sliding into the backseat, pulling his soulmate in after him. There was a blanket tucked under the front seat and he yanked it out, unfolding it as well he could in the cramped space. 

The shorter boy was shaking violently, trying to hide his hands and now bleeding fingernails in his hoodie sleeves. Remus, for maybe the first time in his life, opened his arms for a hug, and was genuinely shocked by how fast Virgil lunged into his grip. He didn’t have many soft spots, but he could make one for his soulmate. 

“You’re not going back to him. Over my dead body. We’ll figure everything out later, but for now-” He shuffled backwards, leaning his head on the window so Virgil was basically laying on top of him, “I don’t know about you, but I have about a million hours of sleep to catch up on, so I’m going to catch a cat nap before Roman’s done.”

“It’s been a long day.”

“And it’s not even noon,” Remus snickered, maneuvering the blanket so it covered them both. 

He closed his eyes, and for a split second, all he saw was himself, from a lower angle. It was disorienting to say the least, but before he could comment, the world was engulfed in black as Virgil closed his eyes as well.

And for the first time in… who knows how long, Remus wasn’t afraid to sleep. 

[watchtower-feed]

Death Do We Part (Part 3)

SSA Spin-off ✧ Jason Todd ✧ Physical Link ✧ 1 ✧ 2 ✧ 3 ✧ 4 ✧ 5 ✧ 6 ✧ 7 ✧ 8 ✧ 9 ✧ 10 ✧ 11 ✧ 12 ✧ 13 ✧ 14 ✧ 15 ✧ Notes: NSFW. Words: 2,600+

    It’s an odd sensation. Jason almost doesn’t feel it but something soft and moist had pressed itself against the back of his hand. He feels it again, leaving a trail that runs along the shape of his palm.

    Curiously, he brings his hand close to his lips and guesses where the next mark will be. He kisses it.

    You pull away immediately. You felt chapped skin pushing back against your lips.

      You stare at your hand for the longest time and no feeling comes back to you. “That was definitely a kiss,” you whisper. You close your eyes, numbing your senses from what you can feel in this room and try to imagine Jason.

      You gasp when you feel something sucking on your thumb. With your eyes shut you can feel his tongue wrapping around your finger. His teeth are grazing your skin. He opens his mouth and you can feel his hot breath all around your wet finger.

      Hey, Y/N.

      You’re breathing through your mouth when his next words come.

      Have we ever done it?

      You haven’t. It’s not that you didn’t want to but more like you never got the chance. You were barely fifteen when Jason moved away. You bit your lips. Would Jason have wanted to? Would you?

      One pinch for no. Two for yes.

      Your fingers hover over your skin before you pinch once.

      It’s a while before Jason writes anything again. Was he waiting for a second pinch? Expecting it?

      Do you want to try it now?

      Oh.

      You sit up quickly. OH. Your mind is screaming. Never have you and Jason ever attempted to even exploit your link like that. You never even considered it. Question after question flood your head. Has Jason always thought about these things? Is this the amnesia Jason talking? Is it the teenage hormones? Do you want to?

      Do you want to?

      You bite your lips harder and bury your face into the pillow. You muffle your scream because how? How do you do this?

      Forget it.

      You quickly stand up as you see the writing on your arm. Without thinking, you pinch yourself hard. Twice.

      You feel stunned as you wait for his response. You’re standing awkwardly near the bed, wondering if you’ll be doing this lying down or standing up.

      The next sensation you feel is completely unfamiliar and absolutely exciting. At first, it was just a ghostly touch of a hand moving down your navel. Then suddenly the area between your legs is on fire. You’re actually not sure what it is because it doesn’t feel like your clit or your pussy. But it feels good.

      You should definitely be lying down for this.

      You close your eyes and it’s so easy to shut everything out and just feel his hand. You can already see it, Jason lying down with his hands in his pants, stroking his cock while he thinks of you.

      You gasp when you feel a pinch on your nipple and then he’s playing with them using his calloused fingers, rubbing them and flicking as they harden.

      The touching stops and you wait patiently. Writing starts appearing on your arm.

      Do something. Touch yourself, too.

      You blush furiously and hide from no one in the room. You wonder if he feels the sudden heat on your skin. You gulp before you hitch up your skirt and pull down your panties. It’s wet and you throw it away on the floor. You clench your legs together while you think about this.

      Y/N.

      What’s there to think about? This is just two teenagers masturbating to each other. Two teenagers with a physical link, who just came back from being dead for two years, and you’re half-naked in Bruce Wayne’s house!

