#it’s just so funny how much she seems to HATE any other insects touching her

[littlewigglers]

It is once again Shoelace tantrum time.

[getlostsquidward]

I Wish (Part 2)

Carol Aird x fem!reader

A/N: Here you go!! Hope you like it <33

WC: 1.8k

Warnings: Mention of a slight anxiety attack

Summary: You and Carol settle your feelings for each other.

Part one

The hug was all Carol thought about for the next two days and the way you called her formally again. If you had just completed your confession, she would have risked it all for you. Not that she wouldn't, but she needed to know you're in the same boat.

The older woman didn't feel like doing anything. Avoided everyone as much as possible except calling Rindy once in a while. Florence was on vacation, and her daughter was at Harge's parent’s house. They probably won’t be back until tomorrow, she thought.

It was Monday, so you have to go to the Aird residence. You’re somehow agitated to see Carol again, afraid that you had overstepped your limit on that hug. That damned hug. You promised yourself not to indulge in any alcohol when you are in the presence of Carol so you wouldn't do anything stupid that you might regret later.

You knocked at the door, expecting Carol's beautiful face, but only silence answered you. You knocked again, "Hello? Is anyone home?" Silence. Confused, but mainly worried, you tried opening the door and it wasn't locked. Normally, Carol welcomed you, or if she's doing something, Rindy or Florence would open the door for you. There's not a sign of them in the living room. You went into the kitchen, no luck.

"Anybody home?" Carol heard someone from downstairs. Assuming it was Abby, she ignored it and turned her back to the door, in hopes of her friend won't bother her because she was ‘asleep’.

Still no answer, you went upstairs. Her car is parked outside and Harge's wasn't, so you went to the guest room, the room you know she sleeps in when her husband isn't home.

"Carol? Are you there? It’s Y/N." You called softly. Silence once again engulfing you, you proceeded to go back downstairs until you heard some shuffling from the room. Carol abruptly opened the door. Her hair was disheveled, has dark bags under her eyes, so worry flooded your chest. You held her shoulder, "Are you okay? Are you sick?"

Seeing concern paint your features, she replied "I-I'm fine. Just a little headache." She hated lying to you but she couldn't tell you either that you caused her unusual behavior the last two days.

"Have you eaten? Drink medicine? I'll make something if you-"

Carol shook her head, "I just-" "Can you get me a glass of water, please? Thank you." Nodding your head, you all but sprinted down the stairs to get her water. Knowing that she hasn't eaten yet, you made her a sandwich in haste so you go can go back up immediately.

When you get to her room, she's sitting on the edge of the bed, fiddling with her thumbs. You set down the tray on the nightstand and sat beside her. You sat in comfortable silence and wait for her to speak first.

“Rindy is with her grandparents today. They wouldn’t be back until tomorrow. I should’ve called you earlier. I’m so sorry for wasting your time-” You cut the rambling woman by squeezing her shoulder, “It’s fine, Carol. I have nothing better to do anyway. Since Rindy isn’t here I might as well babysit you instead, if you don’t mind my company.” You chuckled lightly, trying to soften the mood. I’ll be glad to spend all of my time with you.

You stood up and went to the window, missing the faint blush on the blonde’s cheek. “I don’t mind, darling. I'm much better now that you’re here. Thank you for gracing me with your presence.” Carol replied. You always found it pleasing how conversation easily flows between you two. Sometimes she will shoot you a flirty remark that made you flush, and some days you step up and subtly flirt back.

“How’s college, sweetheart? I hope you haven’t been slacking.” She joked, and you playfully scoffed at her. You know what? I have been distracted lately because there’s this person that occupies my mind 24/7. “What? Of course not.” You rolled your eyes lightheartedly. “A little distracted but it’s alright, I guess. We have research ongoing and it’s a bit stressful, but nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“Distracted? I hope going here three times a week isn’t taking much of your time.”

“No, it’s not.” You opened the window slightly to feel the breeze of the air outside. You closed your eyes and inhaled the fresh air that surrounds the countryside. The tranquil atmosphere in this area always gives you the solitude you seek. You didn’t notice that Carol had moved until she ducked her chin on the top of your head. You shot your eyes open and tensed at the contact. You can feel her faint heartbeat on your back that made your breath hitch.

“Hmm, if it wasn’t because of work, was it perhaps, because of a lover?” You can feel her teasing grin against your head. Feeling a little brave, you might as well tell her into a tiny and vague detail, since you were about to confess to her two days ago.

“It is, actually.”

“Oh? Tell me about this man, Y/N.”

You elected to ignore the bitterness in her voice and that she thought it was a man. “This person is... very charming. The elegance that oozes out of them captivates everyone in the same room as them. They look at me like I hung the stars. Sometimes I think they enchanted me or something.” You smile, losing yourself in the thought of Carol. “Even the way they smoke is mesmerizing to me. If they told me to jump a cliff, I know I would.” You chuckled to yourself. “I just hope they know they can count on me. If it comes down to the time that the world would be against her, I would hold her hand and stand by her side.”

“So it’s a her.”

That brought you out of your daydreaming. You got away from her hold and put as much distance you could, still facing her. The look on your face was like a deer caught in a headlight. Words were stuck in your throat. “I- I uh- I was-” You looked at every corner of the room, anywhere except her face and crossed your arms to your chest to shield yourself from the woman’s gaze. You chewed your lip and started clawing and scratching your left arm as if an insect has bitten that spot. Carol knew that that movement was one of the tells that you were getting anxious.

The blonde gestures you to sit at the bed. She cupped your cheek gently, “Breathe, sweetheart, breathe.” You leaned into the touch, held her wrist and pressed your thumb at the spot where her heartbeat is. The calm beat made you relax, heaving out a deep sigh.

“I understand, darling. You don’t have to be afraid.” A tear slid down from your eye but she caught it with her thumb. “There’s nothing wrong with a woman loving another woman.”

It’s now or never. Better tell her what you feel and face the rejection right now than bottle it all up then explode later. You tightened your grip on her wrist, soft enough to not hurt her, and met her loving eyes.

“I’m in love with you, Carol.”

“I’m in love with you, darling.”

You both said at the same time. The shock from each other’s confession mirrored your faces. Neither of you moved until Carol leaned in to kiss you. She glanced at your lips, then your eyes, and you nod once giving her consent to close the distance. She placed a chaste kiss on your lips and pulled away, leaning her forehead to yours. The limp arms on your side seemed like they’ve been alive and slipped their way to Carol’s waist and pulled her close again. The kiss was getting heated as Carol swiped her tongue on your bottom lip seeking entrance. You let her in as you both fight for dominance. Teeth and tongue clashing. Every word you haven’t been able to tell before is now spoken through this moment. Carol isn’t just the missing piece, but she completed your puzzle pieces together. You didn’t know when you moved but you’re now straddling her lap, her tongue still in your mouth. This is nice. This feels right.

Feeling light-headed, you pulled back and Carol brought her attention to your jaw. You let out a soft moan that made her nip at your pulse point.

You finally solved the riddle of your heart. It was Carol all along. You can clearly remember the times you spent in each other’s presence. The way you look at each other like you’re the only person in the room. The simple gestures from her; making you a cup of tea and draping you in a blanket when you and Rindy cuddled and sleeping by the fireplace waiting for them to come home. You didn’t know how Carol kissed your forehead one too many times she catches you asleep on the sofa. It’s all visible to you now. You’ve been too blinded by your self-doubt to see what’s in front of you all this time.

You giggled at this realization. Instead of pining after one another, you could have had Carol in your arms long ago. Carol pulled away from your neck and cocked her head, “What’s so funny, darling?” Flashing you a playful smile.

“Nothing. It’s just that,” Carol poked the side of your waist making you jerk sideways. “We could have done this before if I have been brave enough.” You said, still giggling but seriousness was laced in your voice. She tapped your thigh so you got up and plopped across the bed.

“Hush now, darling. None of that.” She laid next to you. “You are one courageous girl, and I admire you for it. In fact, you’re braver than me, sweetheart. Plus, we can always make up for the lost time,” Carol faced you and she now had that expression that you always find hard to read. “You know no one must know of this, right? As much as I want to hold you all of the time, darling, there’s..”

“I know, Carol.” Your eyelids are now getting heavy. “I know it will be hard, but as long as you’re by my side..” Carol’s alluring features was the last thing you saw before succumbing to slumber.

***

You woke up with an arm across your stomach and entangled limbs. Turning your head to the side, you see your lover peacefully sleeping with a small smile on her lips. Her problems are now at the back of her mind, now focused on another good thing that has happened to her.

You were a turtle finding its way back to the sea and Carol’s waves have guided you home.

[rhaenyratargeryn]

A Series of Firsts, pt. I (Crow x f!guardian)

Rating: T

Summary: First confessions, first drink, first kiss. All in one.

It was hard to pinpoint the exact moment her perspective shifted. It was one thing to say, when you awake as a guardian, whomever you were in your past life is gone, and another to put it into practice.

Especially when you knew the person that guardian had been in the very recent past.

Especially when you were the reason that person had died.

Of all the things Crow had learned (mostly against his will) about who he was before he awoke to the Light, that was one thing she was glad he had not discovered.

Which was a whole other mess for her mind and her heart to work out. It was hard enough at the start seeing the face of the man who she had hunted, had chased over the stars with hatred in her heart and revenge in her hands. Hands that had fired the Ace of Spades into Uldren Sov until he breathed no more.

Uldren had been proud. Haughty. A prince in his status and his manner.

And now this man who wore his face was hissing at having scorched his fingertips on the crackling campfire after adding a log. He sheepishly blew on them as Glint shook his small chassis with a chiding air.

“I told you to use a smaller log.”

“By all means, show me how it is done, Sparky.”

Glint couldn’t scowl, but the way his edges tightened and he groaned said well enough that he hated the endearment.

“That’s what I thought.” Crow said with a grin, catching her eye as she watched him. The expression softened, his voice lowering, “How’s it coming?”

Right. She was supposed to be mixing up the stew. Pulled from her thoughts, she returned to stirring, mixing packets of dried vegetable and meat rations into the stock that was, in truth, mostly water. It was a typical meal for guardians on the ground. And… well, despite Zavala having learned of Crow’s real identity, it was too risky still to have him walking around the tower.

He’d needed to “get out and stretch his wings” as he called it, and so here she was. Camped out in the EDZ with the Lightbringer formerly known as Uldren Sov. The man she had killed. And now the man she was stupidly, and irreversibly already half in love with.

There had been moments. Lots of moments. Too many moments.

First she’d thought the affection stemmed from the fact he looked up to her. Just another new Lightbearer with an awed respect for the Young Wolf, Hero of the Red War, the “Chosen One”… it wasn’t like she had set out to be any of those things. She had just done what needed to be done. She recalled she told him that once and he had chuckled with such… fondness. His voice pitching low then as it did now or whenever they were alone.

Like their conversations were a secret. His words for her ears alone.

She set the pot over the flame on it’s hanger, noting that despite Glint’s criticisms, the flame was high enough and hot enough to use.

“You seem distracted tonight.” Crow said, letting his hood fall back. Even in the dark his eyes glowed faintly, the color of a sunrise.

She told herself the shiver that ran up and down her arms was from the chill in the air.

“I’ve never been a talker.” She said and settled back down next to him. It was near enough that one of them only had to reach out to touch the other. It would be too obvious to move now, she thought with a silent curse, frowning to herself.

“Is that so?” Crow said, his voice so earnest that for a moment she didn’t realize he was teasing her until she looked up and saw the faint smile on his lips.

Her traitorous heart skipped. Where was her Ghost? For that matter, where was Glint? They had both been here a moment ago.

“I thought… well… I thought maybe you were regretting bringing me along. I can’t say that last shot at the Fallen was my best moment.”

She had nearly forgotten. It was a small skirmish, something she could have easily taken solo. A Captain had swiped in close, nearly taking her arm off with his sword. Crow’s shot had missed, but it had forced the Captain back, giving her enough time to dispatch the Fallen herself. She had been surprised, but hadn’t given it more thought than that.

But now, in the dim light, she could see the same expression on Crow’s face he had worn when he came down from his perch and helped her bandage the shallow wound. It hadn’t been embarrassment, or even quite disappointment… but something else. Something deeper.

“It still saved me a very uncomfortable rez.” She said and the Crow just nodded, his brow pinched slightly as he cast his eyes aside. She turned, tilting her head to try to get back into his line of sight.

“Hey, I mean it. I would have regretted not bringing you along. This is so much better than being off on my own.”

Surprise flashed over his features, a deeper shade of indigo spreading across his cheeks. She suddenly found herself wishing a Taken portal would open up and swallow her whole. She turned away before he could see the same flush spread over her own face.

“… I agree.” Crow said and she risked another look over at him. He was smiling.

“One nice thing about being out of Spider’s lair— well, one of the nice things— I get to see you more often.”

She didn’t know what to say. The silence between them was only broken by the faint chirping of insects, the crackle of the fire and the faint bubbling sound of their dinner. Crow was looking at his hands, fidgeting with his gloves and picking at the fabric.

“Anyway. I appreciate that you humor a kinderguardian like me.” Crow began, his voice tinged with forced humor to hide the deprecation, “Letting me tag along—“

“I like it too.” She said, the words coming out so fast it came out more as “liketoo” than a comprehensive sentence.

The Crow had stopped fidgeting. The insects and the fire were overloading her senses again.

“… I really respect you. As a guardian, as a comrade. And… And I like to think of you as a friend.” Crow continued, “…and I like to think of you.”

He stopped.

“You like to think of me as—?” She prompted, breath held in her lungs.

He smiled, “That’s all. I like to think of you.”

Oh.

Oh.

Crow’s confession had brought a permanent heat to his cheeks, his expression softening as if he were marveling that he managed to even get the words out. She was marveling them too. Or more like, feeling her thoughts collapse inward on themselves like a black hole.

“What... um. What does that mean?” She said, feeling dumb and fumbling and definitely not like someone with the title of “Godslayer”.

“I… “ he began, but whatever it was that had slipped forward was beginning to retreat once more, “…well, I… it’s… just a sentiment I suppose.”

It was now or never.

“I think about you too. Often. A lot. I think about you a lot. And… I know I’m this ‘role model’ and thought of as this untouchable big damn hero and everyone— no. Look. The point is, me too.”

To his credit, the Crow listened to her outburst with quiet attentiveness, even nodding once or twice in understanding.

“It just seems impossible.” He said at last, shrugging slightly, “I can’t imagine why someone like you—”

“Don’t look at the pedestal.” She said, her voice firm, “Just look at me. C’mon, you’ve seen how I eat. I talk in my sleep too, I know I do. I never clean my guns right and I’ve had half a dozen sparrow related rezes because I’m a shitty driver.”

That last one got a laugh.

“So let’s just focus on the win here, yeah? You like me.” She waited until the Crow picked up on the prompt and he nodded, confirming it, “And I like you. Now it’s out there.”

Crow let out a breath that turned into a nervous laugh, “It’s definitely out there.”

When it became apparent neither one of them knew how to go on, there was a soft sigh from somewhere nearby. Glint and her own Ghost glided out from the trees, coming to perch near their guardians.

“And what were you two doing?” Crow said, clearly relieved for a subject change.

“Oh, just— just patrolling.” Glint said hurriedly, earning what could be imagined was a wry look from her own Ghost. He turned that look on her then as if he were exasperated with her for something.

She had a funny feeling why the pair had left them alone.

—-

A day had become a week and then a week had easily fallen into the next. Devrim had even radioed in at one point to tell them to “leave some for the rest of us” after the fourth Fallen patrol they had decimated.

They worked well together, the awkwardness of the night before fading into routine. It surprised her how natural such a foreign concept like touch was to them. A bump on the shoulder with a closed fist, a silent congratulations for a good shot. The brush of their hands when they passed ammo or a water canteen. The touch of his arm, brushing against her own perhaps every thirteenth of a second when they walked too close together.

Even at the campfire they slowly had begun to draw nearer and nearer, their orbit closing in on the other. His, with an innocent like curiosity. Her own interest decidedly less innocent, but also still— cautious. She felt the pull of his light, new and bright. Her own had not shimmered so in a long time… he was naive, young and rash. He needed looking after, not another responsibility. The point driven even further home now by the way he teetered unsteadily even sitting.

Devrim had sent a patrol over to meet them with fresh supplies. One of them being a bottle of something he called “Gulchshine” which, judging by the smell, was maybe only one molecule away from pure ethanol. Crow hadn’t drank since he was revived. Which was the same as saying he’d never drank before at all.

“This is disgusting. I can’t stop drinking it.” Crow said, his voice not so much slurred as it was relaxed. Open and unguarded.

“What is that? Is that lemon? Or is it just my taste buds dying?”

“It… definitely seems like lemon.” She said, giving a tiny sip to the cup in her own hand. There was a citrus like bite beneath the taste of rubbing alcohol, but it was not near sweet or sour enough to mask the bitterness of the clear liquid.

“Like someone whispering the word ‘lemon’ from another room.” Crow murmured and took another sip, a shudder going over him as he swallowed. He brought the bottle to his lips again and with a chuckle, she leaned nearer and said in a soft voice,

“Lemon."

Crow nearly choked on his laugh. It was a nice sound, one she didn’t hear often enough from him.

“That exactly.” He said after he’d caught his breath, turning towards her with a grin. The smile faded at the realization of how close they were. His eyes half-closed and dreamy in their regard as he lifted a hand up to brush back a strand of hair from her face.

She could smell the alcohol on his warm breath, the moss of the greenery around them, the fresh air… could feel the warmth from the Earth beneath them and from his hand on her cheek. She reached out, holding him by the chin to keep him in place as she leaned forward and pressed a kiss, as faint as the sweet taste of citrus, on his lips.

She had not expected to do that. She equally did not expect him to curl his hand behind her head and pull her in, his mouth already open for another kiss which she happily provided. Crow groaned, an involuntary and needful sound.

Desperation. She could taste it in his kiss, in the way he tentatively returned the soft touch of her tongue, inexperienced but so eager to learn. To feel. He craved it in every gasp, every pull of his fingers through her hair. He wanted to be touched— with tenderness, with kindness. His body lit with it, his breathing fast and quick and his touch edging towards rough in its eagerness. Like he couldn’t get close enough. A wanting so strong and so foreign and yet familiar. She felt him struggle with it— with his body knowing vaguely what it wanted but his mind struggling to keep up.

So she guided him. Over and over. Kissing not just his lips but the highpoint of his cheek and the juncture where his jaw met his neck. She let her teeth rasp over his pulse, thready and rapid at his throat and relished in the way he shivered. She wasn’t sure when she had been settled into his lap, only that she enjoyed the way it made her just a fraction taller.

They were wearing too many clothes. She wanted to touch him, to run her hands over every expanse of his skin until he remembered her touch more than he remembered any bullet or beam or weapon that had ever struck him. The sudden movement of her hands to the hem of his shirt had an immediate sobering effect, his body going rigid beneath her.

“… too fast.” She said, nodding half at her self. She let her hands slide back up, resting her arms around his shoulders. Crow swallowed thickly and she repressed the urge to kiss his neck all over again.

“I’ve never— I mean, not that I remember…”

It made perfect sense. His uncertainty mixed with certainty. Moments of lucidness where he no doubt remembered past lovers, past kisses, and then for them to fade like starlight from his grasp. Despite the confession, the Crow didn’t look daunted, his hands still clutching to her waist.

“Do you want to stop?” She asked, shifting her weight back.

“I…“ Crow paused, his pupils blown wide, an eclipse on a sunset sky, “… I just want to touch you. Is… is that okay?”

“That’s okay.” She said, pressing a kiss to his jaw and relishing in the way he relaxed beneath her hands. His arms held her so tightly, their ribs pressed together hard enough for there to be a faint spark of pain. She didn’t care.

His fingers had found a spot beneath her collar, seeking out the soft skin at the nape of her neck. She turned her cheek against his, pressing and rubbing her lips against him more than actually kissing. Crow seemed dazed, a soft hum coming from his throat as she felt his eyelashes brush against her skin, his eyes closing.

“Is everyone this warm?” He asked, unthinking, “Sorry— weird question.”

“Probably has something to do with the Gulchshine.”

She pulled back, placing her hands on either side of his face and noting the warmth radiating from his skin.

“You’re flushed down your neck.” She said, observing the darker blue color that bloomed out over his skin.

“I’m not that drunk.”

She rose an eyebrow.

“I didn’t say I wasn’t drunk, just not that drunk.”

“So is this for me then?”

He didn’t answer, a sputter dying in his throat as he shook his head.

“I lied. I’m drunk.”

She laughed and kissed him again, just to be sure and he breathed into it like she was the very air he needed. An arm around her waist, his hand tangled in her hair, he followed her kiss by kiss, learning his own rhythm and occasionally trying something new. Discovering how he liked to kiss her. How he liked to be kissed back. It felt important. It felt special. These things only heightening the very intimacy of the act.

She’d never felt this way just from kissing someone before. Something she imagined they had in common.

“... if I knew it felt this good, I would have done it a long time ago.”

“You really are drunk.”

He made a questioning noise, his mouth too busy testing out the way she has kissed his neck on her own. He licked a long line up to her jaw. She had definitely not shown him that.

“People are more honest when they are drunk.” She clarified, her words veering towards breathless

“Glitch might have mentioned it.”

At the mention of the ghosts, both guardians froze, eyes drifting to where the two lights were perched, watchful but silent nearby.

They had forgotten they were there.

Oh god they had forgotten they were there.

“Don’t mind us.” Her own Ghost said, voice filled with dry amusement.

