#know them a bit better. its why i am always stuck rooting through the singles box in record shops Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[steelycunt]

favorite book, favorite album, favorite item of clothing/accessories

giovanni's room / james baldwin ! be the cowboy / mitski or sgt pepper's lonely hearts club band / the beatles ! and probably my big bulky brown corduroy jacket that used 2 be my dad's !

[diary-of-an-onliner]

lifelines [g.w.]

hi! first fic, pls be nice!

word count: 2300

warnings: none

After Gryffindor turned the tides at the last second, winning the second most important game of the season after a massive setback in the first hour, the celebrations raged harder than ever. Since Hufflepuff had beaten Slytherin to the ground two days ago, the path towards the Cup was clear. Angelina was sitting on the couch, having passed the point of looking pleased long ago, and now seemed almost frazzled by the result. People came up to her periodically, clapping her shoulder or topping off her drink, directing the buzzing energy of the common room straight into her.

Truly, the atmosphere was phenomenal, the stolen food and drinks from the kitchens juicer and a little more spiked than usual. Or maybe it was the sunlight still streaming through the windows as strongly as ever despite the past gloomy week. Whatever it was that made the day so electrically happy for everyone, it showed no signs of stopping.

This type of unrestrained feeling you always imagined started from the back of your head as s little star-like scribble that cast a net over you and spread the intensity throughout. This week it was stronger than it has been in a while.

You felt electric in the stands as you yelled for your team, an invisible line ripping the words from your throat before you even knew you were saying them. You felt elated as your housemates put their hands around you in delight, screaming themselves sore when they announced the winner. And you were feeling the happiness in your hair now, in every single strand from root to end as it swayed along with the bottle in your hand.

This was happy. This was joyful. This was utterly buttery in your chest and electric in the air.

You idly looked around the red and orange common room, which burned with excitement, deciding how to best spend this time before it runs out on Umbridge's watch and she ruins it.

No. No wasting thoughts on her today. She sucked enough life out of you and your housemates this year, she won't be doing it off the clock too.

Your eyes settled on possibly one of the strongest sources of this warmth - George Weasley, sitting on the arm of the couch next to his brother. The window behind him silhouetted him in gold perfectly, like the sun offered him to you. It accented how attractive he was, even if he burned a little at the top.

You've connected eyes before, talked before, even bantered. One wittier than the other every odd day, you toed the line between acquaintances and friends perfectly. Seeing as he's very popular, catching him in-between conversations was a matter of luck.

You imagined a line going from the center of your chest to his as you approached him. He pensively looked to the side, observing some goings-on on the far end of the room as you interrupted him.

"That was a good game. You got some very nice shots in," you said.

He turned to you with a mild close-mouthed 'hm', a look, and then a grin.

"You sure it was me?" he cocked his eyebrow and look at Fred on the couch next to Angelina, bumping knees with her and accepting congratulations in both of their names.

"You wear different numbers, genius. I know how to count this time."

"And you have my number memorized," he said, his voice glad.

"That would've been a great line if you were a Muggle."

"Pity, I already chose a magical career." he took a sip of his butterbeer and eyed you up, "Maybe I should start using my magical lines on you. Would those work better?" his eyes widened and his tone turned innocent at the end.

"I think I know too much anti-jinxes for that."

He pursed his lips in amusement. "Alright. What would work on you then?"

"Oh, I find responsibility and appropriacy really hot." you shot back, twirling a piece of your happy, charged up hair.

"Contradiction too," he said, "since you're still here."

"I find contradiction a natural state of the human soul, thus if I wasn't contradicting myself, I wouldn't fully be here."

"Hm. Brainy." he chuckled.

"Judgy. If you need me to simplify you can just say so."

"I think I can handle your smart mouth just fine."

"Then why am I winning?"

"I didn't realize this was a competition."

"Rookie mistake." you shook your head dramatically.

"I'm pretty sure it's a rookier mistake to assume you're winning. Who's the judge?"

"My innate inner sense of whether I'm winning or not."

"If it's inside you, then how would one file a complaint concerning an unfair ruling?"

"They wouldn't. It's a noble and just system that decided I'm in the lead. You just need to accept the truth."

"Don't make me come in there," he said, smirking good-naturedly.

"In where?" you shot back.

"In you." his smirk held on for a second before he seemed to realize what he said and his face scrunched up in apologetic laughter.

Your mind slipped into the gutter the way new yorkers fall into sinkholes filled with rats - hilariously fast.

Albeit greatly amused, he started to correct himself, "I didn't mean-"

"No, of course not." you licked your lips, "I understood you the first time " Was karma going to bite you in the ass for that lie? Who knows, but you might even be into that. Everything seems possible when the sun is shining. So he shone.

He grinned with his happy mouth and you once again noted how the light from the window behind him silhouetted him in the golden lining that made him look like a cutout glued onto the scene of this funny collage. His hair was aflame and his face was darker from the shadows but just as loudly burning with laughter.

This was happy.

You drew the word in your mind, line by line. H, a smooth move from the bottom, a decorative loop, then a parallel stroke, and a transversal. A, a circle with a tail, sharp move upward, and an even sharper drop for the backbone of p. P's tummy? Bulge? Nope, your mind shouldn't slip there in the middle of Binns’ class, no matter how boring he was. Another p, as George's knee bumped into yours. He was moved from "Mr. Wester, Phillip." for being disruptive, so he engaged in an under-the-table kind of disruption with his new tablemate.

You smiled. A long diagonal line, and another shorter one that cut into it. Y.

Happy.

You were, truly, right now. It sounded upside down to be happy though, both overall and when stuck in a soul-suckingly draining class, but you were.

George read over your shoulder, then audaciously engaged in over-the-table elbow-bumping-disruption and a cocked eyebrow. You straightened up, feeling a warm line unfold from the back of your head to the core of your brain, through the center of your chest, and straight to your stomach. Your happy line.

I'm happy, you mouthed.

Really? He mouthed back sarcastically yet good-naturedly. I can definitely see why. His eyes darted toward the professor. I say go for it, he's a catch. You might even be his type.

You burst out laughing, then immediately bit your lip. A few students, including Philip, looked at you as you shook with laughter, but professor Binns carried on.

George, on the other hand, shrugged with his shit-eating grin, pretending he has no idea why you were laughing, thus letting everyone know why you were laughing.

You scribbled, I don't know. What if it goes badly. I'd hate to be ghosted.

George raised his eyebrows at the Muggle slang you explained before. His hand slipped next to yours on the table and you felt your happy line thrum in approval. His hand was warm as he gently pressed it to yours, slowly took your quill, and scribbled back: Need someone more physical, huh? And I thought you were the romantic type.

Strong words for someone who never bought me dinner, you replied.

Mhm, as soon as I find a good line get you to agree to it.

Keep writing like that and I'll start thinking you fancy me.

Keep your mind in the gutter and I'll start thinking you don't fancy me back. He accented that line with a wink and an overdramatic lip bite.

You pouted sarcastically at him. Of course not, I only want you for your knobby knees.

He chuckled, reminded of the short line of warmth that connected your knees under the table. He pressed his into yours a little stronger, then pulled away.

That's a funny way of flirting. I'd know, I'm an expert at funny.

Self-proclaimed.

Untrue.

And I'm not flirting. If I was, you'd know it.

Would you? your breath hitched. For reasons you very well knew but refused to sound out to yourself, this short sentence drove the air around you two from joking to serious at breakneck speed.

Know if you were flirting with me? your happy line felt jumbled up in your stomach. He smiled at you.

Would you know if you were flirting with me?

The following week was arduous.

Gryffindors had a record amount of detentions, and Snape tore into them any and every chance he could. Even McGonagall was one edge, meaning lousy or missed homework was a death sentence. You forgot how to read from tiredness, submitting essays patchworked of other people's thoughts without ever having any information pass through your head. Everything was dull, gray, and dragged out.

Despite that, outside the castle the sky was blue and sunlight streamed through the soft clouds and a sweet breeze would blow around aimlessly. It was both comforting and a little mocking. The sky should be as exhausted and as beaten down as you. Good to know stress made you compare yourself to a literal sky. But maybe that's a little cruel. Nevertheless, it sounded like nature itself was turning its nose up at you, saying you're selfish for wanting grey skies, she doesn't care, she's above puny human affairs. The world turns and you have to turn with it or stop, then spend the rest of the time catching up.

You haven't stopped yet, but by all that is holy, you wanted to sleep. As the sun finally descended on a Friday after dinner, you finished your essays in hope that the next week might be kinder if you do everything quickly. The common room was dark, most of the light coming from the fire in the fireplace. It was also oddly empty for nine-thirty in the evening. Apparently, everyone had the same week as you.

Your almost finished essay laid on the table as you dozed, swinging your legs back and forth over the edge of your armchair.

The creak of the portrait opening caught your attention, and George Weasley walked in a second later, rubbing his sore hand and cussing.

Truly everyone had a shitty week.

"Love?" you said teasingly.

He looked up at you with a tired grin.

"It's late."

"Not really. You okay?"

"Nothing I can't handle, love." he sighed, leaning against the wall next to the fireplace.

"Can I see?" you crossed the room to stand in front of him. Again, the firelight licked at the lines of his face, clear and sharp. He had circles under his eyes and a heavily nibbled lip.

"It's nothing." still, George raised his hand. "Love." he added, distantly. He seemed to be staring right above your head. You looked at the middle line of his lips again. You imagined him biting it.

Was it him that bit it? That one hurt. You hoped it was him.

You took his hand in your and rubbed circles into his knuckles. His eye winced.

"I'm sorry."

"S'not your fault."

"What happened?" he closed his eyes.

"Two ickle firsties almost brought the wrath of Umbridge into themselves with some dungbombs. You know how it goes," he said, a corner of his lip tugging upwards. Your chest expanded looking at him being satisfied with himself. As he should be.

"How... responsible of you," you said.

His eyes snapped downwards to yours.

"Keep looking at me like that and I might also start being appropriate too, darling."

You stepped closer, your happy line thrumming against your chest like a quivering violin string.

"What if being responsible is enough?"

"Enough for what?" he breathed out before you pressed yourself against him.

At first, that's was it was - a press of two warm lips. Then he started to move slowly, almost gentlemanly. How appropriate.

As he touched you, you felt the daze of last week lift. The little star scribble on the back of your head lit up, pulsing with brightness rather than fogging your thought. This was clear, you felt his every stroke that made up his face and chest and hands. The scribble of happiness extended itself into a web, overtaking your brain - you could feel it and you wondered if he saw it too when he looked at you. You pulled away and lifted your head to check. Probably not, but his eyes were glassy and he gave you a dopey smile. He was glad you were there. You pressed your lips against his again. You were glad he was there too.

The web continued down your neck, arms and chest, into your legs until your toes buzzed with light coursing through you. You were more awake than you have been in a long time.

Your hands were the brightest of all, and as you touched his hands, connecting them fingertip to fingertip, things made sense. The web buzzed and his breath was warm against yours, hands pulsing with energy as your every lifeline connected into his.

[dancingthesambaa]

The Smell of Plum Blossom Tea Ch 19

Summary: Just like a butterfly wing, a single act of kindness can change the course of the future, it certainly did for MK as a black furred monkey put out a hand towards him.

Rating: Teen and up

Chapter 19: Got Your Back (And Maybe Your Heart)

“Okay let me get this straight-”

“No one here is, but go on.”

“Hush, I’m still mad at you,” Tang gave a stink eye to the Kappa before turning back to Macaque. “So let me get this straight, so not only are you the same Six Eared Macaque that has fought the Monkey King and the deity that’s known as the Wandering Healer-”

“Not actually a deity,” he inputted.

“Whatever, but I’ve been coming here for years and just now I find out that there are mythical deities and magical plants within the forest! The Yao grass that is said to be a component to the Immortality Pills, an actual Qilin living here?! And the brown bunny and that little shit stain, who probably wants to laugh his ass off, is actually a Kitsune and spirit!”

“Guilty as charged,” the Shui Gui chortled.

“Pretty much,” the monkey shrugged his shoulders.

“Yup,” Ní nodded in her fox form.

“…I am both very angry and very excited,” he grumbled. “Do you know how many questions I have?! Do you know how many things I could have tested? Do you know how long I have wanted to meet someone like you guys? Do you know how many questions I have?!”

“I think you already said that,” said the water spirit though he froze as he saw an ominous glint in his eyes.

“Oh yes I did, because by the time I leave here,” he mysteriously whipped out his phone, “I will have all my questions answered.”

“Just how many do you have?” Macaque cautiously asked.

Tang said nothing as he instead showed a folder containing many files within them. “Quite a few. Quite. A. Few.”

All three immortals, the ones who have faced many fierce opponents throughout their life, gulped at the looming trials ahead.

“Fuck,” they all unanimously said.

It was cold, damp, and thoroughly disgusting with all of the worthless piles of junk lying around, but she supposed she would have to work with what she had under these…conditions.

Lady Bone Demon quietly walked through the open sewer as she attempted to distinguish where exactly she should strike next while her underling, who has been waiting for all these years, searches for the one item she hasn’t quite found.

It was quite tricky, to say the least, all the rest of the ingredients she needed to procure, albeit a bit rare, would be much easier to obtain even if those incompetent bugs mess it up. It won’t be too hard to find a replacement for those, she just decided on them for the proximity, she does not desire to leave the city before she achieves her prize. The last item though is something that is an ingredient that is not so easily replaceable, so she will need to take her time and look through every crack and back alley down until she does.

It was quite irritating, from the conditions she found herself into the annoying bugs that seem to think they are above her to Sun Wukong.

Sometimes she just wished that she could be over and done with this little game entirely and reach the end, but alas that’s not how life works. But she will admit that it will be fun watching them all struggle to get one step ahead of her, though she can’t decide which one she’ll enjoy more, Sun Wukong look when she finally drains him of every last bit of power and torture what he cherishes in front of his very eyes or Spider Queen expression as she stabs her in the back when she becomes the component to her plans. Both sound absolutely delightful when the time comes, but for that to happen she suppose she will have to achieve this the long way, no shortcuts or cheats allowed.

But she doesn’t mind the wait, after all, she had been imprisoned for over five hundred centuries.