      Jason pumps his cock, making you open your legs on instinct, all thoughts completely discarded and forgotten. It already feels like your pussy is stretching, hungry for Jason to enter you. Your hands make their way to your clit and you whimper with your mouth open as you touch it.

      Jason suddenly sits up in his bed. “What the hell was that?” he’s breathing loudly. You start rubbing your clit in circles and press it against your pelvis. Jason’s moaning. He throws his head back until he’s lying down again and he forcibly shuts his eyes.

      “God, that feels so good.”

      He pumps harder and you bite your lips to keep yourself quiet. You turn over, propped on your knees while your face and shoulders are digging into the bed. You bring your other hand down between your legs and start fingering yourself.

      “Fuck, Y/N,” Jason grits his teeth. He pumps faster and your fingers try to match his speed. You’re rubbing harder on your clit and breathing quickly through your mouth.

      “Oh, Ja--”

      “Miss, L/N,” Alfred is knocking on the door.

      You stop and quickly pinch your arms several times all over while you put your underwear back on and fix the disheveled sheets. But then you realize you were supposed to be sleeping. The sheets should be unruly. So Alfred walks in carrying folded clothes while you’re flapping the duvet in the air and breathing harshly through your mouth, sweat running down your forehead.

      He raises an eyebrow.

      “Uhh… I was just making the bed.”

      He places the clothes on the bedside table then helps you fix the bed. “I take it you would like a shower after everything.”

      “What.” You tense, eyes wide and lips harshly closed tight.

      This time, both Alfred’s eyebrows go up. “I don’t know how it works really but I thought you would feel a little bit sticky after being in a casket for so long.”

      You laugh. It’s too loud and too forced and you have to slap yourself to stop. You quickly notice the string of words appearing on your arm and you quickly hide it from Alfred.

      Suddenly, Alfred frowns. “Is that… Master Jason?”

      You don’t know what to say. Who else could it be. Alfred knows it’s him but after what you just did, you don’t think he should really see what profanities Jason could be coming up with right now. 

      Alfred waits for a few seconds but you don’t say anything. He cups his breast pocket and then procures a pen to hand to you. “Do tell him I said hello and that… he is dearly missed.”

      You immediately feel like you’re plunging down a well and the water’s not high enough to get out but it’s deep enough for you to drown. After Alfred closes the door behind him, the sound of his footsteps receding down the hallway knocks you back to reality.

      You’re supposed to be helping Bruce find Jason. This isn’t the time to be using your link like this.

      What the fuck, Y/N! What happened? Helloooooo? Are you still there? Don’t tell you came and fell asleep! That’s so not fair and I would’ve felt that! Y/N!

      You run through your words in your head because the next thing you say has to be something Jason will listen. You need to do something to get him to help you bring him home but you can’t tell him anything about his life. You uncap the pen Alfred gave you.

      Do you want to come back home, Jason? 

      He doesn’t reply right away and you just feel like you should add more.

      To your family? To me?

      You stand alone in the room, staring at your arm, and tapping the pen against your leg.

      I don’t even know who you are.

      His words leave a sour taste in your mouth and suddenly your eyes are stinging. You throw the cap away and you’re writing on your arm using your whole fist.

      JASON, YOU ASSHOLE!!!

      You start sobbing loud and you crouch down until you can hide your face between your knees. You vaguely hear rushed footsteps coming toward the room.

      “Y/N, what’s wrong-” Dick’s voice cuts off the moment he takes a look at you. He rushes to your side and slowly kneels down beside you. “Hey…” he whispers soothingly. You look up and his hands are hovering, waiting to see if you’re okay with him touching you.

      You cry harder but this time you press your face against his collarbone and he hugs you tight, rubbing your back and brushing your hair. His soothing voice whispering in your ear, “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

      “No, it’s not! Jason’s an asshole! He doesn’t want to come home! He doesn’t remember me. He--” You cry harder and louder instead of finishing your sentence.

      Dick keeps holding you. What else can he do? He feels just as helpless as you do and it’s devastating to him as well. Jason was-- is his brother. So he holds you tighter, more for him this time.

      He waits until you’ve calmed down, almost an hour later. He walks with you to the bath Alfred prepared. But you stand awkwardly in front of the door. Dick peeks at you from the side and sees you staring at your arm, at the small writing, at Jason’s last words.

      “We can write it again after your shower,” Dick watches you flinch, forgetting he was there. “I’ll find some industrial markers that’ll only come off after a hundred showers or an acid bath or something.”

      He’s smirking when you turn to him, but your expression is serious. “Will you write it for me?”