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Keeping Vigil || Morgan & Eddie

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @specterchasing & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: When Morgan can’t carry her hope, Eddie is there to help. 

CONTAINS: body horror, discussions of death, mortality, decay

After reaching another dead end in her search for answers, Morgan broke down and took an extra long shower to get rid of her smell and wash the rough parts on her body that had been hurt or picked at by bugs. The water pattered on her just right, steadier and softer than rain. When she let it fall into her ear and make the room feel like underwater, she could hold onto the water and nothing else and the aches and cramps faded, and everything was fine. She savored the change in water temperature as it faded from hot to cool as much as the change in the sky from light to dark.

A little later, as she picked at cold fried rice and brains, the waistband on her sweats started to feel a little tight, and when Morgan looked down her coloring had gone another shade of wrong and when she touched her stomach (first in the middle, then all around) she got the sinking feeling she used to once a month: bloating. Maybe it was water damage, maybe it was just that time in the un-life cycle. It didn’t fucking matter, did it?

“Great. First I’m dead, then I’m falling apart and ripped up like a rag doll, and now I’m a dead ripped up balloon doll waiting to pop.” She thought about how she’d announce this latest development to Deirdre when she got home and decided she didn’t want to. So she made some tea, remembered all the chamomile in the world wouldn’t actually calm her and threw it against her studio. 

The mug bounced off the wall. Tea splattered the yard.

Morgan picked it up and holed herself up inside the four little walls where she was supposed to be alone. Maybe if she disappeared in a book or a playlist she could forget about what was happening to her body. Funny how she’d dreamed of feeling the world again every day for the last fourteen months; now she’d try just about anything to go numb and float off again.

As Eddie approached the front door of Morgan’s home, an unexpected sound from the backyard caught his attention. He took a few steps back and looked over the fence in time to see the studio door close. If that’s where Morgan was, it would be pointless to try getting into the main house. Admittedly, tracking her down would be a nonissue if she knew he planned to drop by, but Eddie had a sneaking suspicion she didn’t want visitors in her current condition. Be that as it may, he needed to see her. For all he knew, this might be his last chance.

Eddie reached over the fence’s gate and unlocked it from the other side, immediately re-locking it once inside. Even in his haste, he didn’t want to be the reason something unwanted took an open door as an invitation. Eddie quickly bypassed the garden that usually imbued him with a sense of calmness. Today, all it did was put more space between him and Morgan.

At the studio door, Eddie knocked only to enter without waiting for a response. The second he saw her, his heart fell into his stomach. Morgan, for the first time since meeting her, looked dead.

“I heard about what happened,” Eddie announced. He figured wasting time on small talk would be insulting at this point. “I wish you would’ve told me yourself, but I guess it doesn’t matter now.” As he spoke, he walked further into the studio. “I’m sure you’ve got plenty of people in your corner right now. Is there room for me to throw my hat in the ring?”

Morgan only managed a few minutes of stillness before she heard a knock. She flinched, dreading what she would have to explain to Deirdre, but before she could work up the nerve to answer, Eddie came in. She was so startled she forgot to cover her face. Her blue-purple pallor was growing new colors, black in some places, yellow in others. Somehow, her skin was peeling and shriveled and swollen at once. Her eyes, now clouded like frost on a window, looked smaller than they should and her lids sagged around the empty space. For a woman who would never age, she sure looked like she had outlived her time.

In the brief instant Eddie held the door open, three flies flew in and circled lazily toward her. They knew a good thing when they saw it. She should probably have been more grateful that maggots and fungi hadn’t found her yet, but the only thought she had room for was, Eddie shouldn’t be here.

“W--what? I--” It didn’t really matter how he found out, did it? “I don’t want to be one of those people that puts their bullshit on kids and makes them carry it,” she sighed. “And I don’t...know what I’m going to do about any of this. If I can do anything about this. I went through the books I had, I tried looking through some others and--” Nothing. She slumped back in her corner on the day bed and covered her face with a pillow. Then, feeling ridiculous, tossed it away and settled for pulling her legs up and hiding that way. “You should probably grab some air freshener from the kitchenette,” she mumbled.

Eddie had never seen Morgan look so small before. In the past, her petite frame always seemed like an act of misdirection. When she spoke, the weight of her words commanded attention. Her laugh charmed a sigh of relief from the world around her. Out of everyone Eddie knew, he couldn’t think of a single person he respected more than Morgan Beck. Seeing her this way didn’t change that, it only proved the severity of the situation. It was time for him to start repaying her for everything she’d done.

“Well, this kid would rather help carry your bullshit than let it bury you,” Eddie replied as he took her advice and walked over to the kitchenette. He wanted to tell her he didn’t mind the smell but lying wouldn’t make the situation any better. Eddie pulled the trigger and a clean-linen scented mist mingled with the smell of decay. It would have to do.

“So,” he continued, moving closer to her before taking a seat beside her on the day bed. “Catch me up to speed, I only know the bare minimum.” Eddie didn’t think being told the details would lead them to a solution but that wasn’t why he came here. Other, more capable people would help Morgan in that area. What he wanted to accomplish was simply to make sure she knew she wasn’t alone. Maybe it wasn’t as glamorous of a purpose as finding a cure but believed it to be important all the same. “You woke up and, out of nowhere, you were alive again?”

Morgan grimaced at the hiss of the air freshener. She had suggested it, but smelling it and knowing how little good it would do was another matter. “You might wanna go a little heavier on that,” she deadpanned. “I’m almost a week into this, and whatever is fucking with me the slow, painful way, has a year’s worth of decay to catch up on.” She let her head rest against the wall and closed her eyes. All her physical senses back, and she still had to endure this latest cosmic ‘fuck you’ in complete sobriety. No rest. No relief.

She curled up a little tighter as he sat by her, as if her death-sickness was contagious. “Uh, if you haven’t noticed, I apparently don’t need to be buried. I can decompose all by myself.” She worked his question thoughtfully, trying to find the right words for it. How stupidly excited she was for so little, and how suddenly it was a little too much.

“I wasn’t alive,” she said at last, face still buried in her knees. “No heartbeat. No warmth. I could just...feel again. The bedsheets were cold. And soft. Weirdly soft. And my girlfriend was soft and cold but different, and the carpet was...coarse and thick and plushy...it was like I’d never been on this planet before. Everything was new. The words I had weren’t enough to describe it. I spent a whole two days convincing myself that whatever was happening it wouldn’t be so bad. Some weird town thing we’d have to reverse. But then I got hurt and it took me forever to heal. And then I didn’t heal at all. And I ate, I had so many brains, but my body was shriveling up, turning color, smelling, all that gross stuff that’s not supposed to happen to me if I do everything I’m supposed to. And do you know how it feels, literally feels, to have your body dry up? Or to--” One of the flies landed on her cheek and began exploring the new terrain. Morgan raised her hand and let it, waiting til it reached her hairline where she wasn’t so sensitive. She slapped it dead and left the goo where it was. “Be food for the bugs? Because that’s something I know now. Can’t wait for everything else to go, or for whatever’s keeping me wide awake for the whole horror science show to...decide what comes next.” She didn’t want to die. She wouldn’t be this frustrated if she did. But being nothing but wobbling bones and leather and dust frightened her just as much as oblivion. She didn’t know which she was really supposed to hope for.

Eddie listened as Morgan described the past few days. At first, her condition sounded like a gift. He remembered when she told him how badly she missed being able to experience the world as a living participant. No heartbeat or warmth meant certain sensations were still off limits but, other than that, he imagined those first two days felt pretty damn good. A false sense of security, obviously. He hated this.

Morgan swatted the fly and Eddie’s lips pursed in response. “Hold on,” he announced, standing up to make his second trip to the kitchenette. Facing the counter, he tore a few paper towels from the roll and wetted them in the sink. After wringing out the extra moisture, he carried them back to the daybed and took his seat again. Eddie tentatively reached out and, as gently as he could, washed away the insect’s remains. When his hand lowered, he kept the damp wad of paper in his hand in case another decided to land on her.

“Morgan, do you remember what you said to me about hope, that it’s a choice?” Eddie asked. Of all people, he knew how unqualified he was to preach the importance of hope but he wanted to try. “You also said that to stop believing in the future is to stop believing in existing.” Even if he lacked the experience to explain the importance of looking for good, he knew Morgan didn’t. He could use her own words to help him navigate the situation.

“This isn’t the first time life’s given you its worst,” he said. “Obviously, you can roll over and accept hopelessness. Or, you can do what you do best and tell death to go fuck itself.”

“Yeah, this is an anomaly—so are you. Nothing is written, right? Don’t give up. Not yet.”

There were a lot of words Morgan had spoken in the past that haunted her now. Magic is going to save my life. All I need is to break the curse. Hope is a fucking choice. What was there to hope for when the only thing on the horizon was another shade of suffering? How could she continue believing in existence, when existence seemed to be shutting her down at both ends? Was she supposed to bone-jangle her way downstairs to breakfast every morning? Or be carried on a stretcher in so many pieces, to and fro? Or would the magic take away her mind too, and this was simply a farewell tour she didn’t have a say in? Morgan didn’t see much hope in that. What had all her suffering been for? A year of half a life, and then this?

Morgan scrubbed her eyes with the back of her hand and said nothing for a while. Then, just peeking over her knees with dead, swollen eyes, she said, “Death comes for everyone, Eddie. That’s what gives life balance. We end. We go...somewhere. Home. Even if it’s not until this planet implodes or gets struck by the right meteor. Everything is change. To stay stuck one way, that’s the biggest waste of what we have.” She shrugged. “But...stars in the fucking sky above…” Her voice drowned with held-in tears. “I couldn’t find anything about this, Eddie. I haven’t figured it out. And I don’t know what I’m supposed to imagine to hope for. And I’m so tired...I am so tired of climbing back up, of fighting the universe for one scrap of good. And right now...I almost wish I could give up. But I don’t even know what to give up on. All of it looks like giving up something right now.”

Eddie knew death came for everyone. Until recently, he clung to that fact with everything he had. Even now, his grip was only a little looser than before. Death, to him, sounded like a release. Morgan was tired, it made sense for her to want rest. A few months ago, Eddie might not have argued that it wasn’t the answer, but now he knew what loss felt like. If Morgan died, a piece of him would too. Ironically enough, the more he cared about someone, the more selfish he became.

“Lots of things that happen in this town don’t have books written about them. That doesn’t make them impossible to handle,” Eddie insisted before adopting a softer tone. “I know you’re tired. If anyone deserves rest, it’s you, and you’ll get it.” Eddie reached out with his free-hand and took hold of Morgan’s. “Like you said, death’s inevitable but it doesn’t have you yet. As long as you’re here, there’s a chance for things to get better. And—and, no, I don’t know what your pain feels like, but I know my own. Most days, getting out of bed is a fucking triumph, but I still do it; for you. For Alfie, for Bex, and Kyle, and everyone else who’s been kind to me. I don’t know what I’m hoping for exactly. Maybe I’m just hoping for hope.” Eddie paused before speaking again. “Think about that scrap of good, are you ready to let it go?” He meant the question genuinely and without pretense. “If you do, there’s no getting it back. No more garden, no more Deirdre, no more laughter, no more anything. Is there really nothing left worth fighting for?”

Morgan hid her face again as it crumpled with grief. But she let Eddie take her hand, and though her fingers were stiff, she squeezed his back. Mina had told her once that life was a curse of its own; Morgan had brushed it off as a flash of witty irony. But it came to her again now: was this living? Was crawling out of one hole only to fall into another what life looked like from the inside? She couldn’t think of a person she knew who wasn’t crawling out of something right now. The difference was only in terms of degree. When she was alive, human-alive, she had coached herself into accepting happiness as a stolen gift, a thing she would be caught red handed with and have to surrender. It would all be okay, because when the curse was over, she could have as much as she wanted and more. She could chase down every bright thing and know that however it turned out, it was fair as anything on earth could be, and she had given her best. It made her dry organs shrivel just a little more to suppose this was the way of all things, not just a thirty-nine-year blip of existence.

And yet there was no better choice before her. It was just like Eddie said. If she tried to will this bullshit to the end, she would be releasing everything she’d fought so hard to hold. And if she surrendered to the thought of an eternity of true living death, it would be much the same. The world struck no natural balance in the course of a life, and in White Crest it arched toward cruelty, and yet there had to be another horizon. These scraps of good had to be enough because they were all she had. And maybe In another week, a month, in a decade, things would be different. Magic always had a key to unlock itself. What was done might someday be undone. (Might, and with so little evidence to make it feel like anything at all.) She tried to imagine it, coming out of a stupor like sleeping beauty, kissing her own skin for holding its shape and keeping her here just enough to try and make a better balance in the world, kissing Deirdre, and the cats, and having every fresh memory from those early days to guide her toward contentment. She couldn’t hold the image very long. It burnt in flashes. Somehow, it hurt worse than either path of doom she saw. Morgan nodded and let hope in and sobbed, breaking with the weight of it.

She tried to muffle her cries with her other hand, but it was no good. She shook and soaked her sweatpants with her tears and turned Eddie’s fingers red with her grip. At last she noticed the change in the feel of his hand and let go. “Sorry. I’m...s-sorry. Um.” She wiped her face on her sleeve and tried to look at the boy. “You know you’re...a really kind, brave kid, right? And that’s why we all want you to be more careful? Because we need more of that around. We need you. And I wish you could be there for yourself like you are for me right now.” She heaved another dry sob and scrubbed her face again fighting for composure. It was always harder to show up for yourself, especially when you were alone.

“I’m not--uh, this isn’t because--” She gestured vaguely at the mess of herself. “I mean, you’re right. You’re right and I know you’re right and it’s just--” Kind of wish you weren’t. It would be so much easier if you weren’t. She shook her head, abandoning words in favor of meeting his gaze. What she didn’t know how to say was this: it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done, holding out for hope and hoping for its own sake. But Eddie knew dark almost as well as she did; maybe he would know this just by looking at her, too.

When Morgan broke down, Eddie knew he’d struck a chord. He could only hope that meant something good and that he hadn’t made things worse. Her grip on his hand tightened exponentially but the pain barely registered. All he could focus on were her anguished sobs—he wondered how long she’d been trying to swallow them. Despair like that didn’t come to term in an instant. It laid in wait, brewing and accumulating more grievances both big and small until it could no longer be contained. If he had managed to help her rethink the release of death, maybe a release like this one would suffice for now.

“No, no, it’s—” Eddie’s dismissal of Morgan’s apology cut off when she spoke again. His expression slowly relaxed, brows raising in gentle surprise. A few people had called him brave now but he never seemed to get used to it. After spending so much of his life in hiding, he didn’t think he deserved that kind of praise. At the same time, he wanted to believe he was wrong. Eddie smiled sadly at Morgan. “One day, maybe. It’s a work in progress.” He didn’t know what to say about being needed but he tucked the compliment away somewhere he could find it when he lost sight of what mattered.

What she said—or, more accurately, didn’t say next resonated exactly as she expected it to. “It feels impossible, doesn’t it?” Eddie asked before his smile returned. “Kind of like when you’ve been in the dark for so long your eyes adjust to it and suddenly a light comes on and blinds you.” He gingerly rubbed the back of her with his thumb. “We’ll adjust to the light the same as we did the dark, just gotta give ourselves some time.”

Morgan nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Slowly, she unfolded her legs. There wasn’t much of her left to hide, and the second fly was already crawling along her skull. She thought about what Eddie said when it came to the light and the dark, and wondered how long it would take for her vision to get screwed up from so much back and forth that everything hurt. It would have to be a long time from now, wouldn’t it? She would have to make it that way.

After what seemed like a long time she said, “You know, for someone who lumped in hope with the evils of the world, you’re getting pretty good at being hope’s cheerleader.” Then after another silence, “You don’t have to stay with me though, okay? I’m not gonna go off the deep end, or do anything I shouldn’t. Deirdre will probably be home soon anyway.” Time had a way of moving funny when you were miserable, something Eddie was probably familiar with too, but the last thing she wanted him to carry was more worry about her. She nearly reached over to pat his arm, reassure him in a performance of her good ol’ self, but she remembered how she looked and let it fall empty instead. “Thank you though,” she said quietly.

Since Eddie last gave Morgan his opinion on hope, a lot had changed—was still changing. He didn’t find comfort in misery as much as he used to. Now, he understood happiness took a little elbow grease and that brains need to be re-wired every now and then. Some days were harder than others, he didn’t always believe his positive affirmations, but he was trying. For himself and everyone he loved, he was trying.

“When you’re wrong, you’re wrong,” he said with a shrug. “I thought I might as well give your outlook a shot. It’s going pretty okay so far.”

When Morgan next spoke, Eddie considered her carefully. He didn’t want to linger if she needed time to decompress but he also didn’t want to risk leaving too soon. Finally, he said, “Okay, if you’re sure.” Eddie stood up and took a deep breath before turning to face her. “If you need anything, anything at all, call me. I don’t care what time it is. I know it sucks to feel like you’re weighing people down but I love you, Morgan. I like helping you.” He leaned down to wrap his arms loosely around her. “Don’t ever feel like a burden.”

“I love you too, Eddie,” Morgan whispered. “Go on now. Be good and I’ll see you soon.”

Eddie straightened up and walked over to the kitchenette to toss the wadded up paper towels in the trash. Afterwards, he headed for the door. “See you soon,” he said, glancing back at Morgan before taking his leave.

[theseathatsparkles]

On Bugs

so for creative writing class we were told to imitate Amy Dillard’s writing style. This is the essay on bugs that I ended up making. Not Bleach, I know, but I thought someone might enjoy it. 

This took so long to write oh my god ;-;

also, I am fully aware that not all insects are bugs, and that spiders aren’t either of the two, but. bug is much more fun to say.

Word count - 1500 on the dot

@despairforme THE BUG ESSAY. IT’S HERE. @onenicebugperday you inspired me to write a four page essay about bugs i hope you’re happy

When I was in third grade, I dropped a dandelion down the back of my classmate’s shirt. She was upset, having thought the rather inconspicuous dandelion was a daddy long-legs spider. She’d screamed, slapped me on the chest in an attempt to escape her arachnid harasser, and had decided to wage war against me for the rest of our time together in school.

I never was afraid of spiders the way she was. Spiders and snakes and all sorts of bugs, so long as I could be assured they weren't poisonous, had always held a special place in my heart - and, more often than not, my hand. Growing up in woody, wet Germany gave me a healthy dosage of ladybugs, crickets, and snails at a young age, and I never looked at a bug with anything other than fascination. 

It’s the middle of winter, now. There aren’t many bugs around. Forty-two little silhouettes in the light above my desk, but none of them move, empty exoskeletons like shells. They’re probably dry, and if I touched one I’m sure it would crumble under my fingers. There seem to be more of them every time I look up; it’s the middle of winter, so the warmth of the indoors must be especially tantalizing. Right now, there isn’t any wind outside, but the world seems to be painted in shades of grey. Even looking outside makes you feel cold, and the drifts of iced-over snow outside of the window just emphasize this.

I have mixed feelings about winter. I love the snow, love having an excuse to stay inside wrapped in blankets on the days I don’t have school. I love that there aren’t mosquitoes to follow me around - I must taste good to them, since they always seem to swarm me. But the lack of the bugs I do like - spiders, caterpillars, grasshoppers, even the jeweled dragonflies that swarm our canoes in summer - makes winter feel especially harsh.��

When I’m feeling more grey than usual, I turn to the internet to soothe me. My computer has a tab open - one nice bug per day. The third picture that appears on image search is a gorgeous skeleton leaf moth, the row under that containing a domino cuckoo bee. I smile, looking at the pictures.  A photo of a hissing cockroach wearing a tiny paper party hat jumps out at me, curled around a leaf. I click on the picture, save it to my gmail by emailing it to myself. I’ll take some time to admire them later.

The bigger the bug the better, of course. Small bugs are hard to track, and the idea of one getting somewhere without me knowing about it gives me chills. That’s probably why I hate ants; they swarm up your legs and into your shoes and socks and it takes far too long to extract them all, and you feel phantom itches on your body for the next day or so. 

The fear of ants is called myrmecophobia, and often goes hand-in-hand with entomophobia - the fear of insects. When I was young - still in Elementary school, at a time before my decision to quit soccer - I’d practice with my mom in the field a bit southeast of the elementary school tucked at the base of the mountain pass. The playground had been north of us. I always wanted to go back to the playground. The whole complex had been a good half hour’s drive from my house, so we didn’t go there often, but it had an excellent jungle gym and some new swings. It got hot easily, out there under the sun; if I didn’t bring water, the ninety-degree weather would feel twenty degrees hotter, the sort of heat that makes you lightheaded and grumpy. 

But my mom had told me to play soccer, and she wasn’t the sort of person who you could say no to easily. I tried, of course, in futile attempts that would end with me in tears and my mom seething, but always ended up on that field, kicking the ball back and forth as my mom chastised me for skipping to the goal. Skipping, apparently, was slower than running.

 I’d hated soccer. 

It was one of those days that solidified my fear of ants. Wyoming doesn’t have fire ants or most other nasty biting bugs, so I was never in real danger, but that didn’t stop the whole experience from being traumatic. My mom, of course, had laughed about it later; it seems to be a habit of adults to take the irrational fears of children lightly. The ants crawling up my leg had probably been just as afraid of me as I was of them, but knowing that didn’t help any. Adults will tell you that the shark that bit off your arm was just as afraid of you as you were of it, but that doesn’t change the fact that your arm’s gone. 