She has nothing but time and she intends to play this little game all the way to the end.

“So your not just some random ass immortal,” Macaque bluntly said when Shen met up with him again.

“Took you that long to figure that out,” the frizzy hair old man laughed.

“Well, how am I supposed to know that you were literally giving me Immortal wine when I have never tasted it before you all but shoved it to me?” He grumbled as he held the bottle of very rare wine once more. “You know I don’t really need this, I am still perfectly immortal without it.”

“Oh I know, Yama sometimes grumbled about it from time to time when we get together. Gods know he wants to strangle Sun Wukong's scrawny neck when he gets the chance,” he said while drinking some of the wine.

“You regularly drink with the King of the Dead?” He deadpanned, “Who the fuck are you? Cause that right there shows that you're not just a regular ass deity.”

“Hmm I’ll tell you if you tell me how you figured out how to make the Immortality pills,” he smirked at the monkey still look.

“What do you mean?”

“I may be old, but I can smell a lot of the ingredients for the pills in this forest alone. Yao grass, Biya berries, Voya roots, Gracidea flowers, just to name a few,” he tapped his nose.

“Can’t really hide the smell,” he clicked his teeth. “Alright fine I’ll talk, but you better keep your end of the deal.”

“Will do.”

And so they talked and talked and when Shen spoke of who he was Macaque all but threw the bottle in his hand.

“What the fuck Ping?!” He hissed out as he had to stop himself from bashing his head against the tree. “How the fuck?!”

“He was an interesting one,” he laughed. He met his old friend by the river where he was doing his laundry, they spoke and then he found himself another drinking buddy.

Macaque’s eyes twitched as he just slumped over and groaned loudly. “What the fuck!”

Shen just laughed wildly next to him.

“Yeah yeah laugh it up,” he hissed before letting out a sigh and sat himself up. “Shit I don’t know if I can ask you this but I might as well fucking try?”

“Hmm?” He curiously questioned.

“I may need something soon that I can’t quite get on normal means and I think-no I know I will need your help to get it,” he asked with an almost pleading voice.

“Hmm, why do you need it?” He noted the tone in his voice but didn’t say a word about it.

“There is a demon that wants to take over the land and almost nobody would be able to stop her,” the simian admitted.

“Eh, there will always be some creature that wants to take over the world, been there, seen that, but that never really happens now does it,” he easily dismissed it as he leaned in closer, “but why do you need it?”

“Because there are people that I want to protect and I know that they will be the ones that will be fighting against that monster and like hell I am letting them do this alone,” he growled.

“Oh now I have your reason, so here’s another question. How much are you willing to give for my favor?”

“Anything,” he determinedly said.

“Anything you say? Even your life?” His green eyes challenged his violet ones.

“Yes,” he replied with no hesitation as the question didn’t even make him flinch.

There was a long silence as both beings stared the other down until the red haired man broke off his gaze and chuckled lightly.

“…hehehe, always knew Ping was fond of the stubborn ones,” he grinned.

“Ping is an old coot with the perchance of running into the weirdest fucking things,” he huffed as the air around them seem to settle down.

“You're not wrong,” he nodded. “Alright I’ll help ya, but next time I drop by I expect some high quality drinks.”

“Tch, fine you alcoholic bastard. Hope you don’t mind Plum wine, have a few sitting for a couple of centuries.”

“Are you kidding? The longer the age, the better it is! It’s like you don’t know me sapling,” he said with a mock hurt expression.

“I mean I might as well as you just told me who the fuck you are!” He threw his hands in the air.

“But you know my wine tastes!”

“You've only given me one kind of wine bastard!”

“Still!”

“Don’t you fucking pout you overgrown child!”

“Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!” MK cursed as he dashed his way through the volcanic land and ducked from a large fiery boulder aimed straight towards him. “Why does this happen to me!?”

Now you may be wondering how and why MK found himself stuck in the volcano arena, well he was visiting one of the more interesting customers he had delivered to before, as in she was trying to learn more about magic, with Red and Mei. Which is cool and all, especially since she has mastered how to change her hair color on will, but she was showing him her more advanced spells. Now it was very fun with the Bull Prince trying to explain to the young girl how each spell works and how much energy must be put into it. They were even going to try out a new spell together, but the thing about her is that while she does have quite a bit of talent, she is extremely clumsy. As she took a step forward and accidentally pushed him into the symbol on the ground and then ‘poof’ he teleported right in the middle of the fire imp territory.

Usually, this wouldn’t be a problem, he can handle a few enemies on his own and he did with such ease that not even a scratch was laid on him. It’s just that the problem was that they all happened to be a bit too loud and woke up a humanoid creature that was three times his size, entirely made up of molten magma and rock crystals, and looked very pissed.

Needless to say all of them booked it as fast as they could, but unfortunately it had their eyes on one creature that looked different from the rest.

“Seriously!” He yelled as he climbed up the mountain and quickly hid and he held his burnt side. He knows that he is quick on his feet, but even he can’t dodge all of those boulders and swipes aimed at him. It doubly hurts as he can feel the burning of the magma touch his skin, he desperately wants an ice bath when he escapes this.

SMASH

But until then he will continue to make his way to the ocean ahead where he hopes that it would be enough to stop the beast in its tracks. He will swim all the way back home if he has to, he can deal with the sickness later after he saves his skin.

He felt the beast let out a devastating roar and a glance back he saw the creature lift the largest boulder that he didn’t even think he could dodge. So, he instead prepared himself as he was about to bring out his staff when-

“Here comes Jade Dragon/ Blazing Bull!” Twin voices shouted as the next second two terrifying forces slammed into the creature and with a pained roar he flew back.

He blinked as he saw Mei and Red Son, one who is surrounded by ethereal viridian energy and the other encaptured in a fiery crimson aura, jump in front of him protectively.

“MK/Noodle boy! Are you okay?!” Both of them have been trudging through not only ashes clogging their lungs and spot marking their skins, but also all different types of books and ruins trying to find the right activation phrase to reopen the portal to where their friend had disappeared to. They were tired, dirty, clothes ripped, and pissed off, but in MK eyes they were the most beautiful people he has ever seen as he couldn’t stop the blush forming on his cheeks as he took in their perfectly disheveled appearance, the muscles peeking from their ripped sleeves, sweat dripping from their face, and the worried look in their gorgeous eyes.

“Y-Yep!” He involuntarily squeaked. ‘I really should not have read some of those romance books with Jin,’ he thought as he cleared his throat. “I mean yeah, yeah you guys are perfect-I mean you got here at perfect timing!” He nervously said as he rubbed the back of his neck and tried to avoid eye contact.

“You sure you didn’t hit your head along the way,” she lightly teased as she kept a firm stance in front of him.

“Would be an improvement,” he smirked, but his eyes didn’t leave the Cherufu dazed form.

“Heyyy,” he whined before he realized what they said before, “Do you guys have names and you didn’t tell me!”

“Umm.”

“We’ll you see-”

“They are so cool!” His eyes sparkled, “they fit you both so perfectly, and the way you guys came in and shouted it made the scene even more awesome!”

Both of them couldn’t stop both smiles and blushes as their smaller friend, and small crush, kept on praising them, but unfortunately, their little bubble popped as the beast roared once more.

“Tch,” Mei irritably clicked her tongue at the beast ride interruption, showing off her fangs (after countless of honing to both tracing and the dragon sword, she was more than ecstatic to see that she matched with both of her boys) “I actually forgot about that.”

“You mean the walking miniature mountain that was just chasing me down,” MK huffed as he shook his head. Hopefully, the two would just blame his fluster on the heat and not drift towards the thought that he may like them more than friends.

“Yeah that.”

“You both need to really get up to speed with your Mythical beings,” Red grunted as he opted to not use his fire against the creature made of lava.

“Says the one who never knew what Advil was,” MK muttered.

“It’s not my fault you mortals inconsistently change their names for no reason!” He hissed as his hair flared up.

“Surrrreee,” both mortals said.

“Let’s just focus on getting out of here.”

“You just don’t want to admit that your wrong~”

“Shut it!

“And where do you think you're going?” Wukong flinched as he heard Macaque's voice behind him.

“Oh you know, just a little road trip,” he smiled wider than normal as he quickly turned around to hide his suitcase, “I thought that it was time I get off of my mountain and see what else I missed.”

“Uh Huh,” he noncommittally said as he casually walked forward, “and you just decided that right this week?”

“Yep!”

“Just out of the blue.”

“You know it!”

“With no thoughts in mind.”

“None whatsoever!”

“Sunny, I know you’re bullshitting me,” he bluntly said.

“Whattt?” He nervously laughed, “I’m serious, I am just going to go sightseeing for a bit and-”

“You still have that same tell when you lie, you know. Smiling too widely,” he pointed out.

“I thought I got that under control,” he muttered to himself and sighed, “alright yeah, you caught me. I was gonna go out and look for a weapon to stop her, but I have to do this, Lady Bone Demon is not someone to trifle with. You know how she can easily command someone under her will and that was when she just got out of centuries of captivity! Imagine what she could accomplish once she regains more and more power! I just can’t sit here and wait for that to happen.”

“I know, that’s why you're not doing it alone,” he pointed out.

“Huh?”

“Did you really think that talk we had the other day was just a one off thing? No no no, there are so many people and demons solely invested in this, because what Spider Queen did really pissed off a lot of people and they want revenge on not only her, but those who helped her,” he said as summoned a map and showed him. “Just see for yourself.”

The monkey took the map and he became confused about what he was looking at. “There’s just a bunch of doodles in certain areas.”

“Those are the areas that have been hit and investigated thoroughly, the ones with X are the no goes of anything suspicious or useful, the ones with question marks are the clues or hints, and the few with checks are the ones where they found positive report and/or confirmation on successful supplies that we need. All of these are for finding the necessary materials to end the Bone Demon life once and for all.”

Wukong's eyes were wide at the end of his statement, “You know how to destroy her?! How long were you planning this? How have you managed to search all of these areas?”

“Well, it helps that I have so many favors stacked up from my former clients. I usually don’t care what they pay me, but usually, it’s in either money, food, or favors and I have a lot of those. I mean just Po and his students alone have them all checking the western areas for it by themselves. He says it’s a good training exercise for them, but I think he just wants a break from those brats. And for your first one, we’ll ever since BK got possessed the family has promised vengeance upon her, and Queen Iron Fan happens to have knowledge of a permanent kill switch to ending that demon life,” he said as he showed him the formula.

Wukong examined it and after a while, he nodded his head and faintly said, “Yeah…yeah that might actually work…there is something to destroy her.” He still couldn’t believe his eyes, but it was right there in front of him, then the first part of his words hit him, “Wait, that long?”

“Yes that long,” he said with exasperation, “Am I the only one who found it fucking weird that the Demon Bull King, one of the strongest beings in the realm, got possessed out of fucking nowhere? That right there was already suspicious by itself and the ominous whispers were sure not helping her case, that just added it on. So we decided to get to the bottom of this and boy is this one deep chasm we got ourselves into.”

“It really is,” he agreed as he looked over the map and saw that some of the places that were marked were the ones he was going to go to, even some that only celestial beings can access, “You already investigated these realms?”

He looked over to see what he was pointing at and nodded, “Yeah, pretty much. As I said, I have clientele all over and I don’t really restrict unless they have really done something so fucked up that I would rather kill them.”

“You have favors with Celestial deities,” he emphasized.

“Just some minor ones,” the doctor tried to brush it off, but judging by his friend's look, it wasn’t going to be easy.

“Celestial. Deities.”

“How about we talk about this later.”

“Oh we are so talking about this later, but I still have to do this. I have to make sure that she doesn’t cause any more harm to people anymore, this is my duty that I have to do-”

“You're not understanding!” He gripped his hair in frustration. “I literally gave you a map and you still don’t understand what I’m trying to say!”

“What!” He threw his hands in the air, “What can you possibly-”

“You aren’t alone dumbass!” He hissed out and froze the Monkey Sage.

“Wha-” he was cut off once more by a furious finger poking his chest at each word Mac hissed out.

“You. Are. Not. Alone. I don’t know how many different ways I have to say this, but if it gets through your thick skull then god damn it, I will.”

“I-”

“I know what you were about to do, you were about to galavant off and try to do everything on your own and not say a single word to nobody like a stupid martyr, cause apparently this is a shared trait between you and MK about being so self sacrificial that you wish to take on the burden yourself! Well fuck that! I’m putting my foot down for both of you, you don’t have to recklessly go out there and hope that one of them will stick!”

“What else am I supposed to do!” He leaped to his feet, “I basically serve no purpose other than this glorified title of hero, which I am really sick of hearing, and that Bone witch could strike at any moment and we won’t be prepared. If I leave the city then that would mean that not only would I be faster on looking for the weapon, but I would be far away from her and her attempt to sap my power.”

“But you would also be away from the city and by the time you come back, there might not be anything left to come back to,” he said with a final tone. “No one would be able to stand against her, not the demons, not the people, not MK, not the Bull Family, not even me. We would all fall by the time the morning sun rises if we tried to face her head on. We would all be corpses below her feet.”

The Monkey King stilled as the morbid images flooded into his head.

City in ruins.

Bodies sprawled everywhere.

Familiar faces all dead eyed.

Bodies collapsed.

Heart stilled

His precious student.

All of his tribe members.

The rambunctious Demon quartet.

His family to the West.

The headstrong Dragon successor.

Demon Bull with his wife and son.

Yanyu surrounded by her siblings.

Macaque

Macaque

Macaque

They're all dead.

Dead

Dead

Dead

Deaddeaddeadeadeadeadeadead

“Wukong!” He snapped out of his thoughts by black furred hands and looked up to see Macaque worried Violet (alive there so alive and bright, so so bright and alive) eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I’m-” he stopped himself and remend what he was about to say, “I will be fine…I’ll stay.”

The Six Eared monkey let out a sigh of relief, “Good, that’s good. Sorry for putting that image in your head.”

“No, no I needed to hear that. I-I can’t be impulsive, not right now, not when things are becoming dangerous, I need to think things through,” he sighed as he sat down.

“You're not going to be out of the loop, you are the one who knows where a weapon may be hidden, so you can easily tell them which spot to tackle more thoroughly,” he reassured him as he sat by him.