      Dick looks at you for a second before he offers you a small smile, “Of course. I’ll even make sure it’s in Jason’s ugly handwriting.”

      That makes you smile. ‘Finally,’ Dick thought, ‘Progress’. So you leave him in the hall and you scrub yourself in the tub. Jason’s last words dissolve away but the asshole Jason’s writings are still on your arm.

      Looking at the last sentence he wrote doesn’t even make you angry. It just makes you wish you weren’t linked to him right now. You just want to drown in the tub and not worry about drowning somebody else with you. For the first time in your entire life, you wish you weren’t linked to Jason.

      True to his word, Dick greets you after you’re clean and clothed. He’s holding up a box of markers that are clearly labeled ‘Industrial Strength’. You laugh and promptly offer your arm. But it’s the wrong arm and Dick gets a glimpse of some of asshole Jason’s writings.

      You blush but quickly retract your arm and offer the right one. Dick blinks for a moment before he slowly takes it. You can see him debating whether he should pry into what he just read or not. You don’t know which lines he saw but you don’t want to talk about either.

      “Did Bruce find anything?” you say quickly.

      Dick gives a slow sigh as if relieved by the sudden change of topic but also disappointed in what he was about to say. “Bruce did place surveillance around the cemetery, in case the Joker--” his body tenses.

      “I know,” you assure him. “Bruce told me.”

      Dick rolls his eyes, “Of course, he did.” He opens the box to fish out a marker, “Luckily for you, the motion sensors his paranoid-ass installed in your casket still works. So he was able to get you out as soon as he did. But the cameras on the grounds and the sensors in Jason’s casket were all tampered with just a few days ago. Maybe a week tops.”

      “That’s… too bad.”

      He chuckles as he uncaps the marker and holds your arm while he writes. “It’s not all bad. This actually gives us a useful timeframe since you and Jason came back to life at the same time.” He pauses to return the lid and inspects his work. You’re staring at him, waiting to listen eagerly for what happens next.

      “That means it took a whole week for these people to bring Jason back to life and to move him to wherever this creepy ritual happened. No offense.”

      You shake your head because how can you possibly take offense to that. Despite everything, you’re happy to be alive.

      “So Bruce is either looking for a place where it takes a week to smuggle a dead body into or people that can revive the dead in a week?” you ask.

      Dick chuckles and nods his head, “Pretty much.” You give him a confused look, half frustrated as well. “Don’t worry. Bruce has worked with much less and he wouldn’t have lasted in this business for this long if he weren’t the best.”

      That hurt. Dick flinches as well when he realizes that was definitely not the right thing to say. Before he can apologize, you hold up your arm to look at the writing. It looks exactly like Jason’s writing in his notebooks, not like the rushed, clumsy, and desperate writing before he -- you died.

      “I wanna help, too. Can you take me back to the cave?”

      Dick looks like he still wants to apologize so you grab his hand and start dragging him down the hallway. “Alfred took me through a Grandfather clock in the study. It’s this way, right?” Dick shakes his head and finally walks beside you.

      “Alfred’s going to kill you if you don’t get something to eat first.”

      You clasp your stomach and it’s only now that you realize you haven’t eaten in, well, two years. But you’re not hungry. You suddenly guess it’s because Jason’s been eating well. At least that means he’s not being tortured or held prisoner. Right?

      “Not like I haven’t been dead before,” it’s a bad joke and you know it. Dick flinches when he hears it but you don’t have the heart to take it back. You just want to get to the cave already. Dick opens the clock and holds out his hand for you to follow. You go down the stairs and into an elevator shaft, all in silence. The descent to the cave feels darker than before.

      But the moment you start seeing the cave and its lights, you spot someone in a red tunic jumping down from the walls, a black cape with a yellow underside trailing behind him. It’s Robin.

      The moment the shaft’s doors open, you run out and crash into Robin’s back. You’re hugging and rubbing your face against him.

      “Please. Please tell me I’m not dreaming. You’re here,” you pull away to turn him around, “You’re actually---”

      It’s not him. His hair is black but it’s straight and swept neatly to the side. His eyes aren’t the same shade of the blue and green you know but more like a mix of steel and blue. His eyebrows are thinner. His nose and mouth are smaller. He’s not even the same height.

      Robin rubs the back of his neck and smiles shyly, “Oh, are you a fan?”

      This is wrong. Everything is wrong. You thought Jason was Robin. But this isn’t Jason.

      Dick stomps from behind you and goes straight to Bruce. He’s yelling, “You haven’t told her!”