I’d been unlucky enough to step right in an ant nest, the sort that stays hidden by the short grass until something, or someone, disturbs it. It hadn’t looked different from the regular ground from my five feet, but the moment I felt a tickle on my leg, I knew. 

I’d screamed. I think anyone would have screamed when confronted with one of their worst fears, so I never was ashamed of my reaction, even if I’d hated the exasperation and faint amusement on my mom’s face. The ants had come right off, lady fortune smiling on me that day, and I hadn’t found any tiny ant corpses in my shoes when I took them off that afternoon - a rarity; ants always seem to turn up in unexpected places post-encounter. I’d been paranoid, though, and had hopped around on one foot until I was a safe distance from the nest before shoving my hands down my socks to search for any lone ants. There were none.

I refused to resume play until I was positive there were no ants on me, of course. Even when we started the game again I was wary, taking light steps and watching the ground like a hawk for any sign of another insect. It had taken the fun out of the game pretty quickly, and we went home soon after.

The internet goes out for a moment, and the photo of the mantis I’m looking at shifts to a grey screen. I frown, take a second to stand up and stretch. My legs and shoulders are especially sore. By the time I sit down again, my picture has loaded again, and I scroll to the left to see a swallowtail butterfly looking out of the screen at me. They have yellow fur around their eyes and antennae, and look vaguely curious. This picture also goes to my saved folder to look at later, and I keep scrolling.

When I was in second grade, we studied bugs in science class. Not extensively; there’s only so much work you can get done as a scatterbrained second grader, and bugs weren’t on the top of my list of priorities. But we studied them, and after a few weeks our teacher imported seven Madagascar hissing cockroaches to be our class pets.

Nobody in my class was afraid of them; I think we were too young to be afraid of something as hideously cute as those little insects. They remind me of pugs now, disgusting in the sort of way that makes you want to coo over them. We’d kept them in a little glass terrarium in the back of the classroom, and took them out during lunch break and sometimes to sketch them during art. Our teacher had told us how to tell the males and females apart, but the information had gone straight in ear and out the other, like water through a sieve. There are two things I can remember about them now: first, that they would shed their skins sometimes and we’d have to clean out their terrarium; second, that if you poked their heads, they’d hiss.

The second thing was the most important to my little second-grade brain. My classmates and I took great satisfaction in poking the cockroaches and watching them puff up and make little hissing sounds like air coming out of a tire. They’d always make their funny wheezing sound, and we’d sit there for minutes on end - the longest amount of time our young minds could stay on track for - and tap them, giggling uncontrollably as they got progressively more frustrated.

I like bugs. I’m no entomologist, I would never spend my days in the wild watching them through magnifying glasses. But I still like them. Their colors remind me of spring and summer, and I love their size - perfect to pick up and put on a fingertip. They’re much more simple than people, never worried about money or jobs or politics. They have no worries, no fears.

I would love to be a bug.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Her Monster (part one)

[Wing AU; Tour!verse]

A new and improved rewrite of a very old fic! Hopefully this one will be better than the past one! I’ve cleaned it up a lot because GOD there were so many tense shifts lol

EB belongs to @spooner7308!!

TW: Blood

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

Chapter One - Devils Don’t Fly

Sometimes bad things just happened to good people. Sometimes fate just has other plans for someone. In EB’s case, that was very much true.

Elizabeth Barton--or simply EB--had been missing for a year and two months. She was remembered for her biting wit, harsh retorts, and overabundance of sarcasm. It wasn’t easy to get along with her, but there were a select few who were close to her, and that’s why her disappearance hit as hard as it did.

By now, though, mostly everyone had moved on.

The funeral was an open casket with just photos and one of her beanies inside. It was hard to look at, painful even. The idea that she was still alive, since her body was never found, came about, but it had been dropped for awhile.

EB became a mere memory in the back of the cast’s mind.

But Joan was still hanging onto the memories that she was still there.

Jane told her she needed to move on, and she knew she did, but she just couldn’t. She couldn’t accept the fact that her friend was really gone, that there was no one around to affectionately call her a “weird little creature” or beat up the hybrid-hating racists that sometimes loudly complained at stagedoors. No more warm hugs from giant griffon vulture wings that seemed to envelope her entire body, no more late night flies because nobody else would humor her nocturnal nature, no more wordy retorts that always made her giggle no matter how awful she was feeling.

No more best friend.

It was November, now. Fall was coming into full bloom. It was Anne’s idea to go to the park on their day off, and everyone obliged, knowing that the trip would be a good chance to stretch their wings. Joan hadn’t wanted to go, but Kat had sternly said she needed some fresh air, as she became more and more reclusive ever since EB’s death (not death, not death, she’s not dead, she can’t be--) and rarely ever went out. But she branched off from the group to venture further into the forest, wanting to be alone.

It’s funny, she thought. She hated the fact that she was alone that EB was now gone, but she hated the company of other people. There was only one avian she wanted, and everyone was sure she wouldn’t ever be coming back.

Joan spread her wings to the slim slivers of sunlight leaking through the canopy of trees. She used to hate them, but EB said they made her interesting. But now she was back to hating them all over again.

Rustling snapped her out of her trance. Deer jumped out of the underbrush and rushed right past Joan, causing her to leap away and fall on her back. Her wings thrusted outwards in surprise, tail lashing. She rolled over, wincing slightly, then realized the odd behavior of the animals. Deer normally didn’t run towards an avian.

They ran away.

Joan stood up and brushed herself off, ruffling out her feathers to rid them of any dirt. She was still pondering why the deer were acting so weirdly when she heard it.

The squeaking.

Curious and concerned, she tiptoed forward and peeked through the brush. There, only a few feet away, was a doe lying in a pool of its own blood. Its stomach was ripped open, but it was still alive, like whatever had killed it wasn’t interested in eating at the moment. The sight made Joan’s veins turn icy in fear.

What did this?

When she found out, she wished she had just ran off with the rest of the herd.

Growling came to the left. A large, bulky creature emerged from its hiding spot in the trees, perching on a branch with long, curved talons. It had molted green skin and bug-like eyes. Multiple rows of teeth poked out of its maw, dripping with drool. The barb at the end of its tail was just as menacing as its seven-inch claws. When it noticed Joan, it exhaled a low hissing breath and buzzed its four insect wings.

A WingEater.

But that’s impossible! WingEaters shouldn’t exist anymore! Wasn’t the gene to activate the form dead or something?

Joan flung her wings open but it was too late; the monster was upon her. There was a terrible pain- everything went black when she hit that tree.

Joan woke up on the ground.

No-- Wait-- Waking up implied she was in a bed, at home, safe.

Joan came to.

She was lying face-down on the ground, mouth full of dirt. There was a metallic tang on her tongue- she was frothing red at the lips.

Joan lifted her head up and coughed out gritty clots of scarlet. She saw the WingEater hunched over a few feet away, distracted by something. This was her only chance to get away so she crawled. She crawled until she could finally force herself to stand up and run.

She staggered back towards the park. Someone screamed. Multiple people scream. Jane was covering her mouth in shock- but why? Maria was shielding Bessie’s eyes, Aragon had backed herself up into Kat’s arms, Anne looked like she was about to faint…

Joan’s knees were wobbling and her vision kept blurring with a blizzard of black. She couldn’t focus on anything. She attempted to speak, to ask what was wrong, but only blood flooded out. Deliriously, she dabbed her fingertips against her lips and stared in bewilderment when they came back red, like she was just now noticing her body violently ejecting its own fluids. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Cleves, maybe Maggie, sprint somewhere- where was she going?

Joan couldn’t follow, couldn’t ask what was going on. Her legs gave out. She dropped into a pool of her own blood.

It wasn’t the deer that WingEater was eating.

---

The Flightless. That was what people who have lost their ability to fly were called. Almost as disgraceful as hybrids. That was what Joan was now sorted into.

The doctors spent six hours trying to stabilize Joan. Eventually, they got the bleeding to stop--it was a lot of blood for one body--and stitched up the gash, but nothing could bring back the wing that was ripped off.

Joan would never fly again.

When she woke up, she cried. Joan shivered and sobbed and had bad panic attacks. The anguish was blinding- the pain was worse. Even with the antibiotics, she was overwhelmed by white hot agony that seared up through her back, ripping her apart from the inside out.

Her world was crashing down.

She hadn’t realized the damage at first, apparently. She was in a severe state of shock when she came hobbling into the park, clothing drenched in her own blood. People who had witnessed it said she looked extremely dazed and completely out-of-it, unaware of the gore she was soaked in, unaware that her back was spitting like a spigot. She just kept asking herself why. Why her? Why did this have to happen to her? What did she ever do?

When she was released from the hospital, Joan went home and lay in her bed for six days. For six days she suffered. She didn’t eat, barely drank anything, and just about everything had to be forced down her throat.

Eventually, she recovered, but she didn’t get better. Not psychologically. That was why her new psychiatrist prescribed her antidepressants. She didn’t think they worked.

Still, she eventually forced herself to get up. Even when it felt like someone had just ripped out her spine and proceeded to beat her into a pulp with it, she hauled her body off to work.

Without her other wing, though, her balance was completely thrown off. She stumbled around like a giraffe with broken legs, unable to stay upright. Not to mention all the stares she got.

The one-winged fledgling was a freak.

The others did their best to ward off gawkers, but they couldn’t always be there. Not when kids plucked out her feathers or tried to touch the spot where her other wing used to be when she was at stagedoor or out near fans. Not when adults made snide remarks when they thought she couldn’t hear them. Not when other avians posted on social media about the Flightless hybrid in SIX.

The anger and despair from it all simmered inside of Joan.

After work one day, Joan avoided the other ladies in waiting and the queens. She felt delirious and achy and just wanted to be alone.

Guided by the evening light, Joan stumbled right into predator territory.

The WingEater came out of nowhere, ramming into Joan with the force of a charging bull and sending her sprawling across the ground. She tried to scamper away, but a powerful beak clamped down on her remaining wing and threw her into a tree. 

Joan was roughed up badly, so much so that she thought the WingEater that had taken her wing had come back for revenge. But that one had been a Cimex. This one was a very angry Avem.

It stood at a staggering eight feet tall, with choppy tail feathers and massive wings. Its plumage, sand-colored that faded to dark brown, was now smeared in her blood. Its narrow white head lacked feathers, rather having the fuzz that most vultures had, but that made its enraged expression even more clear to her.

The WingEater soon pinned her to the ground. A massive, bird-like foot that was tipped with razor sharp black talons pressed down on her chest with so much weight that she thought her ribs were cracking beneath the force. The beast opened its hooked beak around her neck, preparing to rip her throat out, and Joan sobbed, “Just do it.”

The beast’s jaws twitched, then it pulled back slightly. It looked down at Joan, bloody and sobbing beneath it.

  “Just kill me already!” Joan cried, tears streaming down her face. “Do it! Please! I-- I don’t even care. I don’t wanna be alive anymore.”

That did it.

Some humanity returned to those pitch black eyes. 

The WingEater dipped its head to Joan and gently began to lick one of her many wounds clean. Joan flinched, trying to squirm away, but the foot on top of her curled its claws around her and dragged her into the fluffy girth of the creature when it laid down. All she could do was look up at the sky and sob, letting the monster clean her of all the blood, though she was sure it was just trying to calm her down so she’ll be easier to eat. 

Goddesses, she wished EB was there.

[unicyclehippo]

jester confronting beau about her comment on how "you know everyone does" for who has a crush on her :-)

a gentle hand shakes beau awake, rouses her to the sweet view of jester above her—before beau crashes down through just a couple painful memories that crowd her mind instantly: the hag, her offer, and the clawing promise she had made, for now at least, not to leave.

[[MORE]]

‘hey,’ jester whispers.

beau scrubs sleep dust from the corners of her eyes. ‘hey,’ she whispers back, voice rough. ‘m’time for watch?’

‘no. i mean, if you want.’ jester leans back onto her heels, tucks her hair behind both ears in an odd manner beau doesn’t recognise. ‘i thought - maybe - we could talk?’

despite jester giving her the space to do so, beau doesn’t sit up. she lays still, frozen in place, by a sudden fear.

‘why?’

jester’s eyes widen. ‘oh. i—do you not want to?’

‘what? no, i—still asleep. sleepy. um. talking to me, yeah, definitely. what about?’ it’s very probable that jester doesn’t believe her. very probable indeed. she considers trying to lie some more, but it already feels like she has made a little hole for herself and that can only get worse.

she is contemplating this when quite out of nowhere she realises that the shimmering she sees is not light playing across jester’s shoulders and the diamond dust there, but rather the light of the hut catching the silent roll of tears down her cheeks.

beau sits up fast enough to rattle her brain; that must be the reason she doesn’t hesitate to lift a hand and ever so gently cup jester’s face, slide her thumb over her cheek. the tear is oddly cold. beau folds her thumb into her palm, wiping it off on her hand wrappings. ‘what’s this?’ she whispers. ‘what’s got you crying? is it nott? because i think, y’know, she’s scared but i reckon there’s no way she won’t still love us. i don’t think changing bodies does that. her heart is all the same.’

‘technically,’ jester sniffles, ‘i think that’s not true? not that i’ve ever really looked at goblin organs or - or halfling organs but i think they’re probably a little different.’

‘goblins have three ventricles,’ beau tells her.

jester blinks. ‘what?’

‘yeah.’

‘that’s—you’re lying, i don’t think that’s possible? you’re lying,’ jester says again, with a little more certainty.

beau lets a smile break across her face. ‘yeah, i’m lying.’

jester scoffs a small laugh. sniffles again and lifts her hands to wipe at her cheeks. it has them both realising at the same time that beau is still touching her, fingers crooked against her jaw, thumb stroking soft over cheek and jaw. beau drops her hand into her lap, pulls her legs in to cross before her.

‘i’m sad about that,’ jester says after a minute. she doesn’t meet beau’s eyes, fingers twisting over her many rings. ‘the whole thing is just—awful. it’s just awful what was done to her and i - i can’t believe—‘

‘hey, hey, hey, you’re gonna work yourself up into a real waterfall situation. c’mon, it’s okay.’ beau sets a hand on jester’s knee, squeezes. ‘she’s gonna be okay, she’ll figure it out. and you saved her.’

beau focuses hard on not letting her voice go hard like it wants to; she is proud of jester, and scared for her, and many other feelings beside, but the worse of the lot is the very small choking vine of anger that threatens to twist up her innards. jester was saving nott. she wanted all of the nein to be safe. beau shouldn’t be angry with her just because she didn’t get to go out the way she thought might feel better than simply being left on the wayside.

‘yah.’ jester turns her head so she can brush her cheek again, this time on the shoulder of her shirt. ‘um. can we talk about - something nicer?’

beau nods. she’s tired, bone tired, and sad. she wants to sleep. but she’d been on the cusp of giving everyone up and she hasn’t had to, nor yet, so she’ll soak these moments up while she’s got them.

‘sure, jes. what do you wanna talk about?’

‘oh, well, something fun? like—‘ jester giggles, and beau turns a smile on her, happy to hear something genuine in the laugh. ‘who do you really think has a crush on me? like you said yesterday?’ jester doesn’t seem to notice the way beau freezes again. ‘or anyone. i used to be so sure caleb and nott were like, best friends, but then nott kissed him? that,’ she tells beau, eyes wide, ‘i did not expect. what do you think, beau?’

beau clears her dry throat. fumbles for her waterskin. ‘ah. i dunno.’ she recalls vividly nott confiding in her—and their linked fingers—and knows if she wants to expect any kind of secrecy from nott, she can’t tell jester about a second of it. ‘cad seems sweet on fjord. that was funny, him getting toasted at the leaky nip.’

jester blinks. ‘you noticed that?’

‘huh? yeah, why wouldn’t i have?’

‘oh, well, because you were—‘ jester cuts herself off, worries at her lower lip. ‘you know. having a moment with fjord.’

‘deep in my cup?’ beau suggests, tone purposefully light.

‘...yah.’

‘just goes to show how very obvious cad was being.’ jester lightens visibly when beau smiles, obviously relieved that beau finds it to be something she can talk about without bursting into tears. honestly, beau just feels numb and it doesn’t feel good, exactly, to laugh at the things that happened around it but it helps her to not feel like those moments have been blanked entirely from her mind. that would—that’d scare her. to not remember. ‘does that bother you? cad flirting with him?’

‘huh? what? why would it?’

‘well. you know.’ beau shrugs. jester just stares at her so she continues. ‘because you’ve been crushing on him since, like, day one.’ before jester can confirm that, beau says, ‘he didn’t answer you in the zone of truth. he got got by it, right?’

‘mhm.’

‘right. so it’s possible.’

‘i would know for sure if you hadn’t interrupted,’ jester says, and for all that she sounds disappointed, she also just sounds amused. ‘not the time, i suppose. and not at all romantic.’

beau wants to bite her tongue off when she feels it form the words. ‘what would be romantic?’

jester affects a thoughtful moue, tilts her head up toward the slowly turning lights of the hut, shakes the hair back out of her face. ‘hmm. well, romance is all about atmosphere. so it would be, you know, at dawn or at dusk or under a full moon or something else special, you know?’

‘mm.’

‘and there is always an activity involved.’ she waggles her brows. beau laughs obediently. if it sounds a little hollow, the way it feels, jester doesn’t notice. ‘no, but really, like going on a walk or painting together or, or,’

‘taking watch.’

‘yah, yah, yah!’

‘and not under a spell, obviously.’

jester pauses. plucks at the pleats of her skirt. ‘is that—would that be bad?’

beau nods.

‘oh. but—how would—i’d want to know it was the truth.’

beau brows shoot high, near up to her hairline. ‘if you don’t know they’re telling the truth about that kinda thing, they’re probably not a catch.’

‘right, right, right.’

they sit for a moment in that. the moment stretches. one minute. then another. the drone of insects seems impossibly loud, and the light of a half-moon creeps down through the tangled knot of the canopy overhead.

‘sorry i didn’t let him answer,’ beau says finally to break it. ‘i should have—didn’t want vendetta to steal from us though.’

‘we don’t have much to steal, to be fair.’

‘true. she could throw a party.’

‘that’s true! i didn’t ask her that.’

‘mm. when we get back.’

jester nods. ‘good idea.’

taking watch together. light of a half-moon. there are worse times to tell someone you like them, beau figures. and if history has taught her anything, it’s that either jester will believe her and hate her, or she will continue blissfully to misunderstand.

‘i like you, jes,’ beau tells her.

jester turns slightly toward her. her eyes are distant and somewhat unfocused but she shakes her head like she’s shaking away a particularly insistent bug and refocuses her attention on beau. the smile she gives beau is enough to tell her that she doesn’t understand, that it doesn’t click; the smile she gives beau is lovely, regardless, and pleased and warm and thankful and beau is glad to have said it.

[reincarneth-moved]

Extremely detailed character sheet template

Character Chart

Character’s full name: Damian Vernell Castelleve Reason or meaning of name: It all just sounded pretty together,,,,,, Character’s nickname: Dami-chan, Dami Reason for nickname: Just a shortened version of his first name, with an honorific Birth date: Unknown, claims it’s August 15

Physical appearance

Age: Approximately 3 million. How old does he/she appear: 26 Weight: 234 IBs Height: 6′8″ Body build: He’s tall and slender. Muscular, but not obviously so. Definitely looks kind of like a bean stalk. His legs are the most prominently muscular.  Shape of face: Oval shaped Eye color: Crimson, formerly an ice blue Glasses or contacts: None. Skin tone: According to this image, either dolce or toffee.  Distinguishing marks: His skin is unnaturally smooth. He looks more like a painting than a person. Predominant features: Large, pointed elf-like ears. Hair color: Black Type of hair: Thick, somewhere between wavy and curly, silky, soft.  Hairstyle: Goes down to the bottom of his neck/top of his shoulders. Voice: His voice is incredibly deep, with a soft rumble that’s almost like a purr. It lightens up when he’s cheery or joking. Very melodic. Overall attractiveness: Physically he’s like an 8/10, but personality-wise he’s like a 0/10. All in all, the experience is Bad. -2/10.  Physical disabilities: none Usual fashion of dress: Usually, he’s seen with his long, red cloak over him. If he’s not wearing that, you can find him wearing mori-style clothes. All in all, fashionably homeless is his aesthetic. Favorite outfit: As long as he has his cloak he’s good. Jewelry or accessories: An old locket chain with an engagement ring on it. It’s almost as old as he is.

Personality

Good personality traits: Funny (subjective), can be genuinely caring to those who form the right bonds with him, tries to stay optimistic (even if he fails), can give good advice he usually doesn’t follow himself, very social, very unapologetically himself. Bad personality traits: Obnoxious, has an addictive personality, focuses on sex too much, barely has a filter, drunk most of the time. Flip flops on his morals often. Very easily manipulated, gullible. Mood character is most often in: Cheery, chipper. Sense of humor: Morbid, cheesy, usually the first thing to come to mind. Character’s greatest joy in life: Sadly, alcohol. Character’s greatest fear: His old boss, the Lord of the Red Tides. The original Blood Mage who was responsible for destroying his world. After that is dogs and blood sucking insects like fleas, ticks and mosquitos.  Why? He’s afraid of dogs because he woke from a Living getting eaten by a pack of them once. He’s afraid of blood-sucking insects because they’re heavily associated with the Lord of the Red Tides. What single event would most throw this character’s life into complete turmoil? His life can’t really get any worse than it already is. Being kidnapped and studied might throw him off for a while, but he would return to a sense of normalcy after a while. Character is most at ease when: When with someone he considers to be family. Most ill at ease when: When someone is being affectionate to him for no discernable reason. Enraged when: When he’s confused, being confronted for something hypocritical he did or going through withdrawals. OR when Dalet is brought up. Depressed or sad when: When he has time to think. Priorities: Having fun, finding distractions. Life philosophy: The past can’t be changed and the future can’t be predicted, so live in the present. If granted one wish, it would be: To have never become a Blood Mage. Why? So he could die with his family, not have to go through the trauma he did. Character’s soft spot: People who he considers to be family. His paternal instinct usually comes out around younger or troubled girls. Unofficially adopt,,,  Is this soft spot obvious to others? Probably. Greatest strength: His fierce protectiveness.  Greatest vulnerability or weakness: His lack of common sense and how easy he is to manipulate/trick. Biggest regret: Becoming a Blood Mage. Minor regret: Allowing himself to be possessed by Dalet. Biggest accomplishment: Graduating from college and getting to start his job at a law firm. Minor accomplishment: Surviving to his first Living.  Past failures he/she would be embarrassed to have people know about: None, he’s absolutely shameless! Why? N/A Character’s darkest secret: He killed his fiance. Does anyone else know? I’m pretty sure only, like, 2 people know.