“That would be more efficient than me just searching one at a time, okay I’ll do that,” he let out a small puff of air and managed a small smirk, “I guess that’s why I have you in my life, you somehow manage my little quirks.”

“‘Little quirks’ is an understatement,” he deadpans and leans on him, “but yeah we do fit well for some odd reason.”

“Like peaches and congee,” he grins.

“I think you are the only ones who actually dip it into the food.”

“Oh like I haven’t seen you do the same with mango,” he pointed out.

“There’s a difference okay! It just tastes better that way,” he huffed.

“Surrrre it does,” he drawled out.

“It does.”

“Whatever you say.”

[painted-crow]

Bird systems, trees, crystals, and glass

No, this isn't about yoga or anything. I'm cracking Algorithms to Live By open again for another Obscure Bird Metaphor!

The anon in the post right before this one got me thinking of a thing...

They were a burned Lion modeling Bird, talking about how they hate their system being poked at because (essentially) it's fragile and they're relying on it. I am therefore restraining myself from asking them about this 😂 but I wonder if their system is constructed differently from a healthy Bird's.

Trees

I gave this advice a while back about unburning Bird primary.

Basically: healthy systems have a structure. There’s a hierarchy of beliefs, or as I prefer to think of it, a tree--with very basic core concepts at the trunk: things like "human life is inherently valuable," which can be relied upon not to change a whole lot.

Other beliefs follow from those. If you start from "unnecessary suffering is bad," you can branch into a whole lot of other stuff.

Once you've built up your tree a bit, you just start going through the world and testing everything you hear for truth. A Bird primary does this pretty much unconsciously. They also might start running into conflicts and having to prioritize.

For example, they might hear someone say "suffering is bad! Therefore we should eradicate this genetic disease... by [horrible methods]!" and the Bird will (hopefully) go "no, that is eugenics, and it is Bad because human life is inherently valuable."

So why am I talking about this?

The problem is that things aren't always as obvious as that. The trunk of your system tree might be very solid, and so might the branches that build off of it! But once you start getting into sticks and twigs and leaves, you get more potential for them to cross over each other and need pruning.* So it's very important to have this structure, so that pruning one thing doesn't take down the whole tree.

*That's an actual thing with pruning trees, apparently. I like this metaphor.

When you have time to construct your system at peace, as with a full Bird primary who develops theirs as a kid, or as with someone who just picks up a Bird model because they like it or someone they care about uses it, you usually end up with some semblance of this structure. When your system building is in response to Burning, though...

Crystals and Glass

Stable system structure (say that five times fast) takes time and patience, and is probably incompatible with the "I am relying on this prototype to keep me Okay" of using it as a crutch while Burned.

Systems work by being tinkered with. They're always a work in progress. You can try to come up with one all at once, but it's almost certainly very brittle. (This isn't a judgment on you if you're doing this--it's just, yeah, what you're trying to do is hard and it probably breaks a lot.)

And! I have a new metaphor:

In the late 1970s and early ’80s, Scott Kirkpatrick considered himself a physicist, not a computer scientist. In particular, Kirkpatrick was interested in statistical physics, which uses randomness as a way to explain certain natural phenomena—for instance, the physics of annealing, the way that materials change state as they are heated and cooled. Perhaps the most interesting characteristic of annealing is that how quickly or slowly a material is cooled tends to have tremendous impact on its final structure. As Kirkpatrick explains:

"Growing a single crystal from a melt [is] done by careful annealing, first melting the substance, then lowering the temperature slowly, and spending a long time at temperatures in the vicinity of the freezing point. If this is not done, and the substance is allowed to get out of equilibrium, the resulting crystal will have many defects, or the substance may form a glass, with no crystalline order."

Quote taken from Algorithms to Live By, by Brian Christian and Tom Griffiths, in chapter nine, "Randomness"

The annealing process is an interesting one. I'll try to explain--it's like... sometimes, if you make all the obvious immediate right choices, you can railroad yourself into a solution that isn't optimal because you aren't seeing the bigger picture. You reach what's called a local maximum: you've found the best solution available... in the tiny corner you looked in. It's like trying to pack a suitcase without taking some things out and repositioning them to see if they fit better.

This is why healthy Birds really like to poke at even their core or core-adjacent beliefs sometimes. It's why you get nerds arguing over the trolley problem for funsies. It's why Kurt Vonnegut wrote a story that poked the question, "is there any situation in which sexual assault could be justified?" (I really hate that story, and if I were in his place I wouldn't have published it, but I understand why he wrote it.)

Needless to say, these discussions can be... provocative, and our Lion friends do not always appreciate them, for very understandable reasons--especially if we don't make it clear that we don't actually expect that the discussion will change our beliefs in the end. We just want to poke at things, because they're interesting, or because we want to know how far our internal rules can be stretched and still hold true, or just out of habit.

But Burned primaries modeling Bird are not only uncomfortable with those discussions, they can actually become unstable because of them. There's no room for the usual Bird annealing process. They don't have time to spend on melting their system crystal and lowering its temperature slowly, hanging out at melting point for a while to get it to form a stable structure. They need a solid now, so they're left with glass... and glass shatters.

...Ow.

So, what are you supposed to do in this situation? Can you make it better?

I think you can, to some degree.

Ideally, you'd unburn your actual primary, but that's difficult and might take a while--you need a temporary solution, which is why you're modeling Bird in the first place.

It's probably doable to pick out some stable core beliefs, so at least you have something if the rest of your system goes haywire.

Once you have a solid core to work from, it might help to poke a healthy Bird whose judgment you trust while you're building up your modeled system, especially if your tree is currently shedding branches, because they're really good at debugging stuff and will often offer to clone one of their tree branches to graft onto yours, so you can feel better and also grow lemons or something.

You might want to let them know you're having a rough time and this questioning isn't just for fun, so they don't get too far into the weeds (and let them know if they're stepping into uncomfortable territory if they do, because which topics are considered difficult is different for everyone).

Also bear in mind that you are potentially asking for emotional labor from them, depending on the topic; it might hit some of their more sensitive subjects, which they may still be willing to discuss but only when they're in a stable mood.

Alternatively, you can try leaning on a different crutch instead of, or in addition to, your model--like asking other people when you're stuck on something. This is the more direct form of the previous suggestion: instead of helping you build up your system to make decisions, you just ask for help when you need it. This is more like the "outsource your morality to someone else" tactic that's also popular with burned Lions.

Whatever you decide to do, remember to cut yourself some slack--you're speaking a foreign language here, primary-wise, and it's hard and stuff breaks and it's best if you try not to be too hard on yourself. Give yourself space and patience to recover. I'm rooting for you!

[lov3nerdstuff]

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 6.7}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 4.5k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

______________________________

Another five minutes later the rain stopped altogether, and they finally continued their journey along the blue line. Eventually they also started talking again, falling into the usual easy teasing that always left them both trying their hardest not to smirk all too much. But it did definitely make the walking a lot more enjoyable. Two hours passed like that, and seeing as the tracing spell still guided them on relentlessly, they decided to take another break. Honestly, Robin couldn't remember when she had last walked for such a long time, and even if her feet didn't hurt too much, her back was starting to ache from the weight of her backpack. It wasn't made for hiking, and neither was she obviously.

"Is there any spell to make something lighter? Or at least feel less heavy?" She asked with a small groan while she rolled her shoulders to somehow loosen up the aches. It didn't do much to help.

"Not that I am aware of." He replied in a mildly concerned tone, while watching her pace up and down in front of him with a frown. "Why do you ask?"

"Nevermind." She sighed in return, and finally gave up in her attempts to reduce the soreness in her body. "Isn't anything of importance."

"If it causes you pain, it most definitely is."

"It's not pain, really. Just… my shoulders." She shrugged, then winced at the idiocracy of that move when the pain crawled through her back. "My bag's not made for hours of walking. That, or I'm just weak."

"I would assume a bit of both in this case."

"Funny." Robin rolled her eyes at him, but she also couldn't help the small smile. "Do you want me to challenge you to do better?"

"It would be an idea."

"Fine… I doubt that after two hours with my bag, you're still thinking it's my weakness causing me pain."

"We shall have to see about that."

When they finally decided to go on, Robin let him carry the bag, and she walked next to him with a smug smile on her face, upon which he merely rolled his eyes. Of course he wouldn't have admitted in a million years that he was only doing this to spare her the pain, but they both knew it perfectly well nonetheless, and that sufficed to keep the smile on Robin's face for a long time.

Two more hours down the road however, or rather the non-existent road in this case, and Robin didn't feel like smiling anymore at all. They were taking another break, a very much needed one after this torture of walking up and down hills. It was three o'clock in the afternoon by now, but they still had gotten nowhere near the end of the stupid line. Stupid tracing spell. The sight of the blue dust didn't fill Robin with excitement anymore, but with the urgent wish to cry. She was exhausted and hurting and honestly starting to doubt if the stupid spell was even working as it should. Finding the wraiths' moss shouldn't have taken this long, by far not. Perhaps they were being led nowhere. Perhaps this was all just one big, stupid mistake.

Robin didn't even look up from where she was ripping grass out of the ground in frustration when Snape sat down next to her. Honestly, she wanted to be excited about the closeness between them now, which would very well have been evitable if he'd wanted to stay away, but all she could find within herself was tiredness and despair. Thus she merely kept on sulking and occasionally blinking away angry tears.

"Did you have anything for breakfast before we left the castle this morning?" He asked after a while, and Robin frowned immediately as she turned to look at him at last.

"What kind of stupid question is that? No, I did not. There were more important things on my mind than food."

"Then perhaps you should consider having one of the snacks you tend to carry around now."

"I'm not hungry." She mumbled and looked back down to the ground, but he ignored her and placed her backpack right in her field of vision.

"You will feel better nonetheless."

"How I'm feeling is not the problem!" She groaned and rolled her eyes to herself. "The problem is that this stupid spell obviously isn't working! We have been walking for hours and where has it gotten us? For all we know, not the least bit closer to anywhere!"

"So you are giving up?"

"No! I don't know…" Robin's tone deflated in an instant, and her eyes started watering again. Damnit. "Look, I don't want to give up! I never give up, it's not something I do, but… everything just feels so terribly far away from me right now."

"It certainly would be ironic if you gave up on an obviously functioning spell after a mere few hours." He said in a calm certainty that made Robin frown again.

"Why would it be ironic? You can see that it's obviously not going anywhere!" She argued back, looking up to study his face for any hints of where he was going with this.

Instead of letting her drag him into an argument however, he returned her gaze in an almost soothing calm. "It has been years and you still haven't given up on me for a single day, even if the prospects of any result were far worse than they are now. A line of floating blue dust certainly is more than I have ever given you to warrant that faith."

Robin's heart skipped a beat, and her mind became a tangled mess of things she wanted to say and things she definitely should not say. A chaos of emotions, and a chaos of impulses. But the sincerity in his words finally became a beacon for her mind to line up for sorting.

"My refusal to give up on you has really gotten us quite far, huh?" She mused after a moment, managing a half smile even. "One could even say it's a good thing I'm too stubborn to give up."

"One could indeed."

"So… if I follow that tracing line to the other side of the country because I refuse to give up on my theory…"

"I will still be right behind you." He added in, remaining in absolute sincerity, and Robin's eyes would've almost welled up again for entirely different reasons, had he not saved her from that fate by speaking on. "However, only if you eat something now."

A sound between a sob, a laugh and a snort escaped her before she could help it, and while she blinked away the totally unnecessary moisture in her eyes, she also had to bite her lip to tone down her smile. Really, for someone so desperately serious most of the time, he was getting exceptionally good at cheering her up. With a dutiful nod, she finally dug through her backpack until she stumbled upon an apple she had snatched from dinner last night, and a packet of Twirls that had only been mildly smashed by her books. As was so often the case, her appetite came while she ate, and the apple was gone in a blink. The Twirls however she insisted on sharing, and after evading the minor protest she could convince Snape to take the second bar. Upon that it didn't take long for the sugar to find its way into her blood and the smile its way into her mind, and mere minutes later the sulk was all but forgotten.

When they went on to follow the blue line with renewed confidence on Robin's part, she was the one to carry the backpack again. Snape had of course had to admit that it was the bag rather than Robin's shoulders that was the root of the problem, and perhaps that is why he had been reluctant to let her carry it again. But seeing as it was her bag, her expedition and thus her lead, he had very little choice but to let her proceed. After all, her shoulders had rested quite enough to hurt only very little now, but she still hoped that their hike would come to an end soon.

They got exactly ten minutes of mostly easy walking before a distant thunder announced the inevitable. The sky darkened immediately, a ceiling of the deepest grey looming over their heads, and half a minute later it started pouring again as if there was no tomorrow. This time however there was no shelter, no time to take another break either, and thus they continued on despite the rain. Robin luckily had her rain jacket to keep at least her torso dry, but she had to wear her hair down in order to fit the hood over her head enough to keep the water out of her eyes, which in return meant that the part of her hair that hung over her shoulders and down over her chest was drenched within seconds. So were her jeans, which now stuck to her thighs quite uncomfortably, clinging onto her skin like wet fabric always did. Snape for his part had the umbrella spell to protect himself from the rain, but even that didn't keep him dry for all too long.

Thirty minutes into the downpour, and Robin thought she might as well be walking through an ocean. At least the line was still there, even if it was slowly getting too dark around them to see it without squinting.

"Do you think it is the rain or the sunset that causes the darkness?" Snape asked eventually, while they tried to move up the steep hill the blue line sent them over instead of leading them around it for once. The higher they ventured, the more the grassland became ridden with rocks and ragged stone, and with the constant rain and growing darkness, it soon became a nightmare to move on. Robin did so anyway, walking a good few steps ahead in stubborn determination to follow this bloody line to the end now.

"Currently? The rain." She looked back over her shoulder at Snape, who had mostly given up on his umbrella and was scowling up at the sky now instead, as if that would do anything but get water into his eyes. "It should be around four o'clock right now, which gives us another hour until sunset. Approximately. I actually looked that up, you know, because-..."