      Bruce narrows his eyes at Dick, “It wasn’t important for her to know.”

      “Not important?!” Dick scoffs in anger, “You told her Jason was Robin but you don’t think she should know that Tim is Robin now.”

      Your eyes widen, “You replaced him.” Your voice is louder than you expected it to be. They’re all looking at you now. “How long?” You stomp past Robin until you’re a foot away from Bruce, “How long did you wait before you replaced him!”

      Your voice echoes in the cave and the only reply you get are their stares. You start laughing hysterically while looking around the room. “Is that what Robin really is? Someone so replaceable? You just find stray kids in Gotham and turn them into your little soldiers!”

      You’re breathing through your mouth and you close it immediately. You walk right up to Bruce and glare up at his tall figure. “Jason died. As Robin. He was Robin. And he died because of you.”

      Bruce doesn’t flinch. You keep staring at him, waiting for a reply. Then a thought hits you and your eyes widen. “This is why you don’t want him to know everything,” you’re whispering now and looking frantically at the ground, “If he finds out… Even with his memories, you’re afraid he’ll turn against you.”

SSA Spin-off ✧ Jason Todd ✧ Physical Link ✧ 1 ✧ 2 ✧ 3 ✧ 4 ✧ 5 ✧ 6 ✧ 7 ✧ 8 ✧ 9 ✧ 10 ✧ 11 ✧ 12 ✧ 13 ✧ 14 ✧ 15 ✧

✧ Watchtower Masterlist ✧

[thefinalexperiment]

The Final Experiment Chapter 30: My Story

Peter Parker x OC

A/N: Kind if an expositional filler part, but here you go. Once again, sentences in italics = Russian

I will no longer be linking things on new part posts due to dumblr and the link censoring, and just to be safe from any potential image post censoring, I will also not be including covers on my stories. All previous parts can be found in my masterlist, in my bio!

---

        “How is he?” Kaitlynn asked as she poked through the cabinets for breakfast the next morning.

        Steve didn’t hear her right away. He was distracted by what Bucky had said…

        “Steve.”

        He looked up. The other few team members who were also in the kitchen, Natasha, Peter, and Sam, were all focused on him as well.

        “Hm?” Then her words caught up to him. “Oh… Well he woke up last night, but he fell right back asleep… Cho’s assistant said he’s feverish. They’re trying to bring that down.”

        Kaitlynn frowned, but nodded, choosing to hide her feelings on the matter by glaring up at the cereal on the top shelf - the shelf which she was too short to reach.

        “Right… did he say anything?”

        Steve shrugged, shaking his head helplessly.

        “A bit, but he wasn’t makin’ much sense.”

        “What was he saying?” Sam asked. “Anything important?”

        Steve stood and reached over Kaitlynn’s head to retrieve the box she’d been eyeing. She gave a small huff of faked irritation, but grumbled a thank you nevertheless and began to prepare her bowl.

        “Nothing I could make heads or tails of,” he finally replied. “Something about a birthday… he was real worried about finding somebody named Sarah, said they took her to America. It was like he was only half here…”

        Kaitlynn froze, mid-cereal pour.

        “Does that mean something to you?” Steve asked.

        “I…” There was a faraway look in her eyes, like she was fighting hard to remember something. She stared down at the counter, but it was clear that the granite wasn’t what held her focus.

        “Kait?” Peter tentatively called, touching her shoulder.

        “Something…” she murmured. Then, the look cleared like a lightbulb turning on. “He means me.”

        She turned to Peter with a hopeful spark behind her eyes.

        “Sarah, that’s what he called me! I have to go see him…”

        With that, she shoved her half-filled bowl of cereal to the side and moved to rush out of the kitchen, but Steve stepped into her path.

        “Whoa there, kid, slow down. What do you mean?”

        “Sarah, Steve!”

        He shook his head.

        “I don’t follow.”

        “After the toughest lady he ever met, his best pal’s ma!” she said again, with more emphasis. It was tricky to understand her when she got tangled up in her mile-a-minute thoughts like this, but Steve had a pretty good feeling he knew what Kaitlynn was trying to say this time.

        “He named you after my mother?” His breath caught when she nodded. “When? How? I don’t--”

        “I’ll explain later,” Kaitlynn said quickly, nimbly stepping around him. “I have to go see him!”

        And with that, she was gone.

---

                                                       Kaitlynn

        When I rushed into Bucky’s room, one of Cho’s people was checking over his vitals. It seemed he had just woken, but he wasn’t quite fully present. Peter was hot on my heels, no doubt wanting to make sure I was okay. Natasha I had also expected to follow, but I was a little surprised to see that Steve had come too. Although I suppose I had sort of just dropped a bombshell on him.