Goals

Drives and motivations: To return to a sense of normalcy. Immediate goals: Start up his business as a contract killer. Long term goals: Remove Dalet from his body. How the character plans to accomplish these goals: who knows?? I don’t, he certainly doesn’t.  How other characters will be affected: They gotta put up with him,,,,

Past

Hometown: Halbirn, Morstika Type of childhood: It was fairly normal - he was one of those kids that was quiet until you started talking to him. Very kind, caring, always someone you could vent to.  Pets: He used to have a dog and a cat. First memory: He doesn’t remember it anymore, he’s too old.  Most important childhood memory: He can’t recall it. Why: N/A Childhood hero: N/A Dream job: Lawyer. Education: A master's degree in Law. Religion: Polytheistic, the name and practices have been lost Finances: He used to be very responsible with his money, saved up and was very well off because of that and his well-paying job.

Present

Current location: Moves around a lot. Currently roaming around Japan. Currently living with: Dalet, technically. Pets: N/A Religion: He’s seen Gods and doesn’t like them. Occupation: Professional mooch, a contract killer. Finances: Struggling, for the most part, due to his alcohol addiction.

Family

Mother: Irina Castelleve Relationship with her: It was a healthy relationship, she is currently deceased. Father: Henri Castelleve Relationship with him: It was healthy, he is currently deceased. Siblings: Noémie, Beau, Sylvester, Amir Relationship with them: Noémie is deceased, Beau is also deceased (reanimated, Damian is not aware of this), Sylvester is deceased (descended to Foul, their relationship is somewhat strained), Amir is deceased (a ghost). Before the apocalypse, they were all fairly close.  Spouse: Natalya (former fiance).  Relationship with him/her: She’s dead. Children: N/A Relationship with them: N/A Other important family members: N/A

Favorites

Color: Teal Least favorite color: Yellow Music: Pop, Classical Food: Spicy or sweet foods. Literature: Classic literature, horror, cheesy romance Form of entertainment: Drinking, socializing Expressions: N/A Mode of transportation: Motorcycle, walking Most prized possession: An old engagement ring and chain.

Habits

Hobbies: Plays a musical instrument? Piano, possibly guitar (haven’t decided yet.) Plays a sport? No. How he/she would spend a rainy day: Staying in and reading, maybe visiting an acquaintance to spend time with them. Spending habits: Mostly spends his money on food, alcohol and occasionally drugs. Mostly alcohol. Smokes: On occasion. Drinks: Beer, Vodka, Whiskey, Rum... Other drugs: Occasional marijuana, ecstasy and cocaine use. What does he/she do too much of? Everything??? Everything. What does he/she do too little of? Taking care of himself, trying to understand other people. Extremely skilled at: Picking up emotional cues. Extremely unskilled at: Thinking through things logically. Nervous tics: Avoiding eye contact, running his hands through his hair, looking away. Usual body posture: A slight slouch. Mannerisms: Tilting his head, placing a hand in front of his chin, narrowing his eyes/squinting Peculiarities: Doesn’t seem to be familiar with or fond of casual, platonic touch. Also doesn’t seem to get that a lot of the things he does aren’t normal. 

Traits

Optimist or pessimist? Introvert or extrovert? Daredevil or cautious? He’s a bit of a daredevil to an extent. If he knows he’s angering something that could potentially kill him, he will back down. Logical or emotional? Disorderly and messy or methodical and neat? Prefers working or relaxing? Confident or unsure of himself/herself? He’s very egotistical but is unsure of the direction his life is going, his morals/values and he’s not sure where he stands when it comes to other people.  Animal lover? Yes, but they hate him.

Self-perception

How he feels about himself: He thinks he’s better than humans, being a ‘superior’ sort of being. That being said, he used to be human himself, and he struggles with trying to reconcile that fact with what he’s become now.  One word the character would use to describe self: Awful. One paragraph description of how the character would describe self: ‘Damian Castelleve is an inhuman beast incapable of true compassion. There is not a single redeeming thing about his personality and looks will only get him so far. He’ll never understand why people put up with something so unnerving. At least he’s nice to look at.’ What does the character consider his best personality trait? He would consider how social he is to be his best trait. What does the character consider his/her worst personality trait? He’s not a fan of how easily he tends to like people. It makes him more merciful if he needs to kill them.  What does the character consider his/her best physical characteristic? He finds his eyes to be the best thing about him. What does the character consider his/her worst physical characteristic? His height. It’s inconvenient and unnatural. How does the character think others perceive him: He’s pretty sure 90% of the people he meets don’t like him.  What would the character most like to change about himself/herself: Nothing, he’d be content rotting away just as he is.

Relationships with others

Opinion of other people in general: He thinks everyone is pretty much trash? There is no such thing as a good person in his eyes. This goes for himself as well. That being said, he does try to see the good in people, even if he thinks they’re mostly bad. Does the character hide his/her true opinions and emotions from others? Sometimes he tries, but he’s incredibly bad at it. His emotions and opinions become obvious in other ways. Person character most hates: Dalet, the spirit/golem that possessed his body. Best friend(s): He wouldn’t consider anyone his best friend. Love interest(s): None, he’s aromantic Person character goes to for advice: Konstantin, when he’s available. If not, Dalet.  Person character feels responsible for or takes care of: Mimi ( @shinkuraun​), Rima ( @bojoukken​), Masako ( @sukiban​) Person character feels shy or awkward around: Any beautiful woman t b h Person character openly admires: Other, older Blood Mages. Person character secretly admires: The Lord of the Red Tides. Most important person in character’s life before story starts: His family. After story starts: Himself.

[themsource]

Standards - A Gift

Rating: T Paring: Sans x OC Luna Word Count: 3,162 @rosedarkfire​ Hey! I was your secret Santa ^^; for the @undertalesecretsanta​ event! XD I used some of your personal names for the boys and your OC i hope you like it <3 My first time writing him heh.

Black liked Luna, really liked her.

She was kind, funny, smart, but most of all had a back bone strong enough to rival his own.

He just couldn’t stand the fact he kept messing up with her.

“Hey Sans, what do you think of this for the Christmas tree?” Black loved that she called him by his given name, it was like a reward to hear it in this mashed together universe of duplicates.

Even if she only said it in private.

He eyed the butterfly themed tinsel in her hands.

“I AM SURPRISED YOU WOULD CHOOSE BUTTERFLIES.” No he wasn’t, that was that infuriating murderer’s nickname for her.

“Oh why do you say that?” Luna asked with genuine confusion in her mismatched eyes.

“BECAUSE BUTTERFLIES ARE AN INFERIOR FORM OF INSECT, USING BEAUTY AS A FORM OF DEFENSE IS SUCH A COWARDLY ACT. WHY NOT BEETLES OR SOMETHING? BEETLES DON’T LIVE UNDER A FALSE PRETENSE OF BEAUTY BUT ARE OPEN ENOUGH TO EMBRACE THEIR UNATTRACTIVENESS BY HAVING EVOLUTIONIZED THEIR EXO--”

“Okay. I get it Black.” It was easy to tell when he’d upset her. She’d call him that infuriating amalgam of color nickname. Luna pinned her heterochromic gaze on him.

“And butterflies are amazing; they drink blood like little fluttering vampires.” Black could only blink as she walked away from him.

And so that’s how their relationship usually went.

“Sans, what do you think of strawberry pudding for dessert?”

“WHY STRAWBERRY?”

“...You don’t like strawberry?”

“...IT’S FINE. IF YOU MAKE IT I’LL EAT THAT RIDICULOUS SLOP OF POINTLESS SUGAR.” To his confusion Luna had chosen to simply not make dessert at all that night. Much to the disappointed mumbling of his brother and their alters.

Even receiving gifts from her, which always made him immeasurably happy, was difficult.

“I got you something Sans!”

“WHAT IN ANGEL’S NAME IS THIS?”

“...It’s a jacket?”

“I AM AWARE OF THAT LUNA, WHY IS IT PURPLE?”

“I thought purple would pop with the red you usually wear.” His eyelights drifted slowly down to the purple and poorly dyed jean jacket where they lingered and constricted into fine points before just as slowly rising to look at her again.

He usually bristled whenever a human used the term monster as an insult to describe something, however he could only think of a particularly offensive statement he’d heard once from a favored designer of his. Black was holding a literal fashion monstrosity in his hands.

But Luna looked so excited and eager for his reaction, her eyes sparkling and proud. 

He cleared his throat.

“...FINE, I SUPPOSE I’LL TRY THIS TRAVESTY OF A GIFT.”

“...”

Black had thought he’d been generous with the humble remark; there was so much alternative vocabulary that he could’ve used to describe how horrible that jacket had looked.

Honestly he thought he’d complimented it.

Black had even let it touch his body as he’d tried it on. Somehow he’d still ended up…disappointing her.

Which was admittedly worse than her anger.

He’d spent the whole time in the shower afterwards grumbling as he’d tried to scrub away the memory of that awful thing on him, half practiced phrases and comments that never seemed to work washed away by the pouring water.

The shower drain embarrassingly enough had even seemed to judge him.

To his chagrin he’d reached the point he’d finally decided to ask his brother for advice.

Stars help him.

“LUNA NEVER SEEMS TO APPRECIATE THE LENGTHS I GO TO FOR HER.” He growled.

“you’re not exactly graceful mi’lord when it comes to criticism.” Black had felt insulted.

“NOT GRACEFUL!?” Rus chuckled as his sockets crinkled in veiled humor.

“she’s a human female, they tend to be super sensitive to even the slightest provocation.” That was an annoying concept to learn. Turned out even his tamed honesty was still too harsh for her. Black took his brother’s advice to heart.

It was advice better stated in theory than put into practice he soon learned.

He stared at the dress Luna was wearing.

It wasn’t anywhere close to complimenting her beauty; in fact the makeup of the material rather dimmed the brightness of her soul as well as her eyes. It was a simple conclusion to reach that it was a horrible example of a dress worthy of the human’s appeal.

But she had personally picked it, liked it.

It made him uncomfortable just how awful her fashion tastes were.

Made it so difficult to be genuine with her.

“IT’S…” He gritted his teeth.

What was the proper word to use so as not to insult her? Adequate? No that would insinuate that it was somehow satisfactory. Tolerable? Might be too insulting of a word.

Black hated liars and he refused to be one, but he desperately wanted to show he supported her decisions. The longer he took fishing for the right word the more he could see Luna’s demeanor falling.

“...MANAGEABLE?” Her nose did that adorable habit where it scrunched up as she looked at him thoughtfully.

“Manageable.” She wanted him to elaborate. He could do that. Just no ranting he silently chided himself, ranting would invalidate not only his opinion but could do so with hers as well.

“...IT…” Black’s words died in his nonexistent throat.

Okay he apparently couldn’t elaborate without going into a triad. They both stared at each other silently and as a sweat drop began to run down the side of his skull he made an executive decision.

He couldn’t insult her if he wasn’t near her.

Black missed how Luna’s eyes had widened as he abruptly turned and walked away from her. His hurried steps the only sound before the opening and closing of her door.

Luna...didn’t talk to him for a week.

Each day that passed killed him a little inside whenever he’d see her talking to one of his duplicates, interacting with his own brother with barely a glance in his direction. She’d even gone so far as to walk away from him when he’d simply greeted her, much the same as he had done concerning her dress.

He’d immediately understood why she’d been acting the way she had the moment she did so. 

Black hadn’t realized how painful the action had been to her. 

According to his brother he was moping the whole day after his realization and most of the morning. Hadn’t felt that way but it seemed him yelling more than usual was somehow depressing to his sibling.

That’s how Black ultimately ended up being drug out to go Christmas shopping. Which in itself was a red flag for the shorter skeleton.

Rus dragged him out of the house.

Maybe he had been moping.

“see anything good mi’lord?” Black flickered his eyelights dully over to his brother from where they’d been resting on a jewelry display.

“HARDLY.” Rus hummed as he sauntered up next to him, a bag of purchases already somehow slung over his arm. Black stopped questioning how he managed to suspiciously acquire things some time ago.

“y’know i think she likes galaxy themed clothing.” Black scoffed as he gestured at the entirety of the mall.

“AS IF THIS PATHETIC ATTEMPT OF A STOREFRONT WOULD CARRY ANYTHING WORTHY OF BEING CALLED GARMENTS.” Rus snickered.

“think i know the problem mi’lord.”

“DO YOU?” He asked absently, his eyelights refocusing on the necklaces currently hung up. All plated metals with hardly a solid piece of pure gold in sight. Even those claiming the label had obvious traces of other impurities mixed in.

Humans were such lazy creatures when it came to production.

“your standards are too high.” He let out a frustrated growl. Like his brother had any right to discuss standards. He couldn’t even be bothered to buy new shirts when he needed them, even the cheap off brand ones that Black hated due to their low thread count.

“MY STANDARDS ARE JUST FINE. IT’S NOT ASKING TOO MUCH FOR THE BARE MINIMUM.”

“that’s just it sans.” Black felt his soul give a jolt. He gave his brother a glance that was practically vulnerable; his older brother rarely ever used his given name anymore even when alone together.

Papyrus was serious.

“the bare minimum to you, isn’t the same for luna.” Black didn’t respond at first, his eyelights lowered in concentration before he finally let out a sigh. Of course the mutt would be right. His eyelights lit up as an idea hit him.

“I’LL BE HOME LATE.” Rus didn’t stop him as he vanished into the void.

“guess i should tell everyone you’ll be late for gift opening then.” He muttered as he shifted the bags on his arm. It was a good thing he supposed that he already bought his brother’s gift selections for the others.

Luna was giggling as she opened the little blue and white snow patterned box Classic had given her, a ring tinged grey with lines of silver etched into it greeting her. Her eyes lit up as she looked up at him.

“Is this meteorite?” He hummed his confirmation as he plucked it from the box and slipped it onto her pinky finger.

“figured someone as beautiful as a star deserved something out of this world.” There were groans but Luna could only blush as she embraced him, her arms twining around his shoulders effortlessly.

“Thank you Sans.”

“okay enough lovey dovey crap, open mine next.” Crimson huffed as he carelessly shoved Classic aside to drop his gift in her lap. She tried not to snort at how affronted Classic looked, her eyes panning the gathering of skeletons briefly before smiling at Crimson as she unwrapped his present.

By the time Luna finished going through everyone’s gifts Black still hadn’t returned and she was growing quickly concerned.

Looking over from the pile of gift wrap Valiant and Lolli had buried her in she locked eyes with Rus. Who was currently handing a shopping bag to Edge. Of course Rus hadn’t bothered to wrap any of his presents besides hers.

She didn’t even need to say anything.

“mi’lord said he’d be late, don’t worry princess.” Luna frowned; it wasn’t like him at all to be late for any gathering. Maybe she had been a bit too harsh to him.

It was as everyone was getting ready to eat when Black finally showed back up. The first thing Luna did was stand and go over to him, abandoning her place at the table. He oddly blushed purple.

“Black I--”

“COME WITH ME FOR A MOMENT.” Luna blinked curiously but followed, ignoring the inquisitive looks that the others were giving as she was led upstairs.

Black was nervous.

He wasn’t exactly experienced with showing his emotions let alone talking about them. But still he was resolved when he’d seen how willing Luna was to follow his request. It was obvious his prolonged absence had ignited a spark of guilt in her.

She shouldn’t have felt guilty; if anything her anger was more than deserved.

Once they were both in his room he casually latched the door and wandered over to the glass doors that led to the house balcony, his hands folding behind his back. It had taken an age to procure this room he remembered. Probably wouldn’t even have it if it wasn’t for Luna siding with him against Classic like she had.

How to start this? Black could already feel her eyes burning into his spine.

“I AM A RENOWNED TACTICIAN, AN INSPIRATION WHEN IT COMES TO MY PEERS IN REGARDS TO CHIVALRY AND CLASS.” He took a breath and turned to face her, his eyelights focusing on the adorable freckles dotting her face rather than the windows to her soul. “INFAMOUS EVEN FOR MY SERVICES TO THE CROWN.”

Luna was watching him carefully as he scratched wearily at the back of his skull.

“I HAVE DONE MANY THINGS; SLAUGHTERED COUNTLESS FELLOW MONSTERS AND HUMANS ALIKE, TORTURED IN THE NAME OF MY QUEEN, LAUGHED AT THE POINTLESS DISPLAYS OF MARTYRS WHO FOUND IT FIT TO REBEL AGAINST A LAW THEY SIMPLY DIDN’T AGREE WITH BECAUSE THEY DIDN’T UNDERSTAND IT.” He was ranting again he realized.

Best to make his point known sooner than later.

“WHAT I AM TRYING TO SAY IS I COULD BEST BE DESCRIBED AS CRUEL AND HEARTLESS, INDIFFERENT.” Black’s voice lowered and Luna was shocked at how soft his tone was.

“Even When I Try Not To Be.” Something didn’t sit right in her chest at how vulnerable he sounded, nearly regretful. Luna looked down at her feet torn between wanting to comfort him and wanting to let him finish what he had to say. She knew he could be easily upset when others interrupted him.

His hands clenched into fists behind his back.

“I...Have Never Regretted My Actions. Not For A Single Horror I’ve Done Nor Word I’ve Said. But I Do Regret How I’ve Inadvertently Treated You.” Luna whipped her head up and she had to bite her lip to stop the gasp at how soft his eyelights looked.

They were so resigned.

“I Believe It’s Obvious, But Just In The Off Chance It Isn’t I Will Say I Do Care For You Just As Much As Those Ruffians Downstairs Do. IF NOT MORE!” He couldn’t help adding that last part and Luna rewarded the flounder with a chuckle causing another blush to violently flare across his face. It had felt like years since he’d heard her laugh last.

Turning to the side he offered a hand out to her.

Luna felt her heart skip at how the moonlight from the window seemed to highlight his form, making his exposed bones shimmer ethereally and his uniform to stand out with shadows tracing the bends and curves of it.

Black’s soul gave a pleased thrum as she stepped forward and slipped her hand in his. He rarely touched anyone, hardly had ever had contact with her. So it was with no small amount of secret enthusiasm as he rediscovered just how small her hand was to his. Luna had always been charmingly smaller than him and his sibling’s alters, even Valiant the shortest.

He opened the glass doors and led her to the balcony.

The wind was slightly chilled, but Luna marveled all the same at the view of the lake in the distance, the snow gathered in a thin sheet across the ground like a winter wonderland of ice and cold. One of the advantages Black had always provided her since helping him get the room was the freedom he gave her to come and go from the perch.

As Luna let herself drift Black pulled a small velvet box from his pocket.

“Luna.” She turned and Black’s breath caught at how beautiful she looked. He smiled as he held the gift out to her. She quirked a brow.

“Sans?” He almost purred at hearing his name.

“Open It.” She gave a curious smile as her hands gently opened the box, the action making Black’s soul thrum furiously in his chest. Her eyes lit up and he couldn’t resist smiling smugly at the automatic approval he saw in them.

“...Wow, It’s wonderful.”

Black felt his ribs swell with pride as Luna’s eyes widened, her cheeks turning pink as she lifted the choker from the box. He caught a glimpse of the ring Classic had given her but that mattered little to the gift he now presented.

Luna looked up as he gestured for it and it took a great effort to hand it over.

“My Lady.” He prompted as he held it between his phalanges. Her blush turned red in intensity as she caught on he wanted to put it on for her, even more so at the title he used.

His lady. Why did that make her so giddy?

Black was blushing like a fool as she turned her back to him and lifted the soft chestnut locks of her hair, exposing the pale skin of her neck. It didn’t help the warm feeling in his chest at the slight shaking he caught in her shoulders. She was just as nervous and excited as he was.

Carefully, with a slowness that wasn’t necessary just so he could enjoy the sight of her tilted head and the way she ran her thumb into the hair she held back for him he gingerly slipped his arms over her. Enjoyed feeling how his normally despised height dwarfed her as he tenderly latched it.

When she turned to face him Black felt his eyelights morph.

The gem at the center of the silk choker was swirling with purple and red magic against a black backdrop, not as a claiming display exactly but as an acknowledgment of whose protection she was under.

A small galaxy on her delicate throat.

He softly brushed a phalange against it not noticing the enamored way her vision was locked on his heart shaped eyelights.

She had never seen those hardened and unwavering orbs change shape in the whole time she’d known him. Luna had even seen Classic’s and Crimson’s change a time or two but never Blacks. She hadn’t known he was capable of it.

His inverted hearts flickered up to her.