Robin was cut off in her sentence when her foot slipped on a wet rock and she lost her balance before she could find something to hold onto. With a helpless yelp, she came crashing down onto the sodden ground, hitting her entire right side on the very stones she had slipped on. For a broken second, she didn't feel anything but the shock. Then however the impact got through to her, and the burning and stabbing in her side seethed through her entire body.

"Fuck…" She hissed through clenched teeth, but tried to scramble back to her feet anyway even before the wave of pain decreased. Adrenaline did funny things to both body and mind sometimes.

"For God's sake, Robin, can you please refrain from getting hurt for once at least?!" His voice was ineffably close to her suddenly, exasperated and yet undeniably laced with deep concern, and she almost would've slipped a second time once she stood on wobbly legs again. "Are you alright?"

A few seconds passed in silence, and Robin inspected her aching side first of all before allowing herself to give an answer. Other than a little mud and water, there wasn't even a single hole or tear in her jacket nor in her jeans. Always a good sign.

"I'm fine, it's nothing." She said quickly, taking a few steps and swinging her arms a little just to make sure that statement was true. "I'm fine."

"The last time you said that, you broke down two seconds later and I had to catch you." He quirked an eyebrow at her in doubt, which however looked funny enough as drenched as he was, and Robin had to smile at both the sight and the thought that she probably didn't look any better. Even worse, likely, with the mud clinging to her now.

"I promise that I actually believe I'm fine this time." She replied, while the smile still stayed on her lips. The pain was fading already, and as long as she didn't get a punch to the side now, she'd be good. "I just slipped. It really is nothing."

He kept frowning at Robin in mild doubt even upon her words of reassurance, but they continued their way up the hill anyway, side by side from now on. Her ribs and hip kept stinging for a few minutes, but after a while even that decreased and soon enough the only reminder of her fall was the mud lingering on her clothes.

When they reached the peak of the bloody hill at last, Robin's eyes lit up immediately and her heart skipped a beat in excitement at the sight that was finally revealed in front of them. A large building of wrought ancient stones, the ruins of a long abandoned castle, nestled into the slopes of the very hill they stood upon. It wasn't quite as large as Hogwarts, but large enough to be considered a castle nonetheless. A million questions ran through Robin's mind in an instant. Who had lived here? How long has it been abandoned? Why has it been abandoned? Was it even as abandoned as it looked?

The most important thing however was that the tracing line led straight to the castle, ending in a smoky blue cloud right above the ruins. That was all Robin could see in the dark, but it was by far enough to delight her. The tracing spell had actually worked after all! With an excited smile she turned to look at Snape, blinking away the rain that finally had started running into her eyes as well, and he returned her gaze for a moment until her continued grinning made him roll his eyes with a hint of a smile of his own. They didn't need words in order to understand what the other thought; and they still didn't say a thing as they made their way down the hill, slipping and stumbling more than walking at this point.

The good thing was that their downhill track went a lot faster than the slow way up, and mere minutes later they passed through the woven front gate of the castle grounds. The very moment they stepped into the entrance hall however, the tracing line above their heads quivered and balled together into a thick cloud of blue dust, stilling for just a moment, before at last it spread into all directions with a start, vanishing between the gaps and cracks in between the stones. Robin observed the ongoings with a smile. While she hadn't quite expected the tracing spell to work just this way, it certainly made a lot of sense that it would.

The thing about wraiths' moss was, as the name already suggested, that it wasn't exactly from this world, neither dead nor alive. To be exact, it was almost entirely invisible to the human eye, not graspable with the mere hand, which is precisely why it was so incredibly rare and so very difficult to find. And that in return was the very reason why Robin had decided to prove her theory about it today.

The way the tracing spell was supposed to work (in her theory at least) was quite simple really: the dust in its specific mixture should be attracted by a substance in the wraiths' moss, which then results in the dust gathering on top of the invisible plant. Afterwards it should be beyond easy to make it both visible and touchable with a simple charm. So far Robin's theory, and as of yet, everything was going according to plan. Brilliant!

"Don't you just love it when things go my way?" Robin grinned as she pushed the hood off her head, then let the water melt from her clothes and hair with a wordless spell. Thank God they were out of the rain at last.

"For your notice, all I just heard was an invitation to mess with you. However, I will kindly refrain from doing so for once." He replied in subtle amusement, and when Robin turned to look at him with an exaggerated eye rolling, he actually let out a quiet snort in return.

"Anyway… now that we're both dry and out of the storm, we might wanna search for the dust before it's entirely too dark in here to find it." She said at last, and once Snape merely motioned for her to lead the way, she finally stepped further into the entrance hall.

It was a truly amazing place, derelict and long seized by nature as its rightfully reclaimed property. But the cold, moist masses of stone held an ineffable mystery to them, a tingle at Robin's senses she couldn't quite explain. Everything about this place was looming, lurking, waiting… yet she could not tell for what.

They made their way through the empty hall with quietly echoing steps, in a conscious effort not to disturb the ancient silence. Robin walked ahead, a mere two steps, but she was well aware of Snape's constant presence behind her, and she honestly was grateful for it. Something about this place was odd… intriguing beyond measure, but eerie and coiled up, ready to jump into their faces if they made one wrong move. The small hairs in Robin's neck stood on high alert, and her mind followed suit.

"What are you noticing?" He asked then, in a whisper only, and from the mere tone of his voice she could tell that he was no less alert than she was herself.

"The same thing you do, obviously." She breathed back, while however keeping her eyes on the hallway they were following into the unknown.

"All I notice is your concern, that is unsettling enough to me."

"I can feel them… The secrets dwelling in the halls around us, some of which are beautiful, others that will haunt you till the day you die." She said, and a shiver ran down her back at the very moment the words left her lips. Haunting… that was precisely the place one would expect wraiths' moss to grow, wasn't it?

They made their way through multiple hallways, crossing through rooms both empty and filled with long rotten furniture, but there was no trace of the familiar ultramarine that should have settled by now, and thus no trace of the moss anywhere. The castle was huge though, too large to search entirely, and Robin soon realized that they would need a strategy if they didn't want to continue blindly roaming through the sheer endless number of rooms.

A look into her journal proved to be helpful. The moss seemed to grow best in dark and moist places, protected from both light and wind, and ideally ones that still were cool enough to keep it constantly chilled. Robin read this part out to Snape, and they only needed one look at each other to know exactly where they were heading next.

The castle's dungeons proved to be exactly what the word promised, rust ridden shackles and chains on moss covered walls, endless tunnels and tiny cells. And yet the dungeons were unreasonably large for a castle of this size, digging deep into the hills and likely well beyond, a true maze of rooms and corridors. For exactly this reason, they decided to split up for the search.

Robin had seen enough horror movies in her summer breaks to know that splitting up was probably the worst thing one could do when already spooked, but she had also read enough accounts of successful field research to know that efficiency was a key to success. Thus she moved down the dark hallway alone now, wand raised with a bright lumos that unfortunately didn't light the path far enough ahead for her liking. Beyond carefully, she looked into every room she came across, never making an uncalculated step, and yet… Nothing. No wraiths' moss, nor anything else that was worth even a second glance. A few times she believed to see a shadow moving, out of the corner of her eyes, but every time she whipped around to catch it, there was the same nothing as everywhere else. All this search was doing was make her nerves stand on edge, and her heart rate go through the roof. After half an hour of following the pitch black corridor, she still hadn't reached the end of it but decided to turn around anyway. The plants she had seen growing down here hadn't changed in the last fifteen minutes of walking, and thus she deemed it highly unlikely that they would change even if she moved on now. Thus she headed back towards their meeting point. Damnit… she had been so sure about the moss being down here, but there wasn't a single speckle of her tracing dust to be found anywhere! The thought made her halt; if the dust wasn't here, where was it then?

She had already been walking for a good while when a distant sound echoed off the stone walls, and she froze in her step immediately. Silence. Her heart picked up speed in an instant. It stayed silent, the narrow hallway closing in on her in an uncomfortable way, and she walked on with a frown on her face. Then the echo reached her ears again, clearer this time, she heard her name… and she started running.

A million scenarios ran through her mind in time with her path through the hallways, and she could only hope that this was one of the kind that would make her regret running, not one that would make her wish she had been able to run faster. Blindly she followed the maze of corridors now, rounding corners without a second thought about what she might find behind them, until at last she saw a light shining in the distance. With burning lungs, she came closer fast until…

"Stop!" His voice made Robin freeze in an instant, and she did stop indeed right in her spot in the middle of the hallway.

"What's wrong? Are you alright?" She asked, still not daring to move, but she needed an answer. Now.

"I am fine, the situation however is clearly not." He replied in utmost annoyance, and Robin felt immensely relieved at that. As long as he was upset and complaining about something, the world wasn't ending. So far so good.

"Can I move again?" She inquired carefully, trying to get her breathing back under control. Gods, running really wasn't for her, leave alone after a day like this. But adrenaline was a nice little helper in this case. "What's going on?"

"You can move, yes, but do not come near this door."

Still panting, Robin moved the remaining few steps down the hallway until she stood facing the room the light was coming from. There he was, standing in the doorway a step into the room, looking entirely furious but otherwise fine. Robin still didn't understand, but a good bunch of negative scenarios were proven wrong right then, and it honestly came as a small relief no matter what. She observed him for a quiet moment, her chest still heaving pathetically, but slowly the terrible burning in her lungs decreased.

"You… you scared me." She finally admitted, on a whim, but she thought that he should know nonetheless.

His anger seemed to lessen up upon that, as if it hadn't even occurred to him what she might be experiencing in this situation, until he looked almost sincerely sorry. "That wasn't my intention. I heard a noise and it left me thinking that you were nearby."

"Well, I… wasn't. It doesn't matter." She huffed and finally brushed the hair out of her face that had become stuck and tangled everywhere in her blind chase through the dungeons. "I hurried either way, so what's the trouble?"

"I cannot get out." Was all he said for a moment, and when Robin frowned at him first, then at the doorway that didn't even have a door hooked inside it, he finally elaborated. "I could come in here without trouble, but there seems to be a spell placed on the door that prevents me from leaving again. As if that wasn't bad enough, it so happens that everything I have tried to remove this barrier has failed."

Robin's frown deepened, and she chewed on her bottom lip as she thought about his words. A magical prison… that means someone who had lived here at some point had been a witch or wizard. Or would a visitor bother to set up a room like this? Unlikely. That didn't help much right now either way; the only question of relevance was how she could take this barrier down.

"Robin…"

"Yes, I'm thinking! Just give me a moment…" She spoke without even paying attention to what she said. Which spells did she know that blocked magic? The apparition jinx on Hogwarts, for example. But how to find a counter curse when she didn't know which curse had been placed on the door? Damnit… she still felt so desperately on edge down here, the dark closing in on her, and the hallway seemed to shrink as well.

"Breathe, yes?" He said in a surprising calm, and Robin finally looked up at him once more. "None of this is your fault. It was I who was idiotic enough to wander in here without precautions."

"Perhaps. But that doesn't change the fact that I need to get you out of there, and I promise you that I will."

"Removing an unknown spell is an immensely difficult and highly unlikely procedure. You cannot promise me that."

"Watch me." She replied with a newfound determination that came along with a sudden idea. Snape was right, removing an unknown spell was practically impossible and would take ages of trial and error. But perhaps she didn't have to go down this road. "You might want to get as far back into the room as possible."

"What is your plan?" He asked, but still moved away from the door like Robin had told him to, retreating into the far corner.

"I'm keeping my promise by thinking outside the box." She gave him a small and weary smile, but a smile no less as she pointed her wand not at the doorframe, but at the wall next to it. "You, uh… better conjure up some kind of shield now." She took a deep breath, steadying her shaking hand in between heartbeats. "Bombarda Maxima."

______________________________

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[your-1up-girl]

See You Soon...

For @aerith-week Today’s theme is Yellow Flowers. I hope you guys like it

Word Count: 1858

Read on ao3

The day was normal for everyone else in the Sector 7 slums. People got out of bed to start the day, the smell of brewed coffee wafted from the cafe, and children begged for a few minutes more before complying to the calls that awoke them. The cats made their usual rounds through the nooks and crannies of the fallen walls and rotten wood. But for Aerith this was not just some normal day. Yet, to the world around her, she went about her business as usual. Going down to the orphanage with a fresh bouquet of flowers in her wicker basket. It was a Saturday so she helped the children make pancakes with a fresh blueberry compote from their garden. It was a pleasant morning with the kids. Aerith enjoyed breakfast with the kids, and as she washed the dishes a group of children came to her.

“Hey Aerith! We’re planning a big play with all of the kids in the Sector! Do you wanna help us tonight?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, but I can’t tonight. I have plans.” The disappointment was evident on their faces. She dried her hands and knelt down to their level. “You know that I would drop all my plans for you guys but this is something that I can’t reschedule. I’m sure you’ll do great even without me there. I’ll be cheering you on in spirit.”

That seemed to do it for the kids because they all cheered in excitement, hugged Aerith, and left. She finished the rest of the dishes and said her goodbyes to Ms. Folia before leaving.

Next stop was the cafe. They always appreciated the help and business seemed to get better when people saw Aerith was working. An hour or two past, all the while Aerith chatted with anyone who stopped by, and delivered coffee and food to the patrons. Not once during this time did the smile falter from her lips. It was a nice change in the atmosphere when Aerith was present. It was like her presence made things better no matter where she was in the slums. It finally came down to hang up the apron but another worker stopped to ask a question.

“Hey, Aerith? Thanks a bunch for the help you know that we appreciate it but, do you think you can stop by again this evening? A birthday is being held here and we could use the help. I hear the people from other sectors are stopping by.”

“A birthday huh.” Only in that moment did the smile fade. Aerith’s back was turned so the employee didn’t catch what she had mumbled.

“Come again?”

“It’s nothing. Sorry, but I have plans this evening and they can’t be rescheduled.” A feeble grin replaced the once vibrant one as she left the compact back area of the cafe.

The flower girl made her way to the outskirts of the slums to gather herbs for the doctor, and she seemed to only get them to grow in this specific spot.