        All the memories that were returning to me seemed to be cluttering my mind. I understood how Bucky was feeling right now. I almost felt feverish with the way my thoughts were swimming. It was difficult to separate the present and the past at the moment.

        When he caught sight of me, it became ten times harder to breathe. Though his expression was clouded with the confused look of disorientation, his eyes lit up in recognition. I vaguely heard Natasha asking the medic about his condition. Something about the fever beginning to decrease, but still enough to disorient him. His super soldier genes would have him with a clear head by tomorrow.

        My feet moved as if by a will of their own, carrying me to his side. He reached out to me weakly and my hand gripped his like a lifeline.

        “Sarah?” he whispered.

        “It’s me, papa,” I said softly.

        “They took you from me,” he murmured in Russian. “I couldn’t stop them…”

        “I know, dad,” I said, squeezing his hand. “You did your best… You’re here now. We’re together again.”

        He smiled sadly at me, as if there were something else on his mind.

        Barely two days ago, I had been angry enough to want to kill him, but none of that seemed remotely important now. All that mattered was that he was okay, and he was here with me.

---

        “What are they saying?” Peter whispered to Natasha. It was kind of weird watching how Kait’s demeanor had changed over the past few days. Not in a bad way, just in a different way. They hadn’t been dating long, but Peter could tell she had a lot of layers to her. It was nice to see her being more open, but he couldn’t deny that her past wasn’t normal.

        “You’ll have to ask Kait later,” Natasha said, raising an eyebrow.

        “Oh,” he said awkwardly. “Right… I guess I should just… Wait. Outside.”

        Peter quickly ducked out of the room. He’d always thought Natasha didn’t mind him, but ever since her relation to Kait was revealed, she’d been watching him more carefully. Having the Black Widow stare you down over breakfast was a little unnerving to say the least.

        Not that he was scared, or anything.

        Maybe just a little intimidated.

---

        Steve chuckled as he watched the kid scurry out of the room.

        “Might wanna take it easy on him, Nat…”

        She shrugged, not taking her eyes off of Kaitlynn and Bucky.

        “Why would I do that?”

        “He’s just trying to help,” Steve said.

        Nat scoffed.

        “He’s trying to get me to like him is what he’s doing.”

        “You liked him well enough before.”

        She gave him a warning glance.

        “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

        Steve raised his hands in a placating gesture.

        “I’m just saying… Kaitlynn has a certain tendency to get overly protective or defensive… and maybe it runs in the family.”

        Natasha crossed her arms, but didn’t reply. Just then, Kaitlynn came over.

        “He fell back asleep. The nurse, I think his name is Lee, he said the fever’s gone down more already.” She had a bright smile on her face, a look that Steve hadn’t seen in ages.

        “So,” he said, “Now that everything has calmed down, care to explain what just happened?” He nodded at Bucky.

        Kaitlynn was about to respond, but then she paused, looking out the window of the room.

        “Where did Peter go?” she asked.

        Steve shot a glance at Natasha, who still wasn’t looking at him. Kaitlynn raised an eyebrow at the two of them, then frowned at Nat.

        “What did you say to him?”

        “Nothing!” Natasha said, a little too defensively.

        Kaitlynn sighed.

        “Nat… please, lighten up, okay? If you wanna play protective mom, then just sit him down for an interview and get the cold shoulder over with. This half-commitment to it is sending mixed signals.”

        Natasha raised an eyebrow but nodded.

        “Okay. Fair enough…”

        Kaitlynn gave her a small smile, then turned to Steve.

        “Now, I believe I promised an explanation…”

---

                                                    Kaitlynn

        Before we got started on the whole “explaining my past” bit, I insisted on sitting down in the commons area with a cup of tea. I fiddled with the string of the teabag, curled up on the loveseat. I had debated whether or not to tell the whole team, but I decided it would be best to tell just the few closest to Bucky and I first. That was limited to Natasha, Steve, Peter, and Sam, who, as much as he liked to irritate Bucky, really did consider him a good friend.

        Peter sat beside me, leaning against the seat’s arm. He was still within arm’s reach for moral support. Natasha, Sam, and Steve sat on the couch across from us. On any average day, “their” spots were more spread out among the common area, but right now, they were grouped together, making me feel like I was some kind of relationship counselor.

        “So…” I began, “I’ll do my best to explain here, but my memories are still fuzzy, and the files we recovered from that base only tell half the story.”