“I’m Sorry My Actions Haven’t Been Pleasant Towards You. I Only Ask Of You To Remember Always...What You Mean To Me.” Luna smiled playfully.

“And what would you mean by that kind sir?” His sockets lidded and the smile he gave nearly rivaled Valiant’s with how dopey it was.

Luna’s world froze at the sight and she wished more than anything she had a camera on her. It felt like a moment that would only ever happen once in a lifetime.

Black’s answer changed in the span of a second. His initial response lacking for just how strongly he felt for her. He didn’t even hesitate as he realized it.

“I Love You. With Every Amount Of Affection And Bit Of My Soul I Can Give.”

Tears sprang to Luna’s eyes as she stared at him before slowly running her arms over his shoulders, giving him time to pull away if he wanted. Instead his arms encircled her waist making her heart pound and stomach flutter as he tilted her head back with his other hand.

His bony lips locked with hers and an array of emotions surged through the both of them; fear, misunderstanding, cautiousness, eagerness, love, and wholeness. Luna and Black broke apart for air and all the human woman could do was stare at the skeleton holding her in a daze.

Kissing her was everything he’d ever imagined it to be.

“Manageable?” She teased. The top of Black’s skull flexed with the impression of a raised eyebrow as he smirked and cupped her chin.

“Glorious.” He pulled her in for another kiss as he whispered against her lips. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.” She responded breathlessly.

[lailannajacobs]

A God’s Plan and A Mortal’s Free Will (Handmade Thieves pt. VII)

Pairing: Loki X Fem!Reader

Summary: Reader unwittingly finds her way onto Asgard and has to deal with all the attention that follows being a mortal in the extravagant realm. To his surprise, Loki finds himself having just as much trouble if not more than reader in dealing with it. 

Warnings: None! 

Word Count: 4.3k

A/N: Hey everyone!! So this part’s a little different from the rest of the chapters, had to edit it a ton to get it to something I liked, so let me know what you think! I’d love to hear it, hope you enjoy!! Happy reading! <3

Previously

You stopped him by grabbing his forearm and stared at him in disbelief, “You’re worried about people looking at me funny? Are you serious right now? What the hell is wrong with you Loki? Did you not just hear what your father said to me about you?” You didn’t give him a chance to answer, not that it looked like he was going to judging by the slow blink he gave you in response. “Do you not care how he treats you? I don’t care that you’re probably plotting some way of getting him back, how could you just stand there and take it?”

He only watched your outburst with vacant eyes as if he wasn’t even listening. Out of breath and annoyed with him and his stupid, royal ass, you spun on your heel and stomped off, ready to be as far away from the throne room as was possible in your stupid prison.

Part Seven: 

Loki shivered at the sound of his name on her lips. He couldn’t know for sure how long he had been waiting to hear it, but the longer she called him “prince” or “wolf," the more curious he became. It had caught him by surprise, in the middle of her rant like that, sounding in some way different to the countless other times he had heard it on Asgard, but he couldn’t pin point why. Something about her being a Midgardian, he supposed.

She kept ranting on and on, hands clenched at her side the same way they were every time she was trying to tame her anger, but it was difficult to know what she was going off about since he had missed the beginning of what she was saying, too caught up in the sound of his own name.

He wanted her to say it again — only out of professional curiosity of course — but the word “prince” broke through his trance and he knew he wouldn’t hear it again for a long time now, if ever. Whatever had made her slip up in that moment was long gone. It was probably for the best. Loki didn’t appreciate feeling so out of focus, caught up in alien thoughts and feelings. If he wanted to keep her alive to help him get out of the mess he was planning, he was going to need to stay alert and three steps ahead of everyone else. He couldn’t do that if he was preoccupied with banal thoughts.

Loki knew she would hate the plan he had in mind but knew she would agree to it because she wanted her freedom more than anything else. It hadn’t taken him long to realize that her freedom was his most valuable bargaining chip. He figured, short of regicide, there wasn’t much she wouldn’t agree to — no matter how begrudgingly — if he guaranteed her freedom. And the freedom of one Midgardian was worth the price of what he had in mind.

If he had any doubts about her ability to play her part in his plan, they had vanished the moment she stood up for him in the throne room. Anyone that mortal who could stand up to Odin and essentially threaten him was either stupid or incredibly brave. And Loki would not have let her out of the dungeon if he had thought she was stupid. After all, she couldn’t have become one of the most infamous thieves by being dumb.

But it hadn’t been her bravery that had surprised him the most. It had been the fact that she had stood up for him, even if he was pretty sure she’d stab him if given the right opportunity. Loki hadn’t been too sure what to make of it, but quickly decided that the only reason acted the way she had was to get some form of revenge on Odin. He understood that all too well. What he didn’t understand was having someone other than his mother, and occasionally Thor, defend him. Which is why it hadn’t taken him long to come to the conclusion that he had just been a means to an end for her to get what she wanted — another thing he understood quite well.

When she turned around and stopped, clearly surprised he wasn’t two steps behind her, Loki realized he had been so lost in his own mind that he had stopped moving all together.

“I’ve found that ignoring him helps.” He offered vaguely, knowing he had to say something at least somewhat related to the rant she had started if he wanted to cover up the fact that he had let his guard down and hadn’t been listening.

In a few quick strides, he caught up and she spun around on her heel like she was grounding an insect into the marble floor. He wondered if she believed she was any good at hiding her anger. Despite how difficult he found it to read her thoughts and emotions most of the time, her anger radiated like a neon sign. And at the moment, it was a massive, colour-changing, flashy sign.

He felt himself smile. Her anger made things much more interesting. And much more fun.  After what he had just gotten away with, he was looking for a way to celebrate his small victory. Annoying her seemed as amusing as any way to do it. Though if Loki was being honest with himself, he would have realized he was also looking for a way to take his mind off of his father for a short while.

“Yeah well, ignoring him would be a lot easier if he stopped summoning me to the throne room like a circus monkey.” She snarled, her stomping echoing down the empty hallway.

“Maybe if you stopped threatening to undress in front of the guards and everyone else in the palace, it wouldn’t happen so often.” He growled back, unable to hold back the wave of anger washing over him.

She stopped, put a hand on her hip, head angled to the side, “It was one time. One time. And it wasn’t like I actually got undressed. And why should I have to explain myself to you anyways? I’m a grown woman capable of making her own damn decisions.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself Midgardian, but I am curious to know what the hell went through your mind.” His voice was low and gruff in the back of his throat, coming from somewhere deep within him.

“If you must know Wolf,” She took a step forward onto her toes so that she came as close to eye level as she could get, “I was a little desperate to get out of that cloth trap.”

“If you were that desperate for relief Midgardian, you should have come to me.” Loki clicked his tongue, punctuating his sentence with an arrogant smirk in an attempt to remind himself that he didn’t actually care what she had done.

She glared at him, taking the bait he had been hoping would rile her up even more, “Not that we’re talking about the same thing, but I tried that remember? You told me to leave you alone because it was too early in the morning.”

“I seem to recall asking you to come in. We could have gotten you out of that trap quite easily. Dresses are much easier to take off with a second person involved.”

She shook her head incredulously. Loki let his eyes wander down the length of the dress, that in no way suited her, and could tell he was doing an exceptional job at pissing her off by the way her breathing became slightly uneven. He couldn’t help but think that if she had come to him with the threat of getting undressed, she would have definitely been going in the wrong direction to scare him off.

Widening his grin, he solidified his veneer so that she couldn’t tell that his mind had gone down a path he knew was far too dangerous. But even so, he couldn’t help voicing some of those thoughts, only because he knew how much it would annoy her.

Dipping his head so that he was practically touching her ear with his lips, he purred, “I could have found something else for you to wear of course. I have many shirts that would fit you quite nicely.”

She bristled and backed down, jaw tight and fist clenched at her side, eyes blazing. It was hard to believe that getting a reaction out of her was this easy.

“You’re an insufferable prick.” She huffed.

“I’ve been called worse. And by you I believe.” Loki winked and righted the fallen strap from her shoulder, her skin warm beneath his fingers.

She swatted his hand away, but he could tell by how hard she hit him that she would have rather rammed one of her daggers clean through his hand instead. “I don’t doubt that. Now. Give me back my clothes.”

“They’re this way.” He motioned for her to follow and set a leisurely pace he knew would drive her crazy. He wasn’t the one stuck in an uncomfortable dress. He had nowhere to be.

She didn’t say anything else and he didn’t realize just how much he had been craving a moment to breathe after what had happened in the throne room. He tried to push it out of his mind and let it go, especially the part about the Midgardian threatening nudity, which, for some annoying reason, seemed to keep pestering him. Loki chalked it up to the fact that he had never been very good at letting things go. Whatever seemed to get to him had a bad habit of festering, and that wasn’t something he could afford to let happen now. Not with what he had planned. And not concerning something that shouldn’t have bothered him in the first place.

Loki knew he could have easily conjured her clothing, but she seemed to have forgotten that it was something he could do. It was strange to him to be looked at, for lack of a better word, like a normal human. He knew he’d be fooling himself if he thought she hadn’t heard the rumours about him, but she looked at him with such unrestrained frustration in her eyes that he was pretty sure she didn’t care who he was or what he had been rumoured to do as long as she got to break his nose before the day was done. It seemed to him that she was the kind of person who would stab anyone who pissed her off, regardless of who they were and what they had done. He respected that. And if he was being honest with himself, Loki might have even admitted that he found the thought comforting. When he looked into her eyes, he didn’t see a menace staring back at him, which surprised him even more after having donned the cruelest and most detached mask he had when they were in the throne room. He knew she had seen it. He had felt her stiffen beside him.

For a moment, Loki thought maybe her indifference was what had made him let her out of the dungeon, but he knew it wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. He had done it because he needed a contingency plan, and she was the best way to piss Odin off simultaneously.

Realizing that, once again, he had slowed from being lost in thought, he took in the back of that frayed violet dress and smirked. He hadn’t thought by taking her clothes the night before that she would have resorted to taking her anger out on the dress itself. He found the thought quite amusing until the solution to her plan and who she had done her little act of rebellion with snaked its way back into his mind.

He could feel himself spiraling into a whirlpool of irritation and something else he couldn’t name until she spoke up, pulling him out before he could reach the deepest end of that spiral.

“Pardon?” He asked, the world ebbing away from the darkness and back into focus.

“I asked where your brother was.” He could tell her anger had diminished during their walk and was now replaced by curiosity, which he liked much, much less.

He slid a wary glance at her, “Which brother?”

She raised a brow, “Do you have more than one brother?”

“No.” He grunted, feeling himself getting sucked back down into that dangerous, dark pool, “I don’t have any at all.”

“The Almighty Thor. What does that make him?”

He inhaled sharply, trying to keep his anger in check. “Adopted brother.”

“Still makes him your brother,” she pointed out casually, not balking at the glare he couldn’t help but send her way. He should have known that Thor, being Thor, would find a way to become her center of curiosity, even millions of miles away.

“So where is he then?”

Loki couldn’t help the disgust in his voice when he sneered, “Probably off trying to save some poor hapless realm.”

“And why aren’t you doing the same?” She looked up at him as they walked, no judgement on her face that he could see, only genuine curiosity.

It wasn’t the look he had been expecting to see so instead of leering the words like he had intended, he practically sputtered, “Because I don’t feel the need to pretend to be a hero.”

Thankfully, she didn’t seem to notice and rolled her eyes, “Sure you don’t.”

He racked his brain for something to say to get her on the defensive. He didn’t know what to do when she looked at him in that unnerving, distracting way of hers, as if she actually wanted to know what was inside of him. Her questions had caught him off guard and had rattled him enough that he was a loss for words. It wasn’t something he was used to. Not at all.

Loki decided to keep silent and focused on steadying his breathing, trying not to think too hard about what she meant. The Midgardian had no idea what she was talking about and he needed to remember that. She didn’t know him or anything about him, no matter how often she looked at him as if she could see beneath his protective mask.

“That was sarcasm you know.” She informed when he didn’t speak up.

“I know what sarcasm is. I’m no stranger to it.” He said indignantly, cursing himself once again for sounding anything other than calm and slightly bored.

She raised a brow, “Then what’s with the weird look on your face?”

“Disbelief that you would believe that I, of all people, wouldn’t know what sarcasm is.” He recovered, picking up the pace so that she would have to work to keep up with his long strides.

“Okay…” She rolled out the word as if it wasn’t what she wanted to say but didn’t want to press the matter any further.

Loki almost sighed with relief.

“Where are we? And how far away are my clothes?” She looked around the plain hallway, busy with maids, cooks and other members of the palace staff.

“Still in the palace. And not far. Though I’m not taking you to them just yet,”

Skidding to a stop, she went to reach for something in her boot but paused with a clenched fist halfway through the motion, glaring at him instead from her half-bent position. If he had to guess, he would have said that she just remembered that she no longer had any of her weapons and wasn’t too pleased about it. That neon sign was getting brighter by the second.

He grinned.

Taking those daggers away was probably the smartest thing he could have done for his personal safety. Not that she posed much of a threat but was still a threat all the same. Despite how tempting it had been to set her lose on all the incompetent socialites for pure entertainment alone, he knew doing so would have interfered with his plans. Even if it would have made his days more interesting to watch her pull a knife on everyone who insulted her.

“Where are you taking me exactly?” She demanded, then recoiled as she asked, “Not another party?”

He gestured to her gown. “Looking like that? Absolutely not.”

She glowered, seeming more than a little fed up about the comments regarding her looks. It made him want to smile.

“If not a party then where Wolf?” Her words came out more like an exasperated sigh than a question.

“You’ll see.” He danced around the answer knowing the longer he did so, the more riled up she would become.

“Do you need really need to be so cryptic?”

“Yes.”

She stopped and gripped his arm, nails digging into the sleeve of his tunic. He paused, focused only on the pressure of her fingers on his arm until her words shook him from his trance. “Remind me to stab you when I get my knives back. Please Wolf. Please remind me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind Midgardian, not that I think you need reminding.” He chuckled, pleased with himself that he had managed to get that look on her face using only a few words and a knowing grin. “But speaking of your knives, we never did set the terms for our little agreement.”

A wary look crossed her face, “What did you have in mind.”

“Nothing horrifying.” He replied disinterestedly, though he had really said it to wipe that look off her face. It was a look that was too close to fear, and though he had never seen her afraid when she looked at him — even the first time she had realized who he was — he didn’t want to see anything even remotely similar there. Fear turned to resentment, and he told himself that the reason he couldn’t have her truly hate him was because he still needed her to properly execute his plan. It was the only reason, he convinced himself. The only reason.

“I wasn’t worried,” she ground out and sized him up in a way that shouldn’t have made him want to let out a breath of relief, “But with that look on your face you can understand why I would be…concerned.”

He cocked his head, “What look?”

“Like a kid that just put a thumb tack on their professor’s chair.” She said, gesturing vaguely at his face. “The wide, Cheshire Cat grin that seems to make the corners of your eyes crinkle and the way those eyes light up like someone set fire to the Emerald City? You know, that look? The trickster look.”

Loki took a moment to mull over her words and decided to focus on the first part of what she said; the part he actually understood, “I can’t say I’ve ever done such a thing.”

She didn’t look like she believed him. “I’m sure that’s only because you’ve done so much worse.”

He chuckled, thinking back to particularly clever trick he had done when he was eight involving Thor and a snake. “It was all in good fun Midgardian.”

“I’m sure it was.”

“It was to me.”

She scoffed.

He grinned.

She squinted at him for a second longer as if wanting to decide that he really wasn’t up to no good then rolled her eyes to the sky in defeat before stalking off, “So, you were saying, terms?”

“Ah, yes. Terms. I believe yours favoured you far too much.”

“And yours won’t do the same for you?” He could hear her steps getting heavier and heavier, pounding into the ground as if it was the one driving her irritation.

He practically flounced beside her, “I can assure you, mine will be fair.”

“You know Wolf, it’s funny, but I don’t trust a word you say.”

Loki forced to keep the smile on his face and further leaned back into the arrogant swagger he had already been laying on thick. He didn’t quite understand why her words bothered him when he knew that he wasn’t trustworthy to begin with. He had come to terms with the fact that that was who he was. That she agreed to the fact shouldn’t have bothered him.

“Normally, you’d be right no to Midgardian, but there is no reason for this little game of ours not to be fair. Reminding you that I can win even when fighting fair will be so much more satisfying.”

Her lips were drawn in a tight angry line but still she looked at him as if she was trying to look past the facade and into his soul. Her body was motionless, like a hunter watching her prey, waiting for the moment he would slip up. The longer her scrutinizing gaze tried to dissect him, the more unnerved he felt. But he didn’t look away. Loki was never one to look away first. He fought the urge to shift his weight and did his best to appear as calm as possible.

Finally, when he couldn’t take it anymore, he somehow managed to lift a brow and drawl, “What? No witty retort Midgardian?”

With one last, long look at him she shook her head and kept walking. “Tell me the terms Wolf.”

He let out a small, barely audible sigh to relieve some of the pressure building inside his chest and reminded himself that he could have easily kept walking despite the fact that she had stopped. He had no idea why he felt the need to stop every time she did.

Loki decided the terms to their agreement really would be fair. He didn’t know why he had initially said they would be, it wasn’t like him, but he couldn’t back down now. Maybe he had always wanted a fair fight and realized that he had always been looking in the wrong place to find it. Maybe, for the first time he didn’t want to use his own tricks and follow his own rules because he didn’t want to be unfair to his opponent. No, he thought, it had to be the former.

“I will give you one of your daggers back whenever you correctly guess one of my illusions.” He began to explain, “As long as you don’t use them on me afterwards of course.”

“Can’t promise you anything Wolf.” She grinned, seemingly genuinely amused by the thought of his pain.”

He couldn’t help but get drawn in by her brutal honesty and the smile that lit up her face and found himself doing the same. And when she said, “But you still haven’t told me the catch to your terms yet prince” he couldn’t help but think that maybe she wouldn’t make it as easy as he first thought it would be.

“You’ll have thirty seconds to guess that I’m not truly standing before you if you want one of your daggers. And,” He emphasized the word with a raised finger before she could protest, “Every time you guess wrong, you have to make up for it with another right answer. Only then can you get your precious dagger back. Call it a precaution against you guessing that I’m an illusion every time you see me. Understand, it simply wouldn’t be any fun if you did.”

She let out a sharp breath and crossed her arms, “And you think that’s fair.”

“My life is in danger if you get one back,” He shrugged, though his words weren’t quite true.

She shot him an unimpressed look. “You seem terrified.”

“I’m trembling right now, can’t you tell?” His mocking words broke the scowl on her face, and he noticed the corners of her lips begrudgingly turn up.

“Are you now?”

He nodded, “I am. I can’t barely stand I’m so terrified of the infamous Midgardian and her deadly skills with a blade.”

“Sure, you are,” she laughed, starting to play along, “Is that a slight tremor I hear in your voice?”

He was about to answer but stopped, struck by the look she had on her face. It was one he had rarely seen and didn’t recognize it until it vanished as quickly as it appeared.

“What?” Her brows furrowed, “What’s wrong?”

It took him a moment to realize he’d been staring at her smile. He had only seen the one time when she had torn off the bottom half of her dress and hadn’t realized he had been watching.

He extended his hand, hoping to blow past his small lapse in judgement by getting back to the matter at hand.

“I’m only giving you the time to consider the terms, that’s all. What do you say Midgardian?”

She looked down at his hand with pursed lips and reluctance in her eyes. He couldn’t help but think that she looked at it the same way he had looked at the vegetables on his plate as a child, knowing they were a terrible means to a delicious dessert. Recognizing that look, he no longer doubted that she wouldn’t agree to play along with him. Because if that was, in fact, the same look…well Loki had always gotten dessert.

She sighed, “I don’t have any other options, do I?”

“No.”

“And I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth, “Most likely.”

She sighed. “Well, I guess that settles it then.”

Her hand stayed at her side and she kept staring at his as if it was the only way to persuade her own hand to move.

He raised a brow, not that she could see it she was so focused on his hand and the two-foot gap between their bodies. “Any day now Midgaridan.”

Her eyes lifted to look up at him through her lashes, eyes sparked with irritation. She clenched and unclenched her jaw, then forced her hand to meet his, moving quickly as if afraid she would change her mind.

“Fine. We have a deal, Wolf.” She squeezed his hand a little harder than necessary, “If I guess right within thirty seconds, without having guessed wrong before, you give me back a dagger.”

“Agreed.”

“Okay then.”

She was about to let go but he held on, easily keeping her hand captive in his large one, “Just so you know, I would have agreed to a minute instead to thirty seconds.”

Her nostrils flared, and probably for the millionth time since he met her, she looked like she was about to hit him. It was probably the reason why he shot her the kind of grin he assumed was the reason she kept calling him Wolf.

[sondepoch]

III: Neutral Route (Y/N)

Where Futures Begin

Life used to be simple for you. Peaceful. But the Savior had other plans for you, and in moments, she ruined what you thought was your one shot at happiness. Blinded by anger, you escaped the Mint Eye, but that triggered a series of events that would bring you further into the world of brothers Saeran and Saeyoung. And further into the twisted world of your love for them.

Neutral Route: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | ✔

Saeyoung’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | ✔

Saeran’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | ✔

MASTERLIST 

Day 1

The walls of the room were white, weren't they? You stumbled forward, walking straight into a wall that was apparently closer than you had thought. Landing ungraciously on the ground, you brought a shaky hand to the wall to touch it, and the wall seemed to curve inward as your finger neared the white paint that now appeared to be spotted with black.