Aerith plucked the delicate leaves from the plant as she scolded herself. “There’s no need to act this way. Yup, it’s all normal. Birthdays happen all the time. Every. Single. Day-Damn it! Son of a-” With each spoken word her frustration grew, and that frustration caused her to break one of stalks. “Sorry little one” She whispered to the plant in her hand, then glanced at the rest of them, “These herbs are hard to come by.” Picking off the rest of the leaves from that stalk, she put everything in her basket and started to walk to the clinic in the slums.

Head down stuck in thought from the corner of her eye, she noticed a familiar plant growing. “Well, whatta you know.” A tiny sprout of the same medicinal herb grew along the path. A seed must have fallen during one of her trips to and fro. “When one living thing dies, another is reborn. I guess all that’s true.” But still, to imagine a life coming in today of all days, it almost made Aerith bitter.

She continued to walk, making a mental note to move the sprout with its family tomorrow morning. Trying to take things on the chin, Aerith walked with a half-hearted smile on her face. It wasn’t until she reached the clinic that she perked up as best she could. The doctor greeted her at the door.

“Ah Aerith, it’s good to see you. I see you brought the herbs again as well.”

“Yup, I told you I would! Brought a basket full this time so you wouldn’t run out too fast.”

“You truly are a Godssend Aerith.” They talked for a bit longer. She reminded him once again about the proper drying techniques and how long to let them steep to bring out their full potential. But at some point during this exchange, the Doctor noticed that Aerith’s normal spark was missing. “Something bothering you today?”

A much more honest smile replaced the mask she was wearing. Then a sigh and a breathy laugh followed, “Has it been that obvious?”

He chuckled, “If you’re worried about others noticing, then you’re fine. But I, however, have been checking up on you since you were a little girl.” When Aerith didn’t speak for a minute he got concerned, then she confessed.

“It’s just that, I’ve been turning a lot of people down today. I dunno, guess I just feel bad. But tonight, I want to take some time to myself...Go to the church.”

“The church? Oh, yes, I remember.” The emptied wicker basket was returned to Aerith’s hands. The doctor held them for a moment. “Don’t feel bad sweetheart, if they knew, I know they would understand. The sun is setting. You should head over now before it gets too dark. Don’t worry about Elmyra. I’ll let her know you left.”

Aerith did just that, however she did stop by the house to pick some flowers before making her way to the church: past the clinic and the children holding their play, past the cafe with the people celebrating life, and past all the other people of the sector who asked for her to stay a while. One person even yelled out, “Hey Aerith! Whatcha going out so late for? Going to see someone special?”

“Yeah, something like that.” She called back. There was a chorus of “Ooooos” as she left to the main road, a wicker basket of yellow flowers tight in her grip.

Aerith reached her first destination of the night, the Sector 7 Station platform. It was a Saturday evening. The plate above gave allowed rays of deep oranges, reds, and light purples, and it wasn’t busy at all. Most people were either home or had already made it to their destination for the night. Aerith knelt down near the station landing. Her warm hands felt the cold concrete.

This was where her mother died.

As a child, she didn’t think much of it, I’m not sad, Mama just returned to the planet, she had told Elmyra once. But as she got older, that acceptance of her death became harder to swallow. There were moments when she did see her, but they were cursory: A brief dream, a hallucination in the crowd, but never anything permanent. It is that lack of permanency that every year since she was a teenager, Aerith would bring the yellow flowers to this spot in the train station. They were a symbol of reunion after all. And yes, they are very popular among lovers, but reunion can come from any type of relationship. So, why couldn’t it represent the reunion between a mother and daughter?

Aerith continued walking to the church. In that patch of dirt sticking out of the floorboards, were the same yellow flowers. She sat among the blooms. Elmyra had told her as a child that the dirt had been barren until she showed up. Aerith took it as a sign that her mother was still here in some way. One life is gone, another is reborn. Along with cut golden floral, the basket held two up rooted flowers from the garden at her house. Aerith replanted them with the others and sat in the middle of them.

“I miss you Mom. I know that sounds selfish after everything Elymra has done for me but-” Her soft voice echoed within the desolate building. “You told me, all those years ago that you wanted me to have a better life. You escaped because of me. You must have been so scared and yet...your fear didn’t matter if it meant I would be safe.” She gave a sarcastic laugh and continued. “And here I am, trapped again underneath the plate, and still under Shinra surveillance. All because I’m too scared to leave.” She shook her head, “This-this couldn’t have been the life you wanted for me, but I guess anything is better than being Shinra’s lab rat...dog.” Aerith felt a tear fall. She carefully laid down in the flowers and took in their scent, their comfort, and their symbol. “Reunion. I bet you chose these flowers because you knew what they meant. We’ll meet again Mom. I don’t know why but, I have this feeling I’ll see you again, soon. It’s as if-,” She paused. As if what? To tell the truth, Aerith didn’t even know. But something was telling her that this peace she was feeling, that this life, wouldn’t last and that she would see her Mother again.

“I’m sorry. I’m sure you don’t want to hear that from your daughter.” There was silence as the light from the moon and plate beamed through the cracks in the and hole in the roof–an unbalanced mix of man-made and nature. “How about this instead: You wanted a better life, one free from Shinra. One day, I’ll leave the wall! That prospect horrifies me, but I’ll do it for you. Just like you did for me.” Having found joy in this moment she got up and grabbed her basket. “I promise, I’ll make it out of here. No more running.” Aerith looked up through the hole in the church ceiling and at the blinking lights of the steel sky above. “Do you think I’ll miss it once I leave?” With that, she walked out the door, turning back just briefly to say goodbye one last time.

The station came into view once again on her way home, and she stopped to look out into the night and at the wall of Midgard. It was a new challenge that she must overcome. One that made her heart race. Was it with fear or excitement, she couldn’t tell which. Come what way Aerith would leave.

“Needin’ to go somewhere miss?” The train worker asked from the platform above.

“Yes. But, it’s not a place where the train can take me.” Footstep followed footstep, and her basket hung lazily from her arm. Yellow flowers glimmered in the night. “I know I’ll see you soon Mom, but not before I see what’s beyond the wall for both of us.”

[phanlight]

Twin Flame

 .                                       ✧                   ✵                  ✧                                      .    ✴      .                    ✦               .                        .                 ✦                  .     ✴ 

thank u so much to anyone and everyone who’s stuck by over the years had it not been for ur constant support i would not be doing this rn not in a billion years also i hope i still remember how to write

this is gonna be v slow burn [like a big ol sage sticc] so I apologise for the steady pacing for a first chapter but I wanna set sufficient enough ~ foundations~ so things will pick up soon i promise lol

I digress ANYWAY have some magic

I literally don’t know what to describe this as I guess artist/mage/psychic!dan (if that isn’t a thing i’m making it one), bamf!phil (gotta stay tru to the roots), enemies-to-lovers, semi-surrealism, ethereal-surrealism (I s2g this is gonna be about 5 diff genres wtf am I doing)

✴      .                    ✦               .                        .                ✦                            ✴

summary:

Dan isn't lost anymore. He's finally okay with being an explorer, not a seeker. Content with being a wanderer rather than a wonderer. His checkered luck often leads him to almost hear the laughter of Fate ringing in the sky, but he puts it down to entering the world on the Thirteenth night of June; a Friday full with the Moon. A time where forces higher than usual ripple through the atmosphere, through the night. But he’s okay with that. He’s become okay with that. He’ll look for the light in life, live for the sparkle on summer tides. He’ll find answers at the end of paint tubes and poetry books; get by on his own moral philosophies rather than those of a shattered system. But when he falls into a realm in even further ruins than his own, he himself shatters – and suddenly the cycle begins again. Seeking, wondering – lost down to the soul. But with destruction comes construction. With darkness comes light. With bad comes good. And to exist, they must co-exist.

✴      .                    ✦               .                        .                ✦                       .     ✴ 

actual plot bc that said nothing about what acc happens: 

dan’s a lonely ass painter who loves crystals and one day finds a passage in an abandoned lighthouse that transports him into a spirit realm where he meets someone more lost than him. they don’t get on but for reasons they’ll have to.

.            ✴.                                  .                                .                 .✴              .     

.✴     .                    ✴               .          ✯            .                ✴                      .     ✴.

opposing forces, they attract;

yin won’t exist without its yang.

a sunless moon, a silent act;

in idleness it hangs.

galactic compounds in the skin,

harbour chemicals and cells,

particles, atomic, sub-

vibrate with polar spells.

the grounding force attraction

it ties every single bond.

becomes the gravity,

of life; existence as One.

.✴     .  - Love                                                                                               .     

                                                                                          ✴               .          ✯            .                ✴

                                                  ✴[AO3 LINK]✴

Dan stares at the pale tornado swirling inside the china. Seagulls cackle outside, as if in response to the disgusting abundance of milk.

Fuck this.

The ruined tea goes down the sink with a steamy slosh, and he chokes on the eruption of vapour that partially enters his lungs. Great. The universe has now given him enough to decipher exactly what type of day today will be.

He calls them his Horseshoe Days. He’d had one once – a gift from his grandmother. At the time it seemed something strange to give to a seven-year-old. He was at the age where he wouldn’t know what a horseshoe meant if one came hurtling down from above, bonking the top of his skull.

And it did once – well, nearly. It was only while dodging the thing falling from the shelf, only milliseconds away from meeting his forehead, he realised they might actually be as lucky as she’d promised.

That was, until perhaps, he placed it back on the shelf upside-down. His parents were both blissfully none-the-wiser when it came to anything outside the ordinary – the superstition veining back to his occult-practicing grandmother on his mother’s side (and skipping generation in the process, it seems). They saw a horseshoe as nothing more than a crescent of iron that for some reason sits in the kitchen, whichever way up. It was only once events later that day began to unravel in an unfamiliar manner did a bubbling suspicion of a correlation arise. Dan had vaguely remembered something about the blacksmith Dunstan and how a shoe upturn drains its ‘powers’, but it was only a crashed bike, scraped knee and flattened football later did he actually pay any attention to why his day might have been going so badly.

Well, eventually.  

The entire exchange sits still at the forefront of his psyche, each detail in sparkling clarity. He sees it now, even hears the voices.

“That’s why!” he’d burst out over dinner.

His parents had jumped in unison, and his stepfather elbowed over a glass. The table shone with a thin spread of water, trickling across the mahogany.

The hardness of Gerald’s voice is still nailed into the back of his memory. He used to hate it when he shouted.

“Jesus!” he’d have yelled, scrabbling around the table with a napkin. Dan remembers the kitchen towel surrendering immediately, from sheets to soggy mulch in seconds. He’d then have followed with a favourite catchphrase of his; “Do you have to yell like that?”

It was nothing they weren’t used to. He had a habit of sneaking up on everyone. ‘Feather-Feet’, his grandmother used to call him.

Dan remembers ignoring him, stretching up out of his seat and reaching for the overhead shelf. He doesn’t reckon an upturned horseshoe has ever made anyone this happy but he remembers feeling nothing but delight. It’s a bit of a backward attitude. “I knew I wasn’t just naturally unlucky!”

Being born on Friday the thirteenth certainly doesn’t help, despite giving every single birthday wish to a promise of better luck.

His grandmother used to say it was a good omen. Actually lucky; despite its reputation in amongst the ladders and scaffolding and cracked pavement tiles. The Thirteenth night of June, a Friday full with the moon, she used to muse, eyes bright with love. He misses her.

“What are you doing?” his mother had narrowed her eyes, watching her son reach for the horseshoe. When his elbow disturbed a spherical paperweight in the process and it began a bloodcurdlingly slow descent off the shelf, they flew open wider. “Careful! Mind my-“

He was already ahead of her, he remembers. Fingers clasped around the iron and flipped upright in a fraction of a second. In the other he outstretches his hand, feeling the paperweight plop into his palm in one piece instead of millions more. He‘ll never forget the sigh of relief from somewhere behind him.

He remembers the feeling. The weight of the crystal. The coolness of the cast iron. Saved antique in one hand, upright horseshoe in the other. The absolute thrum of electricity through his bloodstream. He remembers smiling and looking up. “See?”

“See what, exactly?” Gerald had then snapped, masking his panic with anything other than fear. “You nearly ruining our wedding present? A repeat performance of Aunt Nora’s teapot?”

He glanced to his mother, still completely ivory with shock. Her eyes are fixed on the swirled quartz as if it were seconds away from leaping off of his palm again by itself; under its own magic.  

“Did you not see that?” Confusion begins to seep into his initial delight. Were they even concentrating at all?

“I saw you being idiotic,” his stepfather had spat. Dan winces like he did fifteen years ago. The word still holds its weight, even now. He doesn’t know why.

“The horseshoe,” he’d tried to explain. “It wa-“

“I don’t give a shit about the bloody horseshoe!” he’d suddenly exploded. Both Dan and his mother jumped back in their seats.

“Gerald,” he remembers the softness of his mother’s tone, a diametric opposition of the echoes of steel his stepfather had the nerve to call an indoor voice.

“No, I’m sick of it!” he’s erupting now. Bubbling over the surface. A temper like a needle to an overfilled balloon. “He’s always flailing about. Knocking things over. Your mother told me about the vase, by the way,” he spat aside.

Dan’s stomach had dropped. She’d sworn not to say a word. She’d promised.

“You never know what the boy’s next move is going to be,” he continues. “I’m sick of it,” he repeats again, as if repetition be the highest form of emphasis. He snatched the paperweight but ignored the horseshoe, and Dan remembers how it had looked in his grip – the glass probably having more chance of shattering inside his big burly palm than the solid stone floor.

He vanishes and reappears two seconds later, marching back with a face of beetroot and a brow of iron, pressing a daggered glare into the back of Dan’s head. He could feel the warmth burning the nape of his neck, the stare scalding the skin.

“He’s not to be trusted,” he announced as if there were thousands of other ears also listening.

A delicate frown threaded its way across his mother’s brow.

“Wh-“

“Leave it, Penelope,” he’d cut her off before she’d even had a chance to finish the word, let alone the sentence. Dan used to hate the way he spoke to her. “If the boy wants to behave like a child, he’ll get treated like one. No more ornaments in the kitchen.”

Dan remembers thinking then it would kind-of be nice being addressed by name. Just once. Maybe. Gerald’s also about the only person capable of criticizing a seven-year-old for behaving like a child. Make it make sense, Gerald, he doesn’t say. And my name’s Dan, but you’ve probably forgotten that.