        I took a deep breath, gripping the mug a little tighter.

        “As soon as HYDRA deemed me old enough, HYDRA started my training. I can’t remember how old I was, exactly… The man who trained me… I never knew his name. They called him…” I shuddered, but steeled myself.

        It’s not like he’s Voldemort… just say his name…

        “They called him the Foreman. He was horrible. I have a couple minor scars from the Winter Soldier’s training… but the rest are all from him. He laid the foundations, taught me as much as a kid that young could be taught… Then when I turned nine…” I paused. My throat had gone dry. I gulped some tea from my mug, feeling the barely-steeped liquid scalding my throat on the way down.

        “When I turned nine, they brought the Winter Soldier out of cryo to train me. They told him who I was to him, but that made him resist them, so they had to rethink their brainwashing methods… He trained me for about four and a half months before they decided he’d recalled a little too much of his past. So they put him in cryo for three years… and during that time… the Foreman took over my training again.”

        Peter gently pried the mug from my grip and set it on the coffee table. It was only then I realized that my hands were shaking. I shook my head a little to clear my thoughts, shrinking back against Peter a little, as if his presence could ward off the horrors in my memories.

        “When they made the Winter Soldier train me in knife combat, he cut me pretty badly…” I couldn’t help but rub that curved scar. “Dad managed to convince them to let him patch me up, and while we were alone, he told me who he was to me. And… he asked if he could name me. I said yes, and he said he was going to call me Sarah.” I smiled a bit at Steve. “That was the only name I knew for a year… Sometime during that year, they wiped his memories and sent him on a mission. When they brought him back, I reminded him of who he was, and we started to make plans to escape together.”

        Peter’s hand found mine, and I was glad for the comfort it brought.

        “But HYDRA had plans of their own… they wiped my memories and made him watch… then they wiped his memories. They sent me to start a new life as Kaitlynn Grace, and they sent him to Alexander Pierce in New York. And you guys know the rest…”

        I slowly exhaled, letting it all sink in.

        “Wow…” Sam finally said. “That’s… a lot.”

        “How much does Bucky remember?” Steve asked.

        “Honestly, I don’t know,” I said. “He didn’t seem to remember that compound, but he remembered training me. He’s never called me Sarah before, though… so maybe the fever brought back some things he hadn’t been able to remember.”

        There was a silence as we all soaked in this revelation.

        “Well,” Natasha said, “I guess we won’t know until he wakes up for good.”

        Steve stood.

        “Until then, I’ll be in the training area, if anybody needs me.”

        Sam got up too.

        “Anybody know what Bucky’s least favorite flowers are? I’m gonna put a giant bouquet of ‘em right next to his bed with a note that says “You’re still alive, how disappointing.” They’ll be the first thing he sees when he wakes up, it’ll be hilarious.”

        I laughed softly, and Steve chuckled before he replied, “Daffodils, but if he asks, you’re a lucky guesser.”

        The two of them waved, and went their separate ways. Natasha eyed Peter, as if she wanted to say something, but she seemed to come to a different decision and stood to leave as well. She didn’t say where she was going, but she nodded to me, and I knew she was going to wait to clear the air with Peter after all this with Bucky was over.

        Now, it was just me and Peter.

        “Are you okay?” he murmured. “It’s snowing a little bit…”

        I looked up, and sure enough, it was snowing again. Not as badly as the other day, though. With a wave of my hand, the flurries dispersed and vanished.

        “I’m fine,” I said, “Just a bit…” But I couldn’t think of a word to appropriately describe how I was feeling.

        Peter nodded anyways. That was one of the reasons I adored him. He understood what was going on with me even when I couldn’t necessarily articulate it.

        “I get it,” he said. “That must have been hard to relive…”

        “It was… but I’m glad the four of you all know now.” I relaxed against him, and he wrapped his arm around my shoulders. I wanted so badly to kiss him in that moment, but I still didn’t trust my powers yet.

        “Thank you, Peter,” I said softly.

        He tilted his head, his forehead crinkling adorably in confusion.

        “For what?” he asked.

        “For being so understanding, for supporting me… just… everything.”

        “You’re… welcome, I guess?” he replied, laughing a little. “I’ll always be here for you, Kait. I… I care about you.”

        His voice cracked a little as he said that, and I wondered if maybe he’d almost said something else…

        “I care about you too, Peter Parker.”

--

A/N: Aw, cute Kait and Peter... My ship name for them is Spider Bite. Like Spider Man and Frostbite... get it? Lol, anyways, I hope you enjoyed this new part. Thirty parts now, by the way! How exciting! What would you like to see in the next part? Be sure to let me know in the comments!