"(Y-Y/N)!" You heard a voice call from behind you. "Are you okay?"

You were guided off the floor and back toward the mattress on the ground by a pair of mystery hands. You recognized the voice vaguely, but your mind was too much of a jumble for you to form any coherent thoughts.

"Are you okay?" You replied, giggling as you repeated the question the voice just asked you. Your giggle quickly turned into a full laugh, something about the situation incredibly funny to you. Within seconds, though, your laughter had morphed into a wail as you felt your thoughts clear for a brief moment, followed by excruciating pain.

You clutched your head, then your stomach, then your leg, unsure of where the pain was coming and reached the realization, for perhaps the tenth time in the hour, that the pain had enveloped your body whole, making everything feel like literal hell.

You felt tears roll down your cheeks, and that only made you cry harder, the usually delicate drops of water now seeming to dig trenches of torment into your skin, into your head, into you.

Day 4

"I can't, Saeran, I can't do it anymore." You pushed Saeran away from you and retreated further into the corner of the room.

This was the clearest your mind had been in the past month you'd been here. I have been here a month, right? You thought and then nodded your head to yourself. Of course you'd been in the commitment room a month. Your brain may have been a fog at that moment, but it felt like an eternity had passed between that precise moment and when you were fed your first Elixir in the commitment room.

"(Y/N), please, you've been so good, just take a sip, and it'll all be over," Saeran tried pleading with you. "Please, don't make me force you."

You shrieked, looking around for something to throw at the white-haired male, something that would scare him off. You weren't drinking any more of the elixir. The pain wasn't worth it. "I'm not going to do it!"

Saeran ran a hand through his disheveled hair, and you couldn't tell what was going through his mind.

He turned around, and you sighed in relief when you noted his form moving toward the door. He was moving toward the door, right? You couldn't be sure anymore. The Elixir was messing with your mind.

Wait, no.

He wasn't moving toward the door.

He was moving toward you.

"(Y/N), please," he whispered, now standing directly in front of you (or so you thought, who could be sure?).

You pressed your back into the corner, ignoring the shot of pain that exploded as you applied pressure to agitated skin, and forced your mouth shut. Saeran pushed the glass containing the Elixir to your lips, trying to shove the liquid through the closed opening, but you were stubborn.

Seeming to give up, Saeran sat down next to the bed on you, moving quickly enough that your head spun for a moment, your brain temporarily lagging behind reality. "You know I love you, right, (Y/N)?" He murmured, and you smiled.

You did know that much, at the very least. 

You still didn't open your lips, but nodded your head. "Please forgive me," Saeran whispered, his face getting closer and closer, until you two were kissing.

For the first time since you entered the Commitment Room, external touch didn't bring a wave of pain. Instead, Saeran's lips seemed to be cleansing your body of the Elixir, like he was the antidote your body had been craving this whole time.

Saeran pulled back for a moment, but you didn't open your eyes, wanting to savor the moment, and then his lips were on yours again. You leaned into the kiss, not embracing him with your arms but with your lips, and when he slid his tongue along your lip, you readily opened your mouth for him.

Then, betrayal.

Saeran released a mouthful of liquid into your mouth and leaned back, holding your mouth shut with his hand. You tried to spit it out, the bitterness all too familiar on your tongue, but Saeran's hand was unyielding.

"Swallow, (Y/N)," Saeran said, his voice devoid of emotion as you stared at him with eyes filled with anger, hate, and resentment.

With no other choice, you swallowed the elixir, and then it was like the liquid had become a sea of pain that you were drowning in. Saeran and his unforgivable acts were forgotten, and all that was left in your world was pain.

Day 12

You weren't sure when was the last time you had spoken. Or moved. Or did anything other than swallow the Elixir and lie on your mattress in pain.

You no longer had the mental capacity to think. Your mind was blank, the only verification of your presence in the world being the tic-tock of some clock outside your room. Earlier, what felt like a year ago, you had tried counting the tic's, but the opening of a door had broken you from your thoughts.

A door would open.

Someone would walk in.

"Swallow," A voice would say.

Pain.

Then, repeat.

You were pretty sure you had heard the voice apologize a couple times, but in your delirium, you couldn't be sure of anything anymore. 

You strained your ears, hearing the familiar sound of a door opening.

Is it time already? You wondered, no longer hesitating to swallow the bitter liquid that trickled into your mouth.

You opened an eye for the first time in days, and a familiar face gazed at you with concern. So familiar. Who... You tried to recall the handsome man who stood before you, but the Elixir drowned your thoughts in pain, and before you ever authorized the closing of your eyes, they were scrunched shut, and everything was forgotten once more.

Day 21

"This is the last one, (Y/N)."

Those words repeated in your mind like a mantra, the weight of them bringing you to sit upright. Your head ached, but it wasn't the same harrowing sting that you had grown used to. It was more like the aftertaste of the pain, nauseating and unpleasant, but quite manageable.

The last one...am I done? Have I lasted a month? Has my secondary commitment ended? Thoughts raced through your mind like a swarm of insects, quick to come and quicker to go.

You forced yourself to stand on the mattress, and a subconscious grin spread across your face. It was over. It had to be.

The door opened, and for the first time since your arrival in this room, your vision was clear. No curved walls, no black spots on the white paint, no random dips in the flat floor. It looked normal. It was normal.

"Saeran!" You cried out, practically leaping into the male's arms. "Is it over? Am I committed?"

Your grin was contagious, bringing a soft smile to Saeran's usually stoic face as he saw you greet him for the first time too long. "(Y/N), my princess," He whispered, burying his face in your hair, holding you impossibly tight, "I've missed you so much."

You only smiled in return.

"But..."

You felt a frown tug at your lips. "But what?" You said, your voice flat, the question not really a question but more of a command.

"You're not done."

Saeran felt your spirits drop from cloud nine all the way down to the cold hard earth, and he was quick to try to salvage the situation, "But you won't need any more Elixirs! The worst of the pain is over, (Y/N), really."

You looked up at Saeran and let out a mirthless chuckle. You weren't sure how much more of this you could handle.

Your mouth set itself into a thin line, neither smiling nor frowning, and Saeran continued, "You have five days of rest. As the elixir leaves your system, the Savior will visit you...but you probably won't recall her visit. At least, I don't remember her visits with me from my secondary commitment. Soon, we'll bleach your hair and tattoo you. And then..."

"The eyes?" You asked bluntly, already aware that the final step in your commitment would likely be as painful as the elixirs.

Saeran nodded.

For a while, the two of you just stood there, unmoving and unspeaking, but after enough time had passed, Saeran sat next to you on the bed.

"Lie down, princess," he said, patting his lap, and for the first time, you didn't think of the impending pain you'd be faced with in the next few days. You simply allowed yourself to forget everything else in the world once more until all that was left was you and Saeran, and the braid he was pulling your hair into.

Day 30

Nearly thirty full days, you laid on your mattress and shut your eyes. At least, that's what Saeran said.

But, oh, what a blessing that was.

It didn't matter that at the time that your stomach was pumped full of the Elixir, that your saliva tasted bitter, and you couldn't move without pain shooting through your body like rockets.

You could still close your eyes.

The ability to blink is greatly underappreciated. Something you resigned yourself to never forget as Saeran tightened the eye brace that was keeping your eyelids from blinking down. There were about ten seconds of nonchalance before the pain set in, and it was one of the worst pains you've ever felt.

Back when you were just taking the Elixir, your mind was numbed as your body succumbed to the torture. You weren't aware of what was happening, and you sure as hell didn't remember a thing from any of it.

Now though? All you could think about were your corneas, astutely aware of the appalling level of pain your eyes would be subject to for the next twenty hours.

"Just bear with it, (Y/N), this is going to be over so soon," Saeran said, holding your hand tightly. Your entire body was strapped to a chair, all your limbs tied down so that you wouldn't be able to remove the brace, "I'm sorry," He said for the thousandth time, "I'm so sorry."

You couldn't bring yourself to acknowledge Saeran, though. You could barely think.

It was like someone had taken a picture of a person right before they died, in that moment where the body is fighting desperately for its life and every single sense is on fire, the brain haphazardly sending a million waves of pain and ache and agony to the location in question in hopes that something will save it, and had frozen you in time so that you were feeling like that every goddamn second.

"H..." You started, trying to focus on your words to lessen the effect of the pain.

"Help me, Saeran."

The boy's eyes filled with sympathy at your words, desperately wanting to do something to alleviate your pain but not knowing what. "The pain will ease out when the color gets injected, it's just a few more hours, and I'll be here the whole time, (Y/N), I promi-"

"No," You interrupted him, unable to bear it any longer. "No."

Saeran opened his mouth and closed it, at a loss for words.

"Knock me out, Saeran," You whispered, keeping your voice low as if the Savior were listening at the door. "The eye brace will keep my eyes open, and I won't have to deal with the pain. Please."

Saeran hesitated, unsure. "(Y/N), if the Savior finds out, we'll both..."

"Do it, Saeran!" You shouted, the pain unbearable as tears rolled down your cheeks, "Please!"

Your vision turned blurry, and you couldn't see straight anymore, your eyes crying out in pain and the unfairness of it all. This wasn't just. It wasn't right. And it was so close to being over. You looked upward and murmured a prayer the orphanage had taught you, desperately asking to be saved from the world of pain you were in; for Saeran to knock you out and give you a break from misery.

Then, redemption.

You felt Saeran strike your head, allowing darkness had set in despite your eyes staying open, the pain distant once more.

MASTERLIST

Neutral Route: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | ✔

Saeyoung’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | ✔

Saeran’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | ✔

Word count: 2.2k

Notes: Welp that's another chapter. Lmao sorry for posting it so late, I had this done a while back but I wound up being busy so I pulled my first all-nighter of 2020 working on all the history homework I'd procrastinated on. EW HISTORY. I'm team physics ;) Ngl I'm still in school and I have an actually amazing history teacher but he makes us work so hard and it's ROUGH but probably because whenever I should be doing homework I'm messing around on Tumblr so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Comment & Like

Next Update: 01/09/20

I do not own the rights to Mystic Messenger or any of the characters within it.

[cottontail20]

In Happy Times, Our Love Does Grow, Chapter 14: Listen To Me

Summary: Wanda and Vision have a meaningful discussion about past relationships.

Ao3 link:https://archiveofourown.org/works/20601530/chapters/50325881

Wanda only just managed to stop herself from yelping in surprise, not wanting to wake Viv. Her heart raced.

Shit. How long had Vision been there, and how much had he heard? And whoa, he was so close. Were his eyes always that blue? And so gentle. He was looking at her like.. Wanda wasn't even sure, but it made her heart flutter, and heat rise in her cheeks. If she reached up and leaned in just a tiny bit, she could be kissing him, and.. No, bad Wanda!

"Fata dulce.." Vision whispered, so as not to wake his daughter.

"Hmm?" The words snapped Wanda completely out of her minor trance, although she was a little too distracted by thoughts of kissing Vision to register what he had said.

"Fata dulce" He repeated. "You've called her that before. What does it mean?"

"Oh.. Sweet girl. My Mother used to.." Wanda trailed off. "It just means sweet girl."

"It's nice."

"I suppose so.. you framed my painting."

"It deserved to be framed" Vision replied. "It is very good."

"Thank you.."

They both stood there for a moment, in a silence that was equal parts awkward, and somehow the most comfortable Wanda had ever felt.

"I, uh.. I came to see if you needed help" Smiling almost shyly, Vision offered her his arm. "Because of your foot.."

"Right.." Her broken toes were throbbing a little, although Wanda felt almost as though this was her body conspiring against her, giving her an excuse to accept his help. "It is a bit sore, actually."

Vision offered his arm again, and Wanda took it, letting him help her hobble out of the room. Wanda left the door slightly ajar, sensing that Viv probably appreciated that extra little bit of light. Her instinct was right, because Vision smiled at her. Another sweet, shy smile. Wanda wasn't sure what he thought he had to be shy about, but she was sure that that damn smile was doing funny things to her insides.

"So.." Vision spoke, to break the silence that had again settled between them, "How has work been? Today's thrilling adventure aside, of course."

"It's been.. work" Wanda chuckled, grateful for the distraction the new discussion gave her. "Honestly, Today might have been a nice break from the monotony if I wasn't so worried about Viv getting hurt."

"Thank you again, for helping her."

"It was no problem, really.. The store will want me in costume for Halloween soon. Mantis always has great ones."

"Is her name really Mantis?" Vision's brow crinkled.

"Surprisingly, yes" Wanda nodded, smiling. "Apparently her parents are really into insects. Anyway, if I don't come up with a costume on my own, the store gives me one, but it's always something really cliche, like a witch, or a vampire.."

"Hmm.. Why not dress as the Scarlet Witch?" Vision suggested.

"What?"

"Like your painting, the Scarlet Witch. A costume like that wouldn't be too difficult to pull together, and it would be special and unique to you. It seems like the perfect solution.

On the surface, it was. Maybe even a little too perfect. The Scarlet Witch wasn't just a character in a painting. The Scarlet Witch was Wanda.. kind of. A completely idealized version of herself. Beautiful, powerful, smart.. everything Wanda wished that she was. For a person who had as low an opinion of herself as Wanda did, that wasn't an easy 'costume' to wear.

Still, she managed a smile for Vision. He was just trying to help.

"Maybe.." --

Vision helped Wanda back to the sofa, and she propped her foot up once again.

"Would you like anything, Wanda?" Vision asked. "Tea, coffee?"

"I'm usually a tea drinker" Wanda replied.

"So am I" Vision smiled, heading for the kitchen and fetching two mugs from the cupboard. "I keep the coffee for guests. Mostly Natasha.."

Wanda, oblivious to the fact that Nat had clearly been trying to play matchmaker on the Fourth of July, suddenly felt jealous.. and then wanted to slap herself. She had no right to be jealous. Still..

"Are you and Nat..?"

"What? Oh, God no" Vision laughed as he set about making the tea. "Natasha is just a friend. More like family. She loves being Auntie Nat to the kids, but she's very happily single."

"Right.." Wanda felt more relieved than she had any right to be, and before she could stop herself, asked a question she knew she had no right to ask. "What about you?"

"It would be nice to have a special someone" Vision shrugged, "But, being a single Father.. That's a little too much baggage for some women to handle. I've met a few.. they think Vivian is the cutest thing in the world when they assume I can hand her back at the end of 'my weekend'. Once they know it's full time, and thatI don't like leaving her with babysitters too often.."

"I'm sorry, Vizh.."

"It is what it is" Vision moved to sit beside Wanda, a lot closer now without their adorable Viv-shaped buffer, and handed her a mug of tea. "I understand that there's a lot more to think about when there's a child involved.. But Viv doesn't bite. I'm not trying to replace her Mother. She had a Mother. I just need someone who doesn't immediately balk at the fact that spending time with me usually means spending time with her.. It doesn't have to be something scary."

"Of course not.." without even thinking about it, Wanda moved to comfort him, laying a hand on his shoulder. "You're a great guy, Vizh, and Viv is the sweetest kid I've ever met, and anyone who can't accept that she comes first for you.. Well, that's their loss."

Somewhat selfishly, Wanda thought that, if she didn't have to be a Mother to Viv, if she could just be her friend, which she was more than happy to do.. Maybe, she and Vision could.. No. She wasn't good enough for him. She wasn't the Scarlet Witch. Not beautiful, or clever, or strong. He deserved so much better.

Vision, immediately noticing her change in demeanor, frowned.

"Wanda, is something wrong?"

"No.." She sipped her tea, trying, but failing to hide a sudden quiver in her lip.

"I'm your friend, Wanda. Vision insisted. "You can talk to me."

"It's just.. I live in a crappy apartment, working a job I hate so I don't lose my crappy apartment, any men I do meet only want one thing, and.. Sometimes I wonder if that's all I'm.."

"Don't" Vision grabbed Wanda's hand, and she only just managed not to spill her tea.

He was looking at her with the most serious expression she had ever seen on him. It was actually really hot.. No, bad Wanda! She shook her head, trying to clear her mind.

"Don't what?"

"Don't talk about yourself like that."

"Vizh.."

"No, listen to me" said Vision. "You are beautiful, and kind, even when you don't want to be, like when an idiot walks into your store a few minutes before closing and completely outstays his welcome.. And there's just something.. Something special about you. You deserve love and respect as much as anyone else does, probably more than some people do, and anyone who isn't willing to give you that isn't worth your time. Do you understand me?"

"I.." Wanda's voice cracked. She couldn't remember anyone ever being so kind to her. At least, anyone who wasn't related to her. She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat, struggling to respond.

"Do you understand, Wanda?"

"Inteleg.. I understand."

"Good."

Vision was still holding her hand. They looked at each other for a long while. Vision opened his mouth as if he was going to say something else, but the sound of a siren somewhere outside broke the spell. Wanda pulled her hand from Vision's grip, before quickly draining the rest of her tea.

"I should probably head home soon.."

"Of course" Vision nodded. "Let me call you a cab, I'll pay.."

"Vizh" Wanda frowned, "You don't have to.."

"I want to" Vision stood to fetch his phone. "Viv and I invited you over, the least I can do is help you get Home.." --

When the Cab arrived, Vision helped Wanda outside (leaning against him felt almost normal now), and politely opened the door for her.

"Text me when you get Home, alright?" Vision asked. "I want to know you made it there safely."

"It's only 9 PM, Vizh" Wanda chuckled, shaking her head. "What could happen?"

"Just promise you will text me."

"Fine. Promisiune."

"Good.." Vision seemed to pause for a moment, considering, then kissed her cheek. "See you soon?"

"Yeah" Wanda almost squeaked, blushing bright red, quickly climbing into the cab. "Soon."

Vision moved to the driver's side, giving them Wanda's address, what he thought was enough money to cover the fare, and a very generous tip in exchange for helping Wanda up to her apartment to keep her from further injuring her foot. Wanda was about to object to just now generous this tip was, but the cab drove off before she could. Vision waved to her, a cheeky smile on his face.

Wanda watched him until her cab turned at the end of the street. He was still waving. Once he was out of sight, she gently touched the spot where Vision had kissed her cheek. It tingled, exuding a soft warmth.

And Wanda smiled. Vision thought she was beautiful.

[kcwcommentary]

VLD7x04 – “The Feud!”

7x04 – “The Feud!”

Can anyone tell me what the point of this episode is? I truly do not understand why this episode exists. Not only was this episode written, it was written by the (until part way through this season) Story Editor for this show Tim Hedrick. Even with episodes I think are a waste of time like 4x04 “The Voltron Show!” or 8x07 “Day Forty-Seven” or 8x08 “Clear Day,” I still at least recognize something of the writer’s intention, but I have no idea what the point of “The Feud!” is. There are episodes of this series that I really don’t like, but I haven’t dreaded rewatching any of them the way I dreaded rewatching this one. I don’t think there’s an episode of this show that I hate more than this one.

There is only one interpretation that I can think of for this episode, and it makes Tim Hedrick look extremely petty and unprofessional (see the end of this commentary).

The episode, with the juxtaposition of the visual design and the episode title, is clearly a reference to old gameshows like Family Feud. Voltron Legendary Defender’s target audience was young kids, and it’s hard for me to imagine anyone that young being familiar with old gameshows, so I have no idea how anyone thought this gameshow pastiche would be appealing to them.

I guess this episode is supposed to be funny. Nothing about this episode makes me laugh.

The Paladins are a team on a gameshow. Shiro continues to not be part of the team. Keith, Pidge, Lance, Hunk, and Allura are all being forced to participate. They are disoriented and have no idea where they are or why they’re here. Pidge says, “The last thing I remember, we were all flying in our Lions.” So, Hunk’s declaration near the end of last episode that the Lions were “in worse shape than ever,” meant absolutely nothing. There is no resolution of the Lions being without power. The show just ignores what it had set up.

Is Bob supposed to be funny? I have never understood why shows – VLD is not alone in this – do episodes with inscrutable characters like Bob. Some faux-mysterious other-being that causes things to happen, functions in some ways like a chaos-agent, but the narrative never gives any real explanation to why the character does what they do. It is fundamentally bad writing to ever have a character whose motivation is nonexistent.

Bob tells the Paladins that they have to win this game or be “trapped here in our studio for the rest of eternity.” Whatever threat that is supposed to have is instantly nonexistent. Of course, the Paladins are getting out of this since there’s more show to go. By using faux-threat like this, by using something so over-the-top severe, the episode causes the audience to instantly disengage with the plot. A story having too much threat can actually turn into having no threat.

Bob locks the Paladins’ feet to the floor, the camera and sound of his voice go over-the-top menacing, and he says, “You will play my game as long as I want you to.” Because everything Bob says is meaningless, the faux-threat just feels absurd.

The laugh track I guess is just part of the old gameshow pastiche that they used for this episode. Laugh tracks have always seemed like lies to me. I don’t like an episode telling me, laugh here. And since this episode is not funny, every time I hear the laugh track, I wonder, did the people who worked on this episode actually think this was funny?

Bob magically infantilizes Keith by putting a pacifier in his mouth while Keith has to draw something for the other Paladins to guess. I guess it’s supposed to be funny that the other Paladins have trouble guessing what Keith’s drawing, but it’s not funny. Allura correctly guesses Arusian for the first drawing, after Lance thinks it’s a chicken and Pidge yells at him. For the second drawing, it’s clearly a sword, and Lance guesses “chopsticks,” which when Pidge yells at him again, he modifies to “space chopsticks.” Pidge gets the correct Blade of Marmora guess. Third guess goes to Hunk who, after cycling through all of the colors, answers Red Lion. The last drawing is of Haggar, which Lance calls “pepperoni, an alligator, a cave, windy cave, […] a thermos,” and Allura slams the platform/desk they’re standing at and yells, “Lance, will you stop talking!”