She’d thrown her son a quick sapphire glance; a gleaming silent apology. Dan’s heart had lurched at the glint of panic in her eye.

It lurches now. That absolute demon must have given her hell. He’d never been more thankful to see his mother out of a marriage. He was horrible.

And he couldn’t fucking cook. He even remembers what they were eating on the night because it was so inedible. He’s always detested mashed potato, and he’s certain Gerald knew this. He remembers stabbing the offending white lump on his plate during the sacred three seconds of silence His Lordship could manage before that cruel mouth of his opened again.

“Bloody cold, now,” he’d grumbled.

Dan remembers holding back a smirk. As if any amount of heat could make this cement any less torturous to ingest.

He’d briefly wondered if suffocation was in his hidden agenda all along. It wouldn’t surprise him. Death by potato has an interesting ring to it.

Anyway, the whole situation could have been history in under ten seconds. He could have had the horseshoe upright and the paperweight saved in three of those. Job done, panic over, back to dinner in the remaining seven. He imagines Gerald’s reaction had he spoken his mind at the time.

That was fifteen years ago, of course. Being seven, someone could have told him the sky was pink and he’d eventually believe it (maybe if it happened to be during a sunset). From that point onward he hadn’t exactly lapped up old wives’ tales, myths spinning into each other like silver silk, but his superstition remained a conscious glow in the back of his mind; going no further than avoiding three drains and ladders and watching black cats slink across his path with his breath held. Sometimes even whispering a quick wish when eleven lines up the clock (most days he misses, though).

He vowed from that very moment to save anything considered slightly out-of-the-ordinary for those who actually want to hear about it. Those who understand.

He looks at the horseshoe. It’s the same one – it always has been. Seeing three new house-changes and a hell of a lot of life, it sits, still – tightly nailed to the overhead beam of the kitchen. There’s no way it could slip now.

His eyes travel down from the horseshoe at the dazzling abundance of crystals lining and clustering every free available space surrounding the entire kitchen. He figures Gerald’s little ‘no ornaments in the kitchen’ law wouldn’t bode too well here. He’d scream in fear of the raw amethysts by the kettle. Sob at the sight of the glittering chunks of hematite by the sink. Shield his eyes from offending lines of onyx near the spice rack and the little malachite cluster by Rosa (one of many house plants). And as for the great big slabs of rose quartz and Himalayan salt on the windowsill, the glow of sunrise warming the atmosphere each morning; kissing the space with shadowy peaches and dusty pinks – well, his face would be an absolute picture. Priceless. He grins whenever he dusts, love bursting in his heart for each one and humming through every vein in his body. They make him feel like a proud father.

A short, sharp buzz on the countertop interrupts his thoughts. His consciousness snaps back into reality. Shit, how long has it been? Once he gets thinking about Gerald and everything he put his mother through he gets angry, and then half the day disappears and he finds he’s done little else other than stare at a drawer or a wall for the majority of it. It’s easy to get carried away. It happens when he thinks about crystals too.

You okay?

It’s Zema. Part-time housemate, full-time soulmate. It’s almost like he’d heard his thoughts; the voices so powerful they resonate externally. Part of Dan wouldn’t be surprised if he had – Gerald was certainly shouting loud enough in there.

Been better, he answers truthfully. Just made the worst cup of tea known to mankind

I wondered what all that clanking was

There’s a pause, followed by another quick buzz.

HSD?

Dan grins at the screen. Horseshoe day. He’d even remembered their abbreviation.

“H – S – D,” he’d once said. “It’s like LSD. But shitter.”

Dan had snorted. Zema’s about the only person who would compare having ‘one of those days’ to a psychedelic trip.

“Exactly,” Zema had said once Dan had told him this. “It’s not. That’s why it’s shitter.”

Dan hadn’t exactly agreed with him. He didn’t even think it was worth mentioning Horseshoe is actually all one word, but he’d gone along with it because HSD is a lot less effort to type and sometimes it’s good to have a code. Zema’s about the only person who knows about this. He doesn’t trust anyone else enough not to judge him when he tells them he’s basically superstitious, however blanket that definition may be. It’s probably not the correct term, but he doesn’t know how else to describe it. Drawn to the unknown? Like it matters either way. It’s not as if he’s particularly vocal about it. A twenty-three-year-old male, unusually innate occult-esque interests and a static, stagnant society don’t exactly fit together with jigsaw-like ease. Dan doesn’t know why. Dan doesn’t see what the harm is in allowing others to gravitate towards their own pleasures when the concept alone of interests and hobbies is entirely subjective. That’s the beauty of it, he finds. No two beings have exactly the same range, however similar.

Maybe the harm is that there’s no harm at all, and that scares him. The lust for destruction scares him. This planet scares him.

Something like that, he taps back, before pocketing the conversation. 

He gives up with tea involving milk and unlatches the wooden box neighbouring the kettle. It’s stuffed to the brim with teabags of spanning across the entire flavour spectrum.

He picks one up and presses it to his nose, inhaling. Ah, Jasmine.

He picks up another. Camomile and- something. He frowns. Lemon?

He puts it back. Can’t be. He finished the lemon last week.

He picks it up again and sniffs. Ginger, that’s it.

Nah, he tosses it back in for a second time. He only touches the ginger when he’s feeling jaded the morning after a night involving too much wine and not enough water (they happen more often than not).

He picks up another, inhaling the rich, fruity aroma. Red berries. It even smells like the colour red.

He puts it back nonetheless. Strawberries and- well, just about everything else with –berry tagged onto the end – just wouldn’t cut it right now. Ambitious Ribena, that’s what Zema calls it. It hasn’t really tasted the same since he said that.

He picks up another. Jasmine again, he rolls his eyes. He’s seldom ever in a ‘Jasmine’ mood. He doesn’t even know why they have so many – Zema barely touches it either.

He finally settles for a plain green tea. A bit of simplicity wouldn’t go amiss right now.

His phone buzzes again.

Don’t think I can’t hear that kettle. I’ll have a ginseng pls x

Dan huffs out a laugh. Cover blown.

We’re all out of ginseng.

Look under the sink.

Dan rolls his eyes and yanks open the door below him. Six boxes of the stuff stare back at him.

Six??? he taps with one hand, grabbing a box and tearing the cardboard open with another. Really?

Didn’t wanna run out is all that follows.

He shakes his head, but lets the grin tug his lips.

Panic-buying tea now, are we?

Don’t start. You bought six crystals the other day

Ok that’s different. Mercury is in retrograde right now and we’re not taking any chances

What does that even mean

It means u need to stop buying so much tea

I’ll stop buying tea when u stop buying crystals

Dan smirks. He’ll be waiting a while, then.

He assigns Zema the age-old High School Musical mug. It was a gift from Axel one or two Christmases ago, and he imagines the Disney franchise probably didn’t have temperamental dishwashers in mind during the manufacturing process – the boiling steam had left the majority of the characters eyeless and Troy Bolton completely nose-less. He leaves it next to the kettle with texted instructions for Zema to leave the duvet cave immediately before it turns cold, but for what it’s worth, the other boy isn’t exactly famous for his pro-activity early in the mornings. He wouldn’t be surprised if it reached stone temperature before passing his lips. Judging by the lack of audible movement, he’d be safe in assuming he’s probably fallen back asleep.

He pads into the lounge with a steaming mug and a bookmarked copy of Le Fleur Du Mal; completely falling to bits and half of the pages contemplating a permanent escape. Despite his attempts, even the strongest duct tape couldn’t keep this copy together.

There’s something about a parallel translation that fascinates him. How meaning can so flawlessly transcend dialect. He wonders if Baudelaire had this in mind. Whether he knew his works would one day be read in languages far from his mother tongue. Did he know his own craft to be so acute, so fine, that whichever order, whichever laws of letters they’re under – the same meaning shines through? The same rhythm, the same senses, colours, emotions rippling through each sign and symbol? That’s poetry.

His eyes scan the neighbouring verse. Learning a bit more French would definitely help, that’s for sure. His own skill is rusted from years of neglect; having abandoned all hopes of igniting his love for such a beautiful dialogue after school had strode into his life and seeped all the joy and passion out of just about everything he once loved. He’s glad to have reignited that. It was years until he picked up a paintbrush again.

He’s only three words in before he’s interrupted by an all-too-familiar sound.

He rolls his eyes, peering over the edge of the pages. “What now?”

Two eyes wait for him. One emerald, the other azure.

“No,” Dan immediately answers.

The reply is longer, louder.

“Ugh,” his glance scours the ceiling for a second. “It’s literally been an hour, Vee. Where are you storing it all?”

The eyes answer with an innocent glitter, but Dan knows better. His eyes flicker back to the page:

What will you say tonight, poor lonely soul,

What will you say old withered heart of mine,

To the most beautiful, the best, most dear,

Whose heavenly regards bring back your bloom?

We will assign our pride to sing her praise:

Nothing excels the sweetness of her will;

Her holy-

Then there’s a gentle chirrup. He feels his heart turn to jelly. She knows exactly what that sound does to him.

“Venus,” he groans in defeat, elongating the ‘u’. He plops the book down next to him and hauling himself up from the sofa. “Only one, okay? No more.”

She slinks down from the stool, her stool – only about fifty years old and fraying at every single edge. What was once a delicate floral tapestry now existing as aged blobs in various shades of pastel. All four legs, previously smooth mahogany, are now a splintered beige from years of busy carving. He doesn’t understand how such soft paws bear such ceramic claws.

They’d tried everything. From cardboard and cereal boxes to actual climbing towers she would barely look at, let alone touch. Beds she ignored; choosing only Dan’s favourite satin pillow. And she’ll only ever drink water out of a specific pint glass.

“We’ve adopted a human, not a cat,” Zema had once said.

“It’s like she owns us,” Dan had agreed.

She’s trotting along the kitchen floorboards now, her tail high. She stops once she reaches the drawer under the crystal cabinet, throwing her human a demure glance.

“Alright, alright,” Dan catches her up, grabbing the bronze key. He’s thankful cats don’t have the power of thumbs. The world is already chaotic enough. 

He ends up giving her three. It’s those eyes, he tells himself in a small bout of self-justification. Those fucking eyes.

“Venus flytrap,” he mutters, running his fingertips along her silky back. “What are you like, eh? Where do you put it all?”

“Hollow legs,” a voice appears from behind him.

He almost leaves his own skin.

“Jesus!” he clutches at his chest. “What happened to the No-Giving-Dan-Cardiac-Arrest-Before-Noon rule?"

He whirls around to find Zema sat cross-legged on the marble surface just beside the sink, all silken robes and bed-beaten hair. A smirk gets bitten back under his teeth.

“I texted you."

Dan can’t quite believe the twenty-first century has come to this. Texting those who not only live in the same property, but are on the same floor.

They’re not actually too dissimilar in appearance – his head also home to a gigantic mass of thick brown waves, although in a darker shade to Dan’s own hair. His eyes stare back at him in a shade of gentle grey. Chameleon Eyes, Dan calls them; for they reflect their surroundings. He remembers how they looked when they’d first met that day at the beach – bright turquoise; matching the sky and the sea. He remembers how perplexed he been the second time they’d met and his eyes were suddenly a shining shamrock; sharing the glow of the grass. Then a gentle grey on the street under overcast clouds.  He’s always wanted to go into one of those rooms covered completely ground-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall, in mirrors. His eyes would probably boast galaxies.

He’s shorter than Dan (a rare occurrence among his friends) and about fifty times as agile – something he and Venus have in common is their blatant disregard for actual furniture. Even she sits on a stool more often than he does. Zema the Lemur, he calls him.

“Because chairs don’t exist,” Dan mutters now, his tone soaked with sarcasm. “Christ, you’re worse than her,” he nods down towards their little family member, still fixated on the drawer.

She trots up to Zema, seizing the opportunity.

“Are you hungry, honeybear?” Zema coos, his eyes sparkling. He gets an emphatic ‘mew’ in response.

“Don’t be fooled,” Dan interjects quickly. “She’s had a bowl and two treats already today.”

“Those eyes,” Zema grins knowingly. Green flashes in his direction. They’ve noticed she responds to ‘eyes’ faster than her own name.

“Those fucking eyes,” Dan shakes his head in agreement. The eyes in question now dart towards him. Whenever ‘eyes’ happen to crop up in conversation between the two, she looks as though she’s watching a tennis match. Dan’s abdomen still aches at the memory of the night they’d made the revelation; both curled up either side of the room in tears of laughter at her light-like response. “How’s the tea, by the way? Not too cold, I hope?”

“It’s lovely,” he sips appreciatively. “Good mug choice. Always better when it’s from Troy Bolton’s brain. It’s like I can taste his thoughts.”

“I didn’t know Gabriella tasted like ginseng,” Dan says. “Cut her open and she bleeds the stuff.”

Zema smirks. He holds the mug up, examining the worn surface in all its glory. “Looks like someone already has. God, this thing’s falling apart,” he thinks aloud, bringing himself ear-to-lip with the partially eroded character. “What happened to your nose babe, eh? Did it fall off during basketball?”

“Troy Boldemort,” Dan mutters immediately. Zema all but chokes, droplets showering the countertop.

He loves mornings like these, mornings where neither of them have any prior academic engagements and they can just sit and talk for hours about – well, anything, really. The final year of University boasts a monumental amount of focus and preparation and just a general resounding ‘oh-shit-this-is-actually-real’ feeling that apparently never really goes away; not even after you graduate, according to one of his cousins.

For Dan, nothing has really felt real since he was about fifteen, so it’s not something that particularly bothers him. He could just do without that ten-tonne workload.

“So what are you up to today, then?” Zema swings his legs over the edge, giggling as Venus begins an attack on his slipper. “Anything exciting?”

“Not much,” he sips thoughtfully. What can he do today? It’s been so long since he’s had a free day he’s forgotten how he spends time on his own terms. “Might get another painting done.”

“Paint me,” Zema beams, carding a hand through his fringe.

“Oh yeah?” Dan raises an eyebrow. “How the fuck would I go about painting your eyes?”

“Paint me in a field,” Zema continues. “And a beach. I wanna see-…” he hesitates. “We need to go to, like, a strawberry field or something. I wanna see if my eyes would go red.”