Series Tags: @shamvictoria11 @mla02 @fanficcrapforme @goodbyefornow123 @thebookisbtr @what-inspirational-name

Everything Tags: @coconutknees @hollymac79 @jordan-ia @ace-marvel-chick

[theculturalevolution]

SHE DON’T CARE ABOUT TIME The Byrds: An Appreciation

by David

For the past several months I have been listening to The Byrds obsessively, which is, I believe, the best way to listen to them.  Though they have produced a number of amazing songs – “Mr. Tambourine Man,” ” Eight Miles High,” “So You Want to be a Rock and Roll Star” – they are much more about a sound than a song.  Their greatest hits package does not do them justice and allows only a vague approximation of their true greatness.  

They were the first major US Rock and Roll band to emerge post British Invasion (you know – Beatles, Stones, Dave Clark 5, Zombies, Gerry and the Pacemakers, The Animals, etc..) I am, of course, excluding the soul and Motown stuff which was also dominant on US charts before, during and after all those English hits.  And, no, Gary Lewis and the Playboys don’t count as “major,” though they beat The Byrds on to the pop charts with their own teeny-bopper sound.   Sam the Sham and the Pharoahs also conquered the charts earlier with their superbly frenetic, “Wooly Bully.”  Other American bands, like The Beau Brummels and The Sir Douglas Quintet, had hits prior to The Byrds.  They were really good bands who tried to cash in on the British Invasion, with deceptively British names despite their distinctly American sounds.  They did not sustain their pop successes but each had noteworthy careers as cult acts in the years following.  Also remember that those contemporary charting behemoths The Beach Boys with their sunny West Coast sound, and The Four Seasons with their East Coast doo-wop predated all that cross-the-ocean stuff.  All in all, the top 40 charts of 1965 were a wild and wonderful place to be.  

And so went the Byrds with their name alluding to The Beatles, and their sound reminiscent of The Searchers – sweet, high harmony over jangly guitar.  Play “Needles and Pins” after a listen to “Feel a Whole Lot Better” for convincing.   Listening to both terrific songs, you will also hear that The Byrds did a fuller, more rocking version of that sound.  

Released on April 12, 1965, “Mr. Tambourine Man” was a revelation.  Anyone who heard it on the radio was challenged to stop, look and listen. That opening is still magic: a few seconds of ringing 12 string, followed by a sonorous, melodic bass, and then the wispy, barely heard harmonies emerge. You are hooked whether you hear it on a tinny car radio or a state of the art hi-fi set . It was a huge hit, and announced the beginning of Folk-Rock, paving the way for Bob Dylan’s own entrée to top 40 radio.  For a few blessed weeks, starting July 3, 1965 the best selling singles in the US were “Can’t Help Myself,” “Satisfaction,” “Mr. Tambourine Man,” eventually joined over the weeks by “Like a Rolling Stone,” “I Got You Babe,” “ Do You Believe in Magic,” “ Help” and “California Girls” -- The Greatest Summer of the Greatest Year in Rock Music!  That summer, pop music had expanded its reach, both musically and lyrically, and grew up (or, at least, reached later adolescence.)    

Starting with their first album, The Byrds begot hypen rock, moving from folk-rock on to pioneer psychedelic-rock (“Eight Miles High”), electronic-rock (“2-4-2 Foxtrot” with its sole lyric of “Come ride a Learjet baby”) and country-rock (“Time Between,” etc.)  Their harmony laden, folky strum sound laid the foundation (for better or worse) for Buffalo Springfield, CSNY, The Eagles and the whole LA mellow sound. Their guitar sound was crucial to REM who spawned College-Rock, and in their Sweetheart of the Rodeo phase they were a cornerstone of the Americana and Alt-Country genres.  Though their shape-shifting, and their willingness to incorporate diverse sounds in their music was emblematic of the time and represented a generally held restlessness and exploratory impetus, they were, I have to say, frequently first.  The Byrds were, in short, an astonishingly important and influential band with myriad pleasures to be gotten beyond their singles.  

What’s significant about the Byrds is not their musical diversity but their core sound which remained essentially identifiable through all the innovations.  Jon Landau wrote that “what makes their eclecticism so interesting is that the style they have concocted out of all these musical sources is very uneclectic and is, in fact, a style of incredible consistency.”  Jim (Roger) McGuinn’s distinctive voice was a constant, but other better singers contributed – Gene Clark, David Crosby, Gram Parsons.  The harmonies remained largely singular, their instrumental sound, anchored by McGuinn’s 12 string and Chris Hillman’s bass, was easily identifiable, and the way their voices were mixed under the instruments remained constant. Their music seems to have a consistent density. The liner notes for their first album quotes Jim McGuinn reflecting that they wanted to create a modern sound which mimicked the whoosh of a jet plane.  And that sound is what makes immersion both necessary and pleasurable.  