I hate that this episode has everyone treat Lance like this.

They fail to get the last one in time. And then the “other team” is introduced. Zarkon, Haggar, Lotor, and an “insignificant underling” Morvok. I don’t have any idea what the purpose of bringing them into this is. They don’t behave like the characters actually behave in the show. They’re not even caricatures of the characters used as some form of self-referential meta-analysis.

The instant Zarkon is told to guess Keith’s last drawing, of course he’s going to get it right, and he even clearly knows he knows the answer, but it feels like forever for him to just get on with it and say the answer. I guess it’s supposed to be funny, but it’s not.

Lotor rants about “spending centuries perfecting my exquisite life-like renderings, not that you cared,” Haggar touches Lotor on the arm and says, “I treasured your art,” and he recoils from her, saying, “Don’t touch me you filthy, filthy hag.” This moment feels like the show is criticizing Lotor for his rejection of Haggar, like it’s presenting Haggar as being not-that-bad, like Lotor is unjust in his hating Haggar. It’s offensive to me. If the most wanted production goal of this series was the EPs wanting Keith as Black Paladin, it seems like the second most wanted production goal was to retcon Haggar. Haggar was a horrible person, and the show’s insistence that we change to see her instead as a good person to whom bad things happened honestly feels like the show is gaslighting the audience. Zarkon then yells at Lotor, Lotor hits Morvok, and Bob looks at the camera and says, “Family, am I right?”

The whole moment is about presenting Lotor as the unreasonable one, like he’s responsible for Zarkon abusing him, and all of Haggar’s abuse is somehow our misinterpretation of her character. It’s played like abuse is funny. “Family, am I right?” How about, no.

Zarkon plays some card out of nowhere that makes the next Paladin have to play alone, and Zarkon picks “the dumb one.” The camera zooms in on Lance, who turns to his supposed friends and asks, “Who’s he talking about?” The laugh track laughs.

Lance is “dumb,” isn’t that funny? What is wrong with this show? What is wrong with the people who made this show? What is wrong with Tim Hedrick for writing this? What is wrong with Joaquim Dos Santos and Lauren Montgomery for approving this script? What is wrong with the people at Dreamworks for approving this script?

It would be different if Zarkon called Lance “dumb” and the other Paladins, Lance’s supposed friends, came to his defense. But they don’t. I can only then think that the EPs and the writers of this show do think of Lance as “the dumb one” and that they think it’s funny to write him that way.

Bob sends the gameshow to an advertisement break, and as they’re transitioning out, Lance continues, “Wait, I’m the dumb one?” It kind of makes me want to cry, like it hurts me that the show is treating Lance like this.

There’s an advertisement for that store in 2x07 “Space Mall,” where Lance and Pidge got the Kaltenecker. The alien salesperson doesn’t act here like he did there. The whole advertisement sequence is a total waste of time. I guess it’s supposed to be funny, but it’s not.

Coming back from the break, Bob again refers to Lance as “the dumb one.” Lance reacts, “I’m not too happy being referred to as ‘the dumb one’ like 18 times.” Bob looks at the camera, says, “Oh, it was only about four times, you big dumb-dumb,” and the laugh track laughs.

What is wrong with this show?

Lance has to play “Faces from the Past,” Bob asks Lance if he knows how the game works, Lance says an assumptive yes, and Bob looks at the camera and says, “What do you think, audience, do we believe this beautiful dumb-dumb?” The audience yells, “No!”

What is wrong with this show? What is wrong with the people who made this?

Lance is placed in an “isolation shield,” a clear tube with a mouth on top of it. The first “face from the past” almost lands on Kolivan before shifting at the last second to a faceless member of the Blade of Marmora. There’s no way for Lance to know who this guy is. There’s no way for anyone to know who he is because he’s wearing the traditional Blade of Marmora facemask that conceals his identity. Keith points to his blade, Bob says “that’s a pretty big clue,” but how’s it a clue?

I don’t even know why I’m arguing with this episode. This episode is total crap.

Lance guesses, “Blade… y. Bladey?” The answer is Antok. Everyone else acts like it’s absurd to not know Antok. The only absurd thing is that not just someone, but several people in this show’s production actually thought this was a script worth producing.

I would rather watch 23 minutes of the form-Voltron animation over and over than this episode.

The next face is one of the mermaid people with a squid on her head. Lance knows her as “the serious one.” He knows things she did, but not her name, which is apparently Swirn. The next face almost stops on Nyma, but then shifts at the last second to Rolo. Lance has trouble remembering his name, the other Paladins use their arms to spell out Rolo. Lance runs out of time, and then the Paladins change their arms to spell out “kill.”

The episode literally has Allura, Hunk, Pidge, and Keith express anger and frustration at Lance by saying they want to kill him. What is wrong with this show and what is wrong with the people who made it?

To the audience’s cheers, Bob explains that if Lance misses the next one, he’ll “be forced to hit this button, which will shoot you out of the studio and into the layer of the snick,” which is some big, insect-like or crab-like creature. The last face is Bii-Boh-Bi. How nice of this worthless episode to reference that worthless episode. Lance correctly and instantly answers this one.

Team Zarkon are dropped through a hole in the floor. Their purpose in the episode is concluded. I still don’t what the point of any of this episode is though. Bob brings out Bii-Boh-Bi. This character was not funny in the past, he’s not funny now. Bob continues to call Lance “dumb-dumb.”

Lance has to answer five questions correctly or end up in a tank of percolating green liquid “where [he’ll] be slowly cooked alive.” Bii-Boh-Bi is giving clues to Lance while the weird mouth on the top of the tube Lance is in starts swallowing the tube.

Lance says, “I have no idea what’s happening right now.” Same here, Lance.

Lance somehow guesses various “bi”s and “bo”s correctly. I guess it’s supposed to be funny, but it’s not. Lance does not get the last one correct, the mouth swallows him, and he gets ejected into the tank of liquid.

There’s another advertisement, this time for Vrepit Sal’s. Thankfully, at least, it’s quicker than the previous advertisement.

Lance says the liquid feels like it’s exfoliating him, and Bob replies, “Eventually it will eat through your skin.” There is something seriously wrong with the people who worked on this show, especially Tim Hedrick.

Bob asks the Paladins, who is going to play to free Lance, “who’s the brainiest of the team?” and they all instantly answer, Pidge. She has to play a hole of miniature golf. It takes a lot of time for her to set up her shot, which I guess is supposed to be funny. Pidge seems to accidentally hit the ball into the camera and then into Bob, but it’s clear she meant to do that as she tackles Bob to the ground, trying to arrange a chance for them to escape. Bob teleports back to his normal center-stage position, Pidge and Lance are teleported back to the rest of the group, and they’re now in the final stage of the gameshow. It makes no sense.

Bob says, “One of you will now be allowed to leave the game, the rest of you will be staying here with me forever.” They have to write down who they think should be the one to leave. Hunk votes for Allura because she’s “the princess, and she’s such a natural leader, you know. The universe needs her more than it needs the rest of us, plain and simple.” Of course, the show hasn’t had Allura be a leader since, like, season three.

Allura votes for Pidge, “She and her family have the best chance of rebuilding what my father started.” I guess this “rebuilding” is supposed to be a reference to the Castle Ship and Atlas? I would think Coran would be more capable than Pidge’s family at building a new Castle Ship since he spent the whole show maintaining and running the Castle nearly by himself.

Lance votes for Keith, “He’s our leader, plus he’s half-Galra, so I think he’s like, the future.” What does this mean? How is being half-Galra the future? Lotor was half-Galra too, but Lance certainly didn’t think of Lotor as being “the future.” Why is the show placing worth and value on a person based on this? This honestly feels racist. It’s like it’s a statement that Galra-supremacy is valid, so Zarkon was right the entire time?

Keith votes for Lance, saying, “I just don’t want to be stuck here for eternity with Lance.” Lance initially misinterprets this as a good thing before realizing that it’s an insult. This is supposed to be a team? These are supposed to be people who are friends? This episode is so messed up.

Pidge votes for Hunk, saying, “Hunk gets along with everybody. If anyone’s going to go out into the universe and bring people together, it’s Hunk.”

Bob is impressed that no one voted for themselves and that everyone got at least one vote. So, they all win. That’s the end of the gameshow.

The Paladins wake up in their Lions in space. So, yup, there’s no resolution to how the previous episode ended with the Lions being “in worse shape than ever.” They’re fine now. Whatever.

The Paladins begin to realize that, since they all experienced the gameshow, that it was real, not a dream, so that’s a giant cliché. Coran pops in at the sound of the name “Bob,” who he says is an “all-powerful, all-knowing interdimensional being who judges the worthiness of great warriors.” Keith replies, “The guy was kind of a jerk though, right?” The other Paladins seem to agree with him.

Then there’s another advertisement for the mermaid planet.

Is Bob supposed to be a reference to Bob Koplar from World Events Productions? If, as Keith says, Bob “was kind of a jerk,” does that mean this episode is all about Tim Hedrick complaining about Koplar and WEP? The executive producers were very public about their complaints that executives wouldn’t just step back and let them make the show however they wanted. As an executive of WEP, Bob Koplar could be one of the executives that JDS and LM referenced in their complaints. Hedrick left Voltron this season, and this episode is the first one where he shares Story Editor credit with Joshua Hamilton. If this episode is Hedrick criticizing Bob Koplar, then (regardless of what kind of person Koplar is) Hedrick is a really petty person. The same way it was seriously unprofessional for the show to have written the EPs’ complaints about having to keep Shiro into Coran’s dialog in 4x04 “The Voltron Show,” if “The Feud!” is Hedrick ranting about Koplar as he’s leaves the show, then that is also seriously unprofessional.

If there is some other possible explanation for what in the world this episode is supposed to be, I don’t know.

As much as other episodes of this show infuriate me, “The Feud!” is the absolute worst episode of Voltron Legendary Defender.

[genderfreezone]

Do you like the Evil Within 2?

Yeah! Certainly not as much as the first one (i was not immune to being sad they left out fan favorites Jojo and Ruvik's Cube)

The rest of this post is me rambling about things i didnt like about the game, and then things i did like (most of my issues are how they treat the female characters tbh)

Its missing kind of the action-noir-gone-horrifically-wrong feel of the first game. The scare factor also suffers bc our player character has been through this before, hes a veteran at dealing with this crazy shit, it doesnt phase him anymore and by extension it doesnt phase the player. They really like tripled down on the Evil Corporation thing and both the intrigue and horror suffer for it.

This game did not drink its respect women juice (the first one didnt really either, case in point: Everything About Kidman) Sebastian is surrounded by 5+ female characters and only 2 of them survive (and one of them is his 7 year old daughter hes spent the whole game trying to rescue... and yet they never bothered to give her any kind of characterization or agency. A highly empathetic and supernaturally powerful little girl in a monster-infested hellscape?? HELLO???? Lily really had the potential to be the most interesting, sympathetic, and complex character--especially as she slowly lost her innocence--in the WHOLE GAME, but she was just sort of relegated to Plot Device McGuffin) The rest of the female supporting cast are killed off for Sebastian's Man Pain. In fact, THIS ENTIRE GAME IS CENTERED AROUND SEBASTIAN'S MAN PAIN. Torrez is a walking stereotype, shes literally just Vasquez from Aliens. Hoffman was the most likeable and believeable, except when it Turns Out She Was In Love With Liam Or Whatever (psst, guess what, i dont care. Also O'neal was kind of a dick anyway? I dont care x2)

And you know who i SUPER dont care about? Bland-White-Bread-And-Mayo-Sandwich Myra. Where's the no-nonsense firecracker of a police lieutenant Sebastian married? Not here, thats for sure. Her entire personality is "mother" and "worries about stressed-out husband". We got more characterization of Myra in seb's jornals from the first game, where she never even made a physical appearance! Horror media does this SO MUCH, women are either A. Sexy Lamp B. Hurts Men (Sexily) C. Mother or D. Innocent Virgin. It sucks. Do better.

The story lacked the "digging up old buried memories" and "theres more to this than meets the eye" of the first game. It felt too...... Straightforward. Everyone told Sebastian the truth. EVERYTHING WAS EXACTLY WHAT IT SEEMED. It all felt too simple, too easy, like there SHOULDVE been something else beneath the surface. And yet there wasnt. (I watched markipliers playthrough and i loved his theory that Kidman was actually Lily. It had such potential. Kidman's entire resume for the police station was fabricated, who's to say the rest of her past wasnt fabricated as well? It would retcon a lot of stuff and like 80% of her backstory from the DLC, but you know games like this arent above retconning important shit, and at least it wouldve been sacrificed for something with actual intrigue. Maybe it wouldnt even retcon anything! Consider: tiny Lily is taken by Evil Corporation and dropped off in a non-nurturing environment that would lead her to become the kind of person who would willingly join & work for an organization like Mobius. At least wouldve been a nice excuse for why Kidman and Lilys face models looked so similar... other than... yknow.... "WomEN ARe hArD tO DRaWwwwwee")

Okay okay ive been ranting for long enough. It probably makes it sound like i kinda hate this game, but i dont! It certainly doesnt hold the same place in my heart as the first one (which i still have very glaring issues with lmao Kidman deserved WAAAAAAY better), but i do like it! It brings back salty, grizzled, tsundere Sebastian Castinellos. It brings back spooky monsters that kill you dead. It brings back having a fun theatrical over-the-top villain who takes himself a litte too seriously.

I love Stefano. Probably not in the way some other fans do, but i love him as a ridiculous theatrical over-the-top villain. He sucks! And i love that he sucks! I love him BECAUSE he sucks! Hes terrible and exaggerated and completely up his own ass and ITS GREAT. He isnt as ACTUALLY THREATENING as Ruvik was (even in his bad assassin's creed cosplay. I could go on and on and on about why Ruvik is simultaneously a ridiculous AND frightening antagonist and how much i love it but uh..... maybe later) but hes such a FUN villain! Hes the kind of pretentious art snob shitheel i cannot STAND irl, but in this game i LOVE to HATE him. Hes just SO over-the-top you kinda wonder if he actually subscribes to the pretentiousness he spouts, or if hes just being Exceptionally Extra.

The other villains? Theodore was.... forgettable. His monsters were forgettable. (Its like how i completely forgot that Frank Manera was a character in Whistleblower for like... 5 years lmao i guess this game also kinda followed that "having multiple named/characterized antagonists in one game" thing that Outlast did) Myra, i just didnt care. Her final design was kinda cool, i liked the red clusters of insect eyes. Her monsters werent really gross enough to be memorable. The only reson theyre gross at all is bc they kinda look like theyre made of semen. (I checked the wiki and apparently Myra's white goo is "psychoplasm" and her monsters lost 99% of their gross factor. I just dont care.) The Administrator literally just looked like a 3D human model of Maxwell from dont starve, and i have to laugh every time i see him. Hes not terribly threatening, all he does is threaten characters to work faster and doesnt actually follow through on those threats. He doesnt even make fun threats like HABIT or anything. He thinks hes so powerful and ominous that his mere presence will frighten the player but hes just kinda all bark and no bite. Hes The Big Bad Company Man so you know hes gonna get whats coming to him, and you know Kidmans gonna be the one to do it to him, so hes not even that much of a threat. Hes whatever.

Stefano definitely got all of the coolest monsters. Many Arms Buzzsaw Lady was terrifying and i love her. And OBSCURA was just *Chef's Kiss* Anima was cool, she kinda looked like a mix of Laura and Samara. The Harbingers were neat, but really only bc ive got a thing for gas masks. The rest of the monsters werent really unique or weighty/threatening enough to be memorable. Now the first game is a fucking TREASURE TROVE of unique monsters *muah* you got Sadist, Sentinel, Keeper, Amalgam, Heresy, Laura, Shigyo, the Twins, Alter Egos, and im probably forgetting some!! But holy FUCK!!!!! And if we're includong the DLC?? MOTHER FUCKING SHADE. SPOTLIGHT LADY. LIGHT WOMAN.  SEXY LEGS.  Whatever you call her, i fucking love her. Her design is so simple. Helmet. Sheet. Legs. Her voice? Unnerving as hell. Love it. (Also i just personally love the diving helmet. Also like you know how a lot of games have a spotlight mechanic where you have to avoid the light and if it lands on you, you're fucked? LET'S MAKE AN ENTIRE MONSTER OUT OF THAT. She's PERFECT.) Oh and also those weird crawling exploding dudes. They made gross sounds and it was great. (Tbh Keepers still probably my favorite, if only for horny reasons)

TATIANA HOW HAVE I NOT FUCKING TALKED ABOUT TATIANA. Shes like the ONE female character that i fucking LOVE in the sequel. I love how they finally gave her a personality, and that personality is literally just "fuck you, Sebastian" Oh GOD its great shes SO FUNNY. I just.... god i love Tatiana lmao. I love how she makes you kinda uncomfortable too, like she knows something, but she wont tell you bc youre stupid. I didn't like the kind of "all-knowing guide" thing they did to try and make her creepy (like she's a "guide" but then also turns around and is like "no i wont tell you what you need to know bc you """have to discover it on your own""" or whatever") it serves no purpose since she never gave you any actual information, and it didn't succeed in making her creepier, all it did was frustrate me. She was at her creepiest when she IMPLIED she was doing something behind the scenes or knew something you didn't know and then didn't elaborate (not REFUSING to elaborate, just... stopping talking and leaving the statement to hang in the air, like the "getting her nails done" and "its been a long time, detective" and the "now what makes you say that" from the first game) and she was at her funniest when she was interacting with Sebastian from the sidelines, her snide little comments and sarcastic clapping cracked me the fuck up. Tatiana not treating Sebastian seriously was a fantastic touch for a game that otherwise would probably take itself so seriously it would double back around to being silly. Without Tatiana, it would've been just another male-centric gun-toting "survival horror" game, and for the most part, it was just that. She was definitely a much-needed source of slightly derisive comedy and a definite high-point for me, even if they didn't so a great job of making her creepy or fulfilling her "purpose."

Oh I also really love the COLORS in TEW2. The first game fell into the trap of having the colors be totally washed out that a lot of horror stuff does, but it also kind of worked for it. Especially with the color pallette of our main villain and how the whole thing was His World. The saturation of the colors in the second game is a breath of fresh air and gorgeous to look at, and you can even see the color motifs of the game change with each new villain: the game starts out with Stephano has lots of blues and purples and dark reds, when Theodore takes over we get bright orange and yellow contrasted with black and brown, and in the climax with Myra the game goes back to having washed out colors and white (and with her villain design? Let's face it: they were kinda just trying to do Ruvik again) We did get portions that were still kind of wahed out whites and greens and greys, but it wasnt the ENTIRE game, even the big blood-and-brains splatterhouse sections of the first game kinda had their colors weirdly muted for that "Horror Aethetic."

In conclusion, i do like the evil within 2, but i also had a lot of problems with it. And i complain about these problems because i like the game and know it couldve done better, tried harder, and been a LOT more than it was (the wasted character potential is my real overarching pet peeve, probably becuase i loved the characters in the first game, and character development is kind of my whole jam) . But all in all, it was still a fun monster-zombie romp with at least one entertaining villain and fun-to-look-at designs and environments. It wasn't character or horror or even REALLY story driven in the way I know it COULDVE been, but i still had a fun time and enjoyed myself.

[revengeisalwaysanoption]

I don’t know if you’re taking prompts, but I think it would be funny to read something about The Boy Squad and Niccolò playing truth or dare, spin the bottle or something like that. And another one: Marti trying to hide his hickeys from The boys, because Niccolò simply loves his neck 🤷🏻‍♀️😂 (btw I love your writing!)

Thanks! I’m sorry it took me so long, but I finally have it. Hope it doesn’t disappoint too much…

******************************

Nobody thought Martino could actually pull this off.

‘You’ve got the worst poker face in the world, zì.’ Giovanni reminded him, sure that Niccolò would know something was up as soon as he opened the door. That might be true, but Gio was definitely underestimating how good his best friend could be at sidetracking Nico. He wouldn’t even remember his own name, once he was done with him…

‘If you manage not to give it away tonight, and that’s a big if… you want me to believe that you’re gonna tell him that you’re busy and that you really can’t stay, when morning comes?’ Elia rolled his eyes, disbelief written all over his face. The plan could work, because it wasn’t something you’d ever expect from Martino… but it was hard to imagine this boy would really let Niccolò spend most of the next day alone.

‘Aren’t you gonna feel guilty about keep a secret from him?’ Luca asked, genuinely surprised by this new – stealthy – side of Martino. ‘I feel bad already… so maybe you better text me the details at the last minute. I can’t promise I won’t say something I shouldn’t, if he asks me…’ 

Yeah, he had taken that into account. Maybe he should have told Luchino that there wasn’t anything to feel sorry, or guilty, about. That as soon as Ni would find the first clue inside the ukulele, he’d know he has been sent on a treasure hunt. He wouldn’t really care that asking for help from his friends could be considered cheating – let it be known that he still is the Greatest Fucking Cheater Ever Existed – but he’d try not to involve them just because it’s their game…Marti should have told Luchino, sure. But it implied talking about the handwritten notes, the flipbook, the antidote, the giraffes… About things that he didn’t feel like to share that with anyone, because they were just theirs.Contrary to everybody’s expectations, indeed, Martino managed to surprise Niccolò.He had him running and cycling all over the city – including their school terrace, were Chicco Rodi and Rocco Martucci were waiting for him – to collect clues on where to find him… Which ended up being the most obvious place, if only Niccolò had taken a moment to stop and think: in that same swimming pool where they first kissed, without any Renato to interrupt them now.He let him think that they were going home to make up for lost time, alone… And then got a bit frantic when Niccolò turned on the light and looked at him and then at their friends, like he couldn’t believe his eyes…Was it too much? Was he overwhelmed?