“Just smoke some pot. Then you’ll be halfway there.” Dan says, before hesitating. “Anyway, if we went to a strawberry field it’ll be mostly green. The strawberries are only the berries.”

“A poppy field, then,” Zema says.

He literally has an answer to everything. Dan rolls his eyes.

“One day,” he finally affirms, and the other boy grins. “In Spring.”

“I’m glad you’re painting again,” Zema says. “It’s been too long since I’ve seen you do anything creative.”

“Tell me about it,” Dan mumbles, taking another sip although the tea’s losing its heat. It’s always the case when talking to Zema – the rapid, quick-fire pace of every conversation leaves barely enough interval to drink (that is, of course, unless it’s alcohol). “It’s been so long I doubt I even remember how to paint.”

“I highly doubt that,” Zema fires back, gulping more tea and placing the ghostly mug beside him.

“How about you, then?” Dan gulps down the remaining liquid before it has a chance to grow any colder. “What are you doing with yourself today?”

“I’m off out,” Zema stretches, his voice slightly strained. “Need to be at Eddie’s by ten. We’re doing the bass today.”

They’re two of a wide circle of musicians playing in each-other’s orbit. Zema’s never anywhere without his guitar, Axel the same with his saxophone (Saxel, he’s often referred to as), and Eddie would be the same, he imagines, had he not chosen the piano as his instrument of choice. He bites back a smirk, picturing him struggling with a rope, trying to drag his enormous Bösendorfer Grand onto a train for a gig. Thank almighty Yamaha for the existence of keyboards.

Dan winces, his eyes flickering to the clock. “You’re cutting it a bit fine, then.”

Zema’s own eyes flash towards the time. “Oh, shit,” the remaining tea gets swallowed in seconds and the ghostly mug falls into the sink with a steely clatter. “I’d better go.”

“Nothing they’re not used to I imagine.” Dan smirks.

“Don’t,” Zema cringes, grabbing his bag and shooting down the corridor into his own room. “They brought up my punctuality only the other day,” his voice continues. “Fuck, Dan. Why do I do this to myself?”

“Alarms exist.” Dan calls after him. 

“It wasn’t even that,” he reappears holding a handful of guitar picks and a capo, shoving them into the front pocket of his case. “I decided to stop off on the way. Never in my life have I seen such a queue for the drive-through. It was ridiculous.”

“At least they got a couple of fries out of it.”

Zema stares at him. His expression speaks for itself.

“Okay. Well at least you got a couple of fries out of it.”

“Cold fries. And a melted McFlurry,” he mourns, hauling his guitar over his shoulder and looking Dan dead in the eye. “Word of advice, Dan. Never try eating ice cream while you’re driving. It doesn’t work. There’s a time limit.”

“There go my plans for the day,” Dan scoffs. “I don’t even drive.”

“And it’s about time you learnt, eh?” Zema grins. “Give your bestie a break from all that parallel parking. It’s doing my head in.”

“If it means getting you to places on time, I’m more than happy to,” his eyes flicker to the clock. “You have nine minutes, Zee.”

“Fuck��s sake!” Zema groans. “I’m doing it again. I’m going, I’m going-” he flusters around, filling both arms up with various belongings.  “Can you grab my keys for me? They’re on the plate.”

The Plate, Dan smirks to himself. Keeping vital belongings within reaching distance of the door, it’s the porcelain base to everything – keys; both car and house, cards; both debit and SD, alongside an ocean of lighters, loose change, semi-important receipts, and a Pizza Hut flier that had been there when they moved in. He remembers the delight they’d both shared upon discovering the possibility of five-pound large pizzas – crushed immediately by disappointment upon realizing the flier was from 2006.

It’s filled now to the brim with such a pile had it not been for Zema’s obnoxiously large keyring collection it would have taken him an age to locate them. He grabs them by the ‘Amsterdam’ pipe-shaped bottle opener.

“There,” he thrusts them into his hands with a jingle. “Now go.”

“Lifesaver,” Zema clutches them, slipping out of the door. “I’ll see you around five, yeah?”

“See you,” Dan grins, watching him jog to his vehicle. “Safe journey. Don’t drive through anything this time.”

The look he receives tells him all he needs to know. He watches the smaller figure amble up the road to his car; a battered blue thing with a collage of stickers plastering the rear. It was a seventeenth birthday gift; four metallic walls capturing four years of freedom. Despite having known Zema for only two of those four years, they’d already ridden up and down the country in it; halfway back home they’d had to make an impromptu visit to a tiny town somewhere along the south coast due to a faulty tire, but that ended up being one of the best decisions of their lives.

Because had they not set foot into the first tavern they’d walked past whilst the car was being repaired somewhere up the road; a crooked, old thing with bookshelves for walls and a resident cat asleep on the stool, they would never have been served by a bartender with a nose ring and hair the colour of moss (Dan remembers wondering how someone can suit such surroundings whilst simultaneously looking so out of place). They would never have stuck up a conversation about the clock on the wall and discovered it was an original nineteenth-century piece passed down from Germany, and the bartender would never have noticed Zema’s obsidian pendant and asked him about its origins. They wouldn’t have spent the remains of the afternoon sunk into the floral upholstery, swigging ale-upon-ale with this vibrant character as the sky loses the light before reality dawns and they realise they came here with a car that needs attending to.

He still can’t believe this was how they met Axel. All three of them have evolved so much since then, all grown in each other’s orbit.

(The rapid blossom of the butterfly effect has never failed to astound him. It never will.)

The fade of the engine introduces a silence he hasn’t heard since seven a.m. His smile seemed to have travelled along with the car; with Zema. Shit, has it always been this deadened without him? The quietness cuts into his eardrums, growing sharper and sharper the more he strains; searching for something, anything – a whisper of a tree, a yelp of a dog, a-

He paces away from the front door, finding comfort in the soft pad of his own footsteps. The floorboards groan with every movement, and he’s thankful for the noise.

He can never find his way back to sleep upon awakening on a Horseshoe day. It’s the tell-tale sign for him – if he claws his way out of a biting nightmare bathed in sweat, scrabbling around the duvet until his fingers touch cool amethyst, rough and raw, he knows there are challenges waiting for him.

He doesn’t know why it happens. Or how. He’s only ever tried to explain the whole thing to Zema a handful of times and even then he doesn’t really get it, doesn’t really understand how he can just know something’s about to happen before it does, just feels the flames underneath his ribcage, anticipation burning the embers red.

“You ought to get on those Beta-blockers,” he’d once told him through a mouthful of raw bagel. Several crumbs fell to the floor, something Dan viewed as a skill if not anything; uncooked bagels are near impossible to eat that messily. “They helped me when I started getting those anxiety attacks. No way would I have survived college without them,” as he took another bite, more crumbs parted ways.

“I don’t think the buckets of coffee every morning particularly helped,” replied Dan, before adding, “and every evening.” He’d stopped then, frowning. “And wherever else in the day you can- okay, that’s not the point. It’s not the same as anxiety,” he paused, the corners of his mind struggling to describe something so utterly inexplicable. “It’s-… different. It’s never constant, it’s not like that.”

As he reminisces, he feels the jolt.

Something’s going to happen tonight. Today. Sometime.

That is all he’s absolutely certain of. That an event is around the corner, and that it’ll happen sometime within the frame of the day. Good or bad, positive or negative, it’s the same spike in his gut, the same blade of intuition cutting into his senses. Such a skill sits somewhere on the fence between a blessing and a curse.

He makes every effort to swallow the feeling down, place it anywhere but the absolute forefront of his psyche, and treads upstairs. If there’s one thing he’s learnt during the years of having to contend with this (whatever ‘this’ is), it’s not to dwell on it, not to feel it too much. Whatever happens, will happen. No amount of thinking, feeling, sensing, will change that.

As far as superpowers go, it’s a pretty shit one to have, he thinks. Enemy, up ahead. Wait, it might be a friend actually. How close are they? Fuck knows. We might be waiting a while, but it could be any minute now. I know they’re coming though, trust me.

It would be useless.

He reaches straight for the art supplies as soon as he opens his bedroom door, grabbing as many paints as the laws of physics operating his satchel bag will allow. He relies on oil for today’s medium, seizing handfuls of small foil tubes spanning the entire visible colour spectrum, all thoroughly crinkled with use. A couple of sponges leap into the leather (stained, but he doesn’t have the capacity to start his cleaning ritual right now. Cleaning one art supply leads to another, and another, and then ‘just one more’ until the day sits partially behind him and all he’d have to show for himself is an empty canvas and two very wet sleeves), along with a healthy selection of paintbrushes, and the remaining dregs of his paint thinner (he really ought to get some more. He keeps forgetting.).

He releases a breath he didn’t know was taking up his chest. He’s actually ready for once. Wow.

Breakfast is crunched in seconds, accompanied by two planet eyes and a mass of black fur.

“Vee,” he mews through a mouthful of toast, his eyes rolling. “I’ve barely even started mine.”

Her expression doesn’t falter, her gaze only glittering more. He lasts two more bites before caving in and heading to the cupboard. Her paws are feathers; silent little things, but he doesn’t need to hear her (or even see her, for that matter) to sense she’s trotting along behind him – tail in the air and eyes to the sky. He awards her a third treat, internally self-justified by his forthcoming absence for the rest of the day, and watches as her nose delicately pokes the pea-sized thing before accepting it with much grace.

“What is it about you, eh?” he scratches the very top of her head, loving the way her eyes close in response and a deep purr begins rolling. “How do you do it?” his tone is weirdly devoid of rhetoricism. “All you domestic cats do is sleep and ask for food.”

He hesitates.

“I mean, that’s not all you do. You knock stuff over. Both solid and liquid. And scratch things up. And sleep on important documents. And make me late for things sometimes,” she purrs louder – almost solid confirmation cats can understand humans. Of course that would please her. “Yet we love you unconditionally,” his fingertips travel behind her ears and she leans into his touch. “All you have to do is exist.”

If only that were the case for humans.

His toast is cold by the time he returns to it, but he doesn’t care. He wasn’t particularly hungry to begin with – he doesn’t have Venus’s appetite. They should have named her Jupiter instead.

Binning the remains, he slings his art supplies onto his back and reads the weather through the net curtains. It looks fairly promising; the sky slightly overcast but showing no immediate threat of rain – they’d fallen victims to a heatwave not long ago and then a raging storm the following week.

September is often precarious; not quite summer, but not yet autumn. The sun smiles at him but he makes a mental note to pack an umbrella just in case.

✵

His concept of ‘perfect beach weather’ is a bit weird.

His perfect beach weather welcomes a threat of rain. Embraces stronger breezes. He doesn’t care if there’s a cloud bigger than the sky heading in his direction. As long as it’s comfortable enough to sit and paint without the wind claiming just about everything he arrived with, he’s happy.

When he looks out of his window towards beams of warmth, that’s forest weather. That’s lay-in-sunlight-pools-and-read-the-tree-trunks weather. When whites and greys cut the sky, that’s when it’s time for the beach.

This beach is his home. His sanctuary. The only surroundings that actually manage to cut through the thickening tar of anxiety coating his soul, the sound alone of the hissing waves setting him free of any spikes of fretful darkness still latching onto him.

Here he can think.

Feel.

Be.

His eyes match the horizon. Solitary. Still. He doesn’t understand how an element moving so fierce can appear as nothing but a perfectly straight line.

Then again; Jupiter’s a raging mass of storms and still the perfect sphere remains. As for Saturn.

He whips out his sketchbook, the A1 pages immediately making friends with the breeze. He eventually claws the pages into a surface at least half-sketchable, the paper sheets cutting through his gentle grasp as he tries to wrestle with giant flaps of paper, great white veils. The definitive opposite of a bat, he concludes decidedly. He’s probably a good ten minutes into this whole endeavour before the thought of whipping anything colourful out crosses his mind. His hands hurt now.

He starts with the greens. He always does. Touches of evergreen, of shamrock and a blue-tinged teal make their way onto the palette first. He takes a tiny amount of the brightest and begins creating a dusty emerald sky, the bristles massaging the canvas with gentle strokes. He’s never seen a green sky before. He’s seen skies spamming across the entire palette of the planet’s warmth, all rubies and vermillions and even violets. But never green. Green seems to stay on land, he finds. Maybe the trees will be blue.

The trees end up purple. He’s painting what he can see right now; a thick smatter of bushes lining the top of the cliffside. The forest. His forest, he secretly calls it, already hearing ‘you can’t own a forest, Bezos’ from a mini Zema somewhere in his mind.

He’s painted this view, this vast stretch ahead of him, so many times he found the shades to be somewhat restricting despite the sun making all the difference – indigo in the rain and a glittering turquoise in the summer light. So he’d swapped the cool palette for warmth one day, and fell in love with the idea of a ruby ocean. The sands had become a dusty lilac; something that had later appeared in a dream of his. The sky he’d kept to its natural shade that day – a gentle grey; accentuating the heightened colour of the other two.

It was like a fuse had exploded inside him after that. He’d come home from the beach with armfuls of half-damp paper; all thoroughly watercoloured at first – before experimenting with the oils and the pastilles upon realisation that soluble paints and rain-threatened skies do not mix. He’d branched out; grasping at all ends of the visible colour spectrum; knocking on every door, pushing every possible boundary. Rockpools became crystals, the shores began to sparkle – really sparkle; once he figured out how to paint with glitter correctly, - and colours began to multiply. Soon there were three colours in the sky – the gradient fading one into the other and often bearing complete contrasts; reds eloped with greens and purples entangling golds.

He’d combined just about every colour; primary, secondary; tertiary – but never attempts to create the same shade twice. It’s more fun that way, he decides.

He reads the horizon. The line of beach huts are still just as colourful in reality as on paper, so he’d taken to embellishing each door with swirls of gold using his thinnest brush. The shadow of the overhanging clouds looks to have deepened the ocean’s bed, and he wonders just how far the floor of sand slopes down. How many miles of ink until he reaches the earth. He’d swum countless times (some while drunk, thanks to a team effort involving Zema’s persuasion and his own impulsive nature), but never dared to venture anywhere past the Lighthouse a stretch of metres away from the shore.