They couldn’t do funk or hard rock – compare their “Hey Joe” to Hendrix’ for a laugh – and they vie with The Beach Boys for the whitest sound of all time.  They really could not jam.  I once heard a live version of “ Jesus is Alright With Me” that went on for an entire album side that was a monstrous snore.  But they were all about lyricism and beauty and enveloping sonic transcendence.  Their signature and central irony is that they took songs important for their lyrics – Dylan and Pete Seeger for example – and drained them of their meaning and emotions to create pure loveliness.  I’m not sure how many listens it took me to realize that the mining disaster ballad “The Bells of Rhymney” was supposed to be sad and accusatory. You sure could not tell it from the sound.  In the Byrds’ version it is a startlingly lovely song, angelic and shimmering.  Andrea debated a high school teacher about this very idea.  This approach worked perfectly most of the time -- “Mr. Tambourine Man,” “My Back Pages,” “ Turn, Turn, Turn,” etc – and sometimes it failed – the jolly sounding “The Times They are A’ Changing.”  The best way to listen to them is to submerge yourself in their sound, preferably alone, at length and at high volumes.   Yes, The Byrds can be background music, but that’s not them.  

When I talk about the Byrds, I am talking about their first six albums, and the song, “The Ballad of Easy Rider” which I love.  And I’ll recognize The Notorious Byrd Brothers here, one of the most gorgeous, unheralded albums of all time, a gem of psychedelia.  Even their sixth album, Sweetheart of the Rodeo, seemed to signal a decisive change in aesthetics:  beautiful, yes, but more country then rock, and more Parsons then McGuinn.   They were hi-jacked by the immensely talented Gram Parsons, who left the group after four months and went on to make the brilliant, first Flying Burrito Brothers album, The Gilded Palace of Sin with Byrd’s bass player Gene Hillman.  During and after this transition, The Byrds as we know them were no more.  

Though they wore those goofy Beatle bowl cuts, The Byrds had a rough hewn quality in photos.  They seemed like men rather than teenagers, and though I can’t prove it, I think they were the first act to pose in blue jeans and denim jackets, like brawny cowboys rather than fey Brits.  Just look at the beautiful cover of “Turn, Turn, Turn.”

McGuinn was the group’s leader, but the real most valuable player of the first two albums is Gene Clark, their first songwriter.  He was thrown out/left the group after their second album. (I heard fear of flying, I suspect alcoholism.)  His songs were knotty little minor key ditties about love’s complexity that took a while to sink in and when they did, attached themselves to your brain for days. His songs are the exception to the disjuncture between lyrics and sound.

Which brings me to “She Don’t Care About Time,” a B-side (to Turn Turn Turn) non-album obscurity that I discovered for myself a few years ago.  With cryptic, mysterious lyrics and joyous music (“Ticket to Ride” riff) this song is about an idealized romantic space where time is of no consequence: “time stands still” is the cliché. But this song extends that stale sentiment in unusual ways.  The female in this song  is beyond extending judgment (cf Dylan “she knows too much to argue or to judge”) and time stands still not only when she is with him, but when she is not there because she stands outside of rationality and temporality.  Because of this the narrator is able to psychologically incorporate her into his being (introject a psychoanalyst might say) and keep her with him continually.  This song alludes to religious space, to mindfulness, to cosmic consciousness, and to the psychoanalytic unconscious.  

 She Don't Care About Time

The Byrds

Hallways and staircases everyday to climb To go up to my white walled room out on the end of time Where I can be with my love for she is all that is mine And she'll always be there, my love don't care about time

I laugh with her, cry with her, hold her close she is mine The way she tells me of her love and never is she trying She don't have to be assured of many good things to find And she'll always be there, my love don't care about time

Her eyes are dark and deep with love, her hair hangs long and fine She walks with ease and all she sees is never wrong or right And with her arms around me tight I see her all in my mind And she'll always be there my love don't care about time

Songwriters: Gene Clark

She Don't Care About Time lyrics © BMG Rights Management US, LLC

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iTlS2JhaBJM

2/4/18 

#mrtambourineman #geneclark #byrds #jimmcguinn #shedon’tcareabouttime