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!”Trust Luchì to break the ice and hug Niccolò so tight that he couldn’t help but hug him back and start laughing.

Silvia came to the rescue, handing out slices of cake to everyone. It was barely more edible than the one she had prepared for the first meeting at Radio Osvaldo but he ate it with such gusto that one would think it was the best thing he had ever tasted.

He was gifted with pictures and embarrassing stories of his boyfriend’s first year in high school by Eva, shared travelling tips with Eleonora and went off on a rant about the upcoming maturità with Edoardo and Federico. If there was one good thing that came out from Covitti being a jerk, in the end, it was that it showed Incanti and Canegallo could be pretty decent people. Who wouldn’t side with the homophobic asshole out of fear of being called gay themselves, as most other boys at school seemed to do.

Who would break a bottle on someone’s head, if it came down to it, before their friend could be seriously harmed.

He discussed about some stickers and pins he had designed for Pride this year with Filippo, and explained to a very intrigued Luchino what pansexuality was with Sava’s help.

They were both very kind and patient and answered each one of his inappropriate questions, and Filippo even went far as shutting down Martino’s groans when Luca said “So, bi and pans do have something in common: they could both pass off as straight if they wanted, right?” with a “That’s rich, coming from you.”

“Uh?”

“I mean… I remember you thinking being ace was equal to being celibate, until what… Last week? Didn’t you say they were ‘straight-passing’ too, Rose?”

“I’m still learning, okay?” Martino mumbled, pouting. Both Niccolò and Filippo were older than him, so of course they knew more about this stuff!

“We know you are.” Niccolò conceded, walking over to his boyfriend to kiss him on the lips. “So am I. So is Filippo. So is everyone here in my house, today.”

“What they’re saying is just that we can all learn something from each other, Marti! That’s why I like to ask questions, you know? I like to learn…”

“Yeah, but it’s not their responsibility to educate you, Luchì.” Elia butted in, getting an impressed look from Filippo – not that he gave a damn about that, not in slightest. “I hate to be the one who breaks the news to you, bro, but the Internet is for more than just porn.”

Sana cornered him in the kitchen, half an hour later, to stress that they all agreed his house was the best place to have this party because he could kick them all out whenever he pleased.

“You didn’t ask for this, and you shouldn’t feel like you have to entertain your guests, you know?” She casted a glance to their friends, who were now in the middle of a ridiculous game Federica had suggested. “Don’t let us overstay our welcome, okay?”

So he doesn’t. It’s like being aware that he has a way out, that he can call this off whenever he wants - and they won’t hold it against him, they won’t be thinking “What’s got into Fares, now? – is enough to put his mind at ease. Having Martino by his side, soothing his nerves and grounding him with the lightest of touches upon his shoulders, helps a lot too.

As the birthday boy he also gets to have the last word on the party games, vetoing strip poker and spin-the-bottle. They were fun when he had been in middle school, and he can still hear his old friends cheering when the bottle pointed to the girl he had been crushing on for weeks – he can’t even remember her name, now, how pathetic is that? – but a trip down the memory lane is the last thing he needs, tonight.

“Truth or dare?” Eva suggests, as both Giovanni and Martino roll their eyes.

They would rather be humiliated at another round of beer pong against her and Silvia, than play that.

“Maybe later.” He says, laughing at the ‘yes, please’ looks from the girls and the ‘thanks, but no thanks’ glares from the boys. “I’m not drunk enough for that yet…”

It’s nice of Martino not to freak out, turning the suggestion down on his behalf because it would be too ‘dangerous’ (dares do tend to escalate quickly, when he is involved). It’s such a welcome change that he wants to savor it, honor it by throwing in his own proposal.

“What about ‘Never have I ever?’”

A drinking game that favors the youngest and most inexperienced among them, doesn’t force anyone to embarrass themselves – they set the ground rule that not drinking doesn’t necessarily mean you never did what has just been mentioned, but that you don’t feel letting people know anything about it.

It was either that or demanding his guests not to get too personal, which can’t really be expected when some are already so inebriated that they are having giggle fits playing peek-a-boo with each other (and Edoardo and Eleonora have no right to make such a silly picture look so endearing, haven’t they?).

The first rounds are rather tame. No one has ever been to Japan, apart from the Savas. No one ever tried to eat insects, apart from Luchino. Some admit to stealing candies when they were younger, some others reveal they went skinny dipping after seeing it on TV. It doesn’t feel as thrilling or liberating as TV shows made it look, though.

Sana plays dirty by asking about porn, to which everybody has to take a drink.

“Never have I ever had sex with a girl.” Luca says, knowing that for once he’ll get the upper hand on half of the Contrabbandieri and the boys from Villa. Well, isn’t this interesting.

Fede, Sana and Eva do not drink but Eleonora does. She grins at her brother, who looks at her with such fondness that Niccolò almost feel like he’s intruding.

Elia is pondering whether to drink or not, but in the end he surprises everyone by leaving it untouched.

Before anyone else can react to that, however, Martino grabs his beer and chugs it down.

“What? When?” Giovanni sounds more outraged than Niccolò could ever bring himself to be. He doesn’t really mind what Martino did in the past, he’d rather revel in the fact that he chose to be with him in the present.

Gio immediately backtracks, when he notices that Marti is still staring at the bottom of his glass.

‘Sex’ is a broad definition, indeed, and who is he to say ‘no, if it isn’t penetrative it doesn’t count’ ?

“I’m sorry. Forget I even asked, it’s none of my business.” He drinks one more of his shots, saying that it’s his penalty for breaking the rules. “We did agree that we shouldn’t ask questions about why is drinking or not, didn’t we? My bad.” He shrugs, as Martino mouths an ‘Apologies accepted thanks.’

“Never have I ever kissed a boy.” Sana admits, diverting the attention to herself.

Elia and Gio drink at the same time, and then rush to say “No! It wasn’t him! Ew, he’s like a brother to me!”

The more they deny it, the less they sound believable, so they just drop it and look at Niccolò expectantly.

“Never have I ever used make up to hide hickeys.” He says, proudly, earning a punch in the shoulder from his boyfriend. Who is now down to 3 beers, not quite being the ‘boring gay’ most assume him to be.

“That’s because I’m considerate enough not to leave you looking like you were mauled or something.” Martino mumbles, ignoring the knowing smirks from his friends. They were well aware of how much Niccolò liked his neck, and hadn’t been fooled by the disappearance of scarves and turtlenecks.

“I wouldn’t mind if you did. I love when you claim me as yours.” Niccolò whispers, brushing his nose against Martino’s and then nuzzling his cheek.

“You do?” It’s just the two of them in the room, now, as he cups Nico’s face in both his hands and sighs contentedly when the other boy nods and kisses his fingers.

“Guys! Please! Either stop it or get a room!” Someone hollers, breaking the spell.

“Never have I ever eaten ass.” Filippo states, just to see everyone squirm. It’s way too personal, too intimate, for anyone to dare and drink.

“Hey! No cheating!” Elia complains, getting up to point his finger right into Filippo’s chest. “You are a cheat and a liar. You’re out. And so am I, ‘cause this is getting old and boring and if we don’t get out soon those two will start fucking in front of our eyes.”

“And you know he’s lying because…?” Eva insists, intrigued by this new turn of events.

“TOO MUCH INFORMATION, GUYS!!” Giovanni shakes his head, covering his ears. “If we’re playing truth or dare, now, please leave those things where they belong. In the bedroom.”

“Getting a taste of your own medicine, Gio?” Nice to know that not even a heavy make out session with Niccolò would stop Martino from passing up the opportunity to tease him. “That’s fine by me. I’ve heard more than I ever asked for, already. Things I’d rather forget, thank you.” And if Elia wants to come clean about being with Filippo, it shouldn’t happen through a stupid party game.

Niccolò dares most people to eat what he cooked, of course.

Luca dares him to see who can fold himself faster into the biggest suitcase he owns – and loses, but he beams when Silvia kisses his cheek and tells him that he just needs to work on his flexibility, but that it was a valiant attempt nonetheless.

Edoardo goes for ‘truth’, of course, knowing that Ele would love that. It would be easy to take advantage of it by asking what if he ever felt ashamed of himself, or to whether or not he ever fell in love before meeting Eleonora. They are all better than that, after all they’ve been through.

“What’s the most idiotic thing you ever spent your money on?”

“Marco’s eighteenth?”

“How can you say that when you’ve got a horse?” Federico reminds him, slapping his neck.

“Hey, I happen to like horse riding. You know that. I’d rather spend a thousand euros on Furia than 10 on Covitti. What about you, Nico?”

“Louboutins.” It didn’t feel stupid, at the time. When she got those shoes, though, she told him he was crazy to waste so much money on shoes. She did appreciate the gesture, but it was imperative that he returned them as soon as possible.

He doesn’t quite know how Martino would react if he got him an expensive gift. Better than Maddalena, that’s for sure, but… Well, there’s no point in speculating: he’s gonna find out in July, when they’ll leave for their romantic getaway in Paris, isn’t he?

Martino dodges dares for a while, going for ‘truth’ even when it means confessing that:

a) Nico and him aren’t big on pet names (“Have you ever heard yourself when you start going ‘oh, you idiot’ ‘shut up, jerk’ ‘you wish, asshole’ ‘wanna a piece of this, wanker‘ ‘you know I do, dickhead’?” Giovanni points out “ ‘cause you ‘insults’ are totally pet names, guys)

b) he had a crush on Gio, though it never compared to what he feels for Niccolò – “you’re giving us all cavities, Marti, have you got no shame?”.

Eventually, though, those fuckers get him to sing a duet with Nico. Of course they choose Vattene Amore and sing along when they get to the ‘ci chiederemo come mai il mondo sa tutto di noi… magari ti chiamerò trottolino amoroso e dudu-dadadà e il tuo nome sarà il nome di ogni città…’ part, filming everything with their smartphones.

By the end of the night, no one is sober enough to walk home. Let alone drive.

The girls set up a blanket fort in the living room, claiming that they cannot kick Niccolò out of his bed and wouldn’t feel comfortable sleeping in his parents’ bed. He argues that they are gonna regret that in the morning, when their back is gonna remind them why it’s not a good idea to doze off on the floor.

Edoardo and his friends insist that they can run on caffeine alone and they are more than happy to crash on a chair. Whatever.

Niccolò is too high on the love he got from everyone tonight, to care about logistics.

So what if he has to share his bed with four other guys. Who cares if they constantly complain that he’s bony, that he snores and has got cold feet – “seriously, Marti, now I get why you always so tired on Mondays…” Luchino whines, trying to smother himself with a pillow and put an end to his misery “how can anyone get any rest, with him in their bed?” – or if it’s such a tight fit that they all have to lay on their sides and nobody has got room to turn in their sleep?

It’s still the best birthday he ever got.

[zardoru]

Ice

Part 2, Chapter 1

The hail was making it too hard to fly. Fri settled down and let her talons settle into the snow, digging into a few centimeters of it. The freezing temperature wasn't as much of a problem as the burns that ate away at her scales. She started thinking about the words Tija and Astra had told her. To bear the cold. It had two meanings; both that she was enduring it, and that she was, in fact, the one that yielded it.

I might have not been, in their eyes, who I thought I was.

How appropriate it was then, that she was being the one to set foot in a land of ice. They must've known.

I'm not going to find any dragons here.

And still, all she wanted was to grab the spear she had stolen from the scavenger and have it point in some direction. There must be someone here. Nevertheless, she had to do something about the penetrating cold. "I the great ice dragon, enchant myself to bear the cold," said Fri, putting her left talon on her head to hang onto her ritual. Her wings quickly turned from their usual black leather to a light blue that blended her better with her surroundings. Her temperature started to lower. The ice outside started feeling better and better; it had become as normal as dirt. Her breath stopped emanating the steam she had come to associate with her own soul to be replaced with nothing. She was one with the snow, and she hated it. Fri started walking through the white desert, pulling out the spear she had stolen from the frightful scavenger. It lifted up on its own and pointed in a direction far beyond where she was right now. Seeing the spear reminded her of that brief moment of empathy. They had, as species, hurt each other. I can't think about that right now. If only she had foreseen that everyone deciding where they'd go meant that she would have to go to this freezing hell, she would've acted earlier.

But I can't take that back any more.

How twisted it was then, that she just had made herself the most capable dragon for surviving in the snow. And now that she was getting used to it, hundreds of steps later, it wasn't all that bad.

They will be as cold as you are.

How would her tribe be in a hundred years? A thousand years? Ten thousand years? Would she be proud of what they become? Did it matter? Will our tribes even get along in the future?

That's for them to decide.

When the future is uncertain, all you can do is try to guarantee it. Perhaps that is how Astra felt, after all. To guarantee her legacy; but becoming immortal is another story.

Because I don't want to allow us to intervene in their lives.

Fri, nevertheless, couldn't stop thinking about her parents. They seemed like memories so distant, so blended in the snow now, that she even started to question if they had felt the same way.

Had they intervened to guarantee my future? Even though they never would be a part of it?

She might ask Tija one day.

And did they know that I could do what I do?

Would that have changed their perspective on what they did with me?

Fri shook her head and kept following the direction the spear she carried pointed to. The monotonous snow came to an end; Fri raised her head and saw the ocean, punctuated by beautiful, vast icebergs, seals that lived on the coast, bears and penguins on an island across the water, standing on a frozen lake.

Maybe this isn't as bad as I thought.

The snow slightly ahead of her moved. A dragon, the color of the bright blue sky with short, stubby horns, spikes on the back of the neck, a slim frame and a smaller size than Fri dug out of the snow, belly-up, jumping back in shock and stared at Fri with defensive intent. "Who are you?" said the dragon, "What are you doing here?" Fri examined the spear she carried; it pointed to this dragon. She cherished her first encounter with a new dragon.

"Hello, stranger," said Fri, not sure of what to say. "My name is Fri. I am the great ice dragon, and I am seeking help."

"W-who talks like that?" stuttered the dragon. "Seeking help for what?"

"It is my intention to lead all dragons into conquering the continent," said Fri. "For which, I and my companions travel around the world to find other dragons to help with our cause and take the land from the scavengers."

"Sca---what? You mean the humans?"

"Indeed, the scavengers."

I could get used to talking like this.

"That's impossible," said the dragon. "We are so vulnerable to their weapons, their aggressiveness, how could you convince anyone of doing something like that?"

"Tell me, dragon, are you cold?" asked Fri.

"Have you taken a look around you recently?" The dragon chortled, "I had to cover myself in snow to keep my temperature."

"Allow me then, to take the cold away from you," said Fri, extending her talon to the dragon's head.

"Wait, wait just a second," he said, stepping away from Fri, "What are you going to do?"

"Enchant you," said Fri. "But I don't need to touch you to do it."

"Enchantments. Okay. Sure. I totally believe you," it said.

"Well then. I, the great ice dragon Fri, enchant you to bear the cold," she said.

"Well that doesn't seem to do anyth---" The dragon's words were interrupted as they started going through the same changes Fri went through; preserving their color and overall appearance otherwise. The dragon stopped for a moment, shocked, and looking at Fri. "Y-you did this?" Fri nodded. The dragon dug into the snow, playing with it as if it was warm mud. "That's..."

"Incredible?" asked Fri.

"Incredible!" it yelled. "You said your name was Fri, right?"

"Fri, the Coldbearer," she said.

"Coldbearer. What an accolade," they said. "I'm uh," they stopped for a moment to think about their own accolade. "I'm... Stalactite!"

"I request of you to act in an orderly and respectful way," said Fri. "For less than that may cause you to meet an early death at the hands of the scavengers."

"Y-yes, my queen!" said Stalactite, bowing to her. Fri almost let out a smile.

I could enjoy this.

"Come, Stalactite. We have many others to find before we can enact our victory upon the land."

"Of course, your majesty!" said the dragon, quickly getting up and following her. Fri took out the spear and stared at it. It pointed back into the white desert and away from the ocean. She looked back at Stalactite and wondered if it was time already to continue. The sun was setting; the sky was tinted orange as scraps of clouds covered what remained of the sun. The stars and the moons started decorating the afternoon.

There's no need to hurry, is there?

"Stalactite, how did you end up here, anyway?" asked Fri. "Oh, it's not a funny story at all," they said. "I was on my way home, after trying to make my way through the snow and see if I could find any human settlements."

"Human settlements? What for?"

"Oh, it's fascinating," said Stalactite. "They have these... odd items with inscriptions on them, where they speak at length of many incredible things."

"Inscriptions?"

"You know, those things you unroll, and it has a bunch of symbols in it?"

"Sorry, but I don't know what you are talking about," said Fri, confused. "Oh, let's go to my hideout," said Stalactite. "It was on one of the icebergs before I got tired."

A hideout? Out here?

Stalactite excitedly started beating their wings and took some height. "Come, my queen," they said, smirking, "To the great Mollusk's hideout!"

"Your name is Mollusk?" chortled Fri. "Oh, no, no, not any more. It's Stalactite. It's just that the place is not me, so its name doesn't change," they said with a bit of sarcasm in their voice.

"I see," said Fri, extending her wings, "Let's go."

"Let's go!" Stalactite cheered pumping their left arm and giving Fri a wink; guiding her over the ocean. Fri quickly leaped to follow her new tribemate. The vista of the vast sea was another of those things Fri had never seen beforehand; not just that, but she didn't know how to swim. It was somewhat unnerving to see so much water underneath her, she wouldn't know what to do if she fell into it. Nevertheless, flying across and seeing the incredible ice structures floating amicably was an incredible sensation, as the humid, misty air hit her face in a liberating way, moistening her scales. Fri almost drifted away her thoughts just enjoying her way to wherever Stalactite might have resided.

It is beautiful.

The cold was beautiful, after all. "It's here!" said Stalactite, making a sharp turn behind one of the icebergs. Fri, a bit distracted, quickly reconnected to reality as she tried imitating Stalactite's sharp turn a little later than she would've wanted. Stalactite extended their wings again and started beating them in an eight-shaped motion as they pulled their body backwards and suspended themselves in the air. "Here it is," pointed Stalactite, extending their right arm to point at a small opening, for a dragon, that seemed to have been craved painstakingly, by hand. The claw marks gave the edges of the ice a jaggy texture. They both entered the opening. Fri set her talons on the floor of the opening; the interior was still illuminated by the few bits of light that the sun still came up with. They reflected on the interior much in the same way Tuga's light reflected of Fri's scales in the night. "Beautiful, isn't it?" said Stalactite.

Beautiful?

Fri felt she was suddenly blushing.

Oh, the interior.

"It's amazing," said Fri, still with a blue blush on her face. "Is it warm here at night?"

"I used to use a snow blanket at night, but I don't need to anymore," said Stalactite. "Hey, let me show you before we run out of light." The dragon ran to the back of the hallway and turned left, disappearing after they entered a room. Fri sat down and brought her wings towards her, settling on the what-would-have-been-slippery ice floor.

I never would have thought how bright the snow really was.

It was oddly uplifting compared to the darkness of the cave; everything seemed so at peace compared to the incredible variety of plants, insects and animals that lived back at the mountain. It was a treasure that perhaps her friends wouldn't had ever been able to appreciate. This could be our home. If human settlements were hard to find, obviously, perhaps their friends could see reason in wanting to live here, away from the other humans. Predating on whatever they could find here, where very little could really harm them; where they could use the ice to build all the incredible wonders they wanted. And animus powers could help. It would be an incredible society of dragons. Stalactite came back to Fri across the hallway with parchments of yellowed paper in their mouth and talon, clumsily using their wrists to walk. They dropped all of the papers down in the floor; they quickly started to moisten. The dragon grabbed a large mat made out of animal leather, similar to that of the skin of a bear, and put the scrolls resting on top of it.

"And there you have it!" said Stalactite, quickly rummaging through the papers. "Ah, this one! This one, has beautiful drawings of the land. It even includes a map of the continent," they concluded, holding a scroll open with both hands.

"A map of the continent?" Fri examined the parchment Stalactite held open. It revealed that the continent had the shape of a dragon. "This is shaped like a dragon!"

"Isn't it incredible!? It says it right here. 'This unnamed land is in the shape of dragons. Beware, for they are vile and dangerous creatures not to be reasoned with,'" quoted Stalactite.

"What? Us? Vile?" asked Fri. She looked at the inscribed symbols on the scripture, attempting to decipher them; they were no more meaningful than scratches on the floor. But of the dragon shaped land?

It is an omen.

"Well, it's not like they have the best relationship with us," said Stalactite. "I've already lost some friends to some inept thievery of these scrolls. They're..." Stalactite put on a pained expression. Fri felt a connection to this dragon for their pain of the loss. She patted the dragon's back in understanding.

"They're important to you because of that, aren't they?"

Stalactite nodded. "That's correct. Pyra always wanted to know the shape of the continent," they said, containing their breath. Stalactite exhaled, breathed in deeply and gave Fri a sorrowful smile. "Well, now we'll get to take the continent for ourselves."

"It's a signal," said Fri, in an attempt to give consolation to Stalactite.

"A signal? A signal of what?" they asked, confused.

"That this world belongs to us," said Fri, decisively. "Or that it will."

Stalactite smiled. "Thank you, Queen Coldbearer."