Dan doesn’t quite know when it became derelict. How long it’s been since a beacon pierced the night with neon light; guiding the lost and the found, the leavers and returners. There are no windows; only wooden squares where light once seeped through – but the Widow’s Walkway still remains weirdly open in the air, the iron cates curling up at the top.

Some say it’s been months. Others longer. Having only lived in this town for the generous part of two years, he has no real clue himself – but every new crack on the surface, every new splinter of wood or peeled paint, doesn’t go unnoticed. However long it’s been, it’s definitely no longer in use.

It’s taken many forms on his papers, behaving slightly different with each medium. He once even took to disregarding colour altogether and using only black ink and silver glitter; each curve, dot and line finely constructed. That one, he must admit, was a personal favourite. He’d turned every crack into a vein, pumping midnight blood into every inch of the tower. Every chip of paint revealed a crystallised surface underneath – its inner beauty begging to see the light.

He adds colour today – but always acknowledges its signs of time. If it’s cracked up there, it’s cracked on the page. If he strolls by one day and there’s a chunk of brick missing; a gaping hole in the surface, he wont lie to the paper.

He’ll just cram a million stars into the space.

His eyes sink back into his own page. The violet trees have a teal cliff to sit upon, and today the sea is a concrete grey – not too many shades off exactly what he’s seeing right now.

It’s another different combination of colours; a new one, but there’s something missing. He reads the page, eyes darting between his creation and his surroundings.

He looks up, bending his neck and staring at the clouds until his eyes water. They glide over him, over them, over everything, like glaciers in the sky. The beautiful thing about just a slight threat of rain, is the sheer metamorphosis they seem to undergo a priori. He sees one turn from Yoshi into an ice cream. One that starts off as a squashed Darth Vader before growing a tail and turning into a seahorse. Another that begins as a boot, considers turning into a palm tree, before finally joining up with another and becoming the Cheshire Cat. A couple that look like skyships. And one that looks exactly like Appa, much to his absolute delight. Even down to the horns.

An idea grips him with such force he jumps, elbowing his paint water into the sand. Punished by Karma for being creative. Great.

He grabs his lightest pastels and reads the emerald sky again.

One sweeping motion, and there’s now a moon; a glowing crescent against the green hemisphere.

Two soft strokes, and there’s a surrounding haze. He softens it with the very tip of his finger, and feels something flood through him. Yes.

Three quick dots of white, and a belt sits in the sky. After another dozen more, a shield. Then a bow joins.

He’s grinning now, inspiration thrumming through his veins like a current.

After seven more, there’s a plough (Trough? He can never remember which one it is. More like the fucking saucepan. Or square with a tail.).

Completing painting after painting in colour after colour, how has this idea never occurred to him before? He should even include a couple of planets, he thinks as his pencil scrapes in a suggestion of Saturn.

Two moons later he grins at the page, sparkling with new celestial life. He throws his eyes up to the sky, wondering how inhabitable the earth would be had his interpretation somehow become scientifically correct overnight one day.

He tries to imagine a sky with three moons. Scarily large asteroids. Comet trails scarring the atmosphere.

Then his smile vanishes and his eyes return back down to this A1 universe beneath him. Tries to chow down the growing realisation that inhabitability is probably inevitable anyway with the way things are headed, and that the problem is down here, not up there – and he dabs in a small Pleiades. Up there is safe. Under the watchful eye of the Seven Sisters; that’s protection.

Aliens are probably avoiding us on purpose. Who can blame them?

[seagreen-meets-grey]

When Lightning Strikes Ch. 13

When your life is nothing but a cloudless sky, lightning can come and strike you so unexpectedly, you won’t even know what hit you.

Or: When Hiccup and Astrid meet, it is as if lightning strikes.

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6] [Chapter 7] [Chapter 8] [Chapter 9] [Chapter 10] [Chapter 11] [Chapter 12] [Chapter 14] [Chapter 15] [Chapter 16] [Chapter 17] [Chapter 18] [Chapter 19] [Chapter 20]

Crossposted on ao3 and ff.net

_______________

Astrid could hear the soft gurgling of the stream long before she saw it. Hiccup led her around several groups of trees, through dense thicket, over narrow footpaths so hidden, she wondered if he’d formed them himself or if he’d been here so often, he knew every single step by heart. Probably both.

Ducking underneath the low-hanging leaves of a beech and evading the thorned twigs of a blackberry bush, they arrived on a small meadow, blooming and buzzing in the warm sunlight. She breathed in deeply, filling her lungs with the sweet smell of late spring.

The stream was about ten feet wide, shallow water so clear she could count the pebbles at the bottom glistening in the light. She admired the way the current smoothly ran over and past the stones sticking out of the water, some big and round, some flat, serving as slippery step stones.

All around, leaves were rustling in the faint breeze, coming together with the humming and buzzing activity in the grass and the calming melody of the water in a soothing symphony.

The grass tickled her ankles as she slowly made her way to the bank of the stream, looking around and taking it all in. “This place is amazing.”

“It’s my favorite place in the forest.” Hiccup followed her and sat down on a small rock near the water. “Apart from the small cove my father used to take me to for fishing. It’s a bit further downstream, but last week I found a little fox family there and I don’t want to disturb them.”

She gently nudged him with her foot. “Scooch over.” When he moved to the side to make room on his rock, she settled down next to him. The surface of the rock was rather flat and not very big, just enough for two lean people to share without one butt cheek hanging over the side. It also meant that her entire side was pressed against his. He was warm and soft and comfortable. And maybe she leaned into him a bit, but only because she didn’t want to slide off the rock.

They sat in silence for a while. Astrid leaned back on her hands as far as she could on this surface and took in the scenery. Lining the meadow and the creek, knobby trees covered in ivy stood among straight trunks with white-gray pattern; overgrowing shrubbery, weeds and wildflowers nestled the ground close to their roots.

And there was green. Wherever she looked, everything was green, in different shades and shapes and sizes. When she breathed in through the nose, she could practically smell the luscious colors, along with the May bells and mayweed and the scent of fresh water in spring.

A gentle breeze brushed through her hair, harmonizing with the rustling of the leaves and the mellow mumbling and babbling of the water. Chirping and tweeting sounded from the trees, accompanied by the squeaking and cheeping of the baby birds hidden in the branches. A small, thin tree had grown low across the stream, its twigs hanging into the water, and she imagined the smaller animals using it as a bridge so they didn’t get wet feet or got carried away by the current.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a tuft of red and white swiftly disappearing up the trunk of a tree. A vole scurried through the leaves on the other side of the stream. Occasionally, a sudden ripple on the water revealed a glimpse of the activity below the surface. She knew that the longer she waited, the more the life of the forest would reveal itself to her. There was no traffic, no people, just her and Hiccup and their promised nature quality time.

Also belonging to the scenery was one dashing young man with the kind of chiseled jaw covered in stubble that could kill a man – or woman. He was focused on something unspecific in the water. In the sunlight, his hair looked like it would catch on fire any moment. Even his eyelashes were glowing. Was it possible to be hot in a dorky way? Apparently. She took a deep breath and followed his gaze to the mesmerizing dance of light and tiny waves on the surface of the water.

After a few minutes of silence, she started plucking at a long blade of grass until she held half of it in her hand. Staring at the stream, she absentmindedly ripped the blade in tiny pieces. “I’m afraid Eret’s cheating on me.” She opened her palms and the grass landed on her shoes without a sound while she waited. She didn’t even know what she was waiting for, or why she’d admitted to that in the first place. She suspected the peacefulness of this place had gained her trust.

Hiccup regarded her thoughtfully. “Why do you think that?”

She crossed her arms with a sigh. “He keeps talking about this coworker of his. How much fun they have at work. How they always get stuck after their shift ends because of their infinite amount of conversation topics. It’s always ‘my coworker’ this and ‘my coworker’ that. And then last March, on their department’s spring party, I met Dana. She kept going on and on and on about how funny he is, how capable and handsome.” She tugged at a whole clump of grass, in desperate need to rip something apart. “She was practically throwing herself at him.”

“Hmm,” Hiccup made. “Have you talked to him about that?”

She huffed. “Oh, I have. I confronted him two weeks ago. He didn’t take the accusation that well.”

“You… blatantly accused him of cheating? I don’t think anyone would take that well.”

“How else was I supposed to talk to him about it? Ask him nicely if he has a mistress?”

He shrugged with one shoulder. “Yes. No? I don’t know. I guess there’s a more delicate way to approach that subject.”

“I’m a straight-forward person, I don’t like to beat around the bush. So when he started his next sentence with my coworker and I, I just snapped. I was so sick of it.”

“What happened?”

“It escalated. We yelled. Then while he packed for his work trip, I packed to go live with my parents for a while. Said I needed some distance. He said I didn’t even need to leave the house for that, because I was already acting distant. I said that the same would go for him. And the yelling started again and then we left and… Well.” She vaguely gestured around. “Here I am.”

“Sounds like a real mess.”

“It is.” She bit her lip. “What do you think I should do?”

He looked at her in earnest, sincerity deep in his eyes. “I think you should talk to him about how you feel. And maybe this time, leave out the blunt accusations.”

She groaned and threw her head back. “I don’t want to talk about my feelings.”

“At some point, you will have to. Take it from a guy who as a teenager ran away from every single confrontation because he was too afraid of failure and an outcome more negative than the actual situation.”

The boulder was back in her stomach. She wondered what would happen if she went into the water now. Why had she brought up the topic again? Because she’d felt comfortable enough to do so? And weirdly, despite her old friend the boulder, she wanted to get another thing off her chest. Desperately.

“I took a pregnancy test last night.” She felt his eyes bore into the side of her head.

“Are you…?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Oh.” He opened and closed his mouth a few times, unsure of what to say. “Is that… I mean, did- did you… Are you- are you okay?”

Ripping out more grass, she scrunched up her face. “Yeah. I’m relieved, I guess. I mean, I always knew I wanted to have kids at some point, but…”

“But now’s not a good time,” he finished the sentence for her and she nodded. If she had been pregnant, then the whole situation would have been more complicated. She probably would have rushed back into a relationship that still needed more sorting out, ignoring any problems for the sake of the child. But that would have just made all parties involved more miserable.

She smiled at Hiccup. “Thanks. You’re good to talk to.” That was probably an understatement. It was somehow so easy to tell him about things she hadn’t even yet mentioned in passing around anyone else. They’d just started to really get to know each other, and she already trusted him completely. Her mother would call her naïve. But Astrid knew better, and so did he, judging by the meaningful look he gave her.

“Anytime.”

Before she could change her mind, she leaned her head on his shoulder. She could feel him freeze for a moment, but then he relaxed and slowly leaned his own head against hers. The boulder inside her dissolved.

A woodpecker joined them somewhere on their left, a cuckoo called faintly in the distance. She closed her eyes. The sun warming her face and the songs of nature were like a lullaby, luring her in for a nap. She’d almost drifted off when a gentle nudge brought her back. Looking up at Hiccup, she opened her mouth to say something, but he shook his head and pointed ahead.

There, on the other side of the stream, a deer poked its head out of the underbrush. It stood still for a moment, its nose quivering, before it slowly stalked towards the water. With one last check of its surroundings, it lowered its head and started drinking. Astrid didn’t dare to move a muscle or make the slightest sound.

However, a low gasp escaped her when a second deer came onto the meadow, then a third. One of them set its gaze onto the two humans on the other side, regarding them, and after a good twenty seconds of staring decided they were no threat. It was an incredible feeling. Her hand slowly reached for her phone, but before she could take it out of her pocket, Hiccup closed his hand over hers and shook his head. "Shh," he made, so quietly she almost didn't hear it. Her heart was pounding.

When the breeze suddenly picked up and carried their scent over, the deer tensed, holding their noses up in the air immediately. From one second to the other, all three of them leapt up and bolted, the snapping of twigs in the underbrush growing fainter by the second. The woodpecker, bumblebees and gurgling of the water slowly came back into focus. She and Hiccup looked at each other with a spark in their eyes.

“Thanks,” she whispered and he raised his eyebrows in question. “For taking me here.”

“Ah, you’re welc–” His voice died when she suddenly leaned forward and gave him a kiss on the cheek. With wide, green eyes he stared at her, and she assumed her expression mirrored his. Her lips tingled, warm and exciting. The sensation wandered down her arm into her hand and she managed to break away from his gaze to look down. He followed her eyes and when he realized his hand was still holding hers, he gulped and slowly pulled away, the nerves under her skin longing to chase his touch.

“We… We should probably get going,” she feebly suggested.

“Yeah,” he agreed, voice an octave higher than normal. “That’s exactly what I was gonna… Get going.” Looking anywhere but at her, he scrambled up from the rock and orientated himself. “There- let’s… Uh, let’s go there.”

For some reason, her knees needed a moment before they let her walk after him. Whatever that had just been, she should just forget about it. She followed Hiccup through the trees, no paths directing the way. All she could do was trust him that he knew where he was going, and she did. He led her up a small hill, leaves and twigs crunching under their steps.

“Hey, your shoe is untied,” she noted. He stopped to look down and a soft oh escaped him. It was cute.

While she readjusted her socks that were slowly slipping from her heel, he bent over to relace his shoes, giving her a good look at his backside. From her point of view – which was completely neutral, of course – he had a nice butt. When he stood again, she jogged past him and gave it a light slap.

“Astrid!” he exclaimed in surprise.

She just smirked at him. “Come on, slowpoke!” Then she sprinted down the other side of the hill.

“Oh, you!” she heard him call before he took after her, chasing her through the woods. She made it down the hill, past a group of birches and around a thick beech when he came around the other side of it, throwing his arms around her and lifting her up. “Gotcha!” He immediately let go of her after, walking further down the invisible path only he could see.

She had to catch her breath for a second before she fell back in step beside him. From the sprint. “Just so you know, I let you win.”

“No, no you didn’t!” he countered in a chipper tone.

“Because I was tired of playing catch.”

“Nope, you weren’t.” She stuck her tongue out at him, making him laugh. “You’re so mature, Ms. Hofferson.”

“That’s because I’m older than you.”

“By two months! Hey, watch your step, there’s a lot of vines here.” Naturally, he promptly stumbled over one, catching himself on a tree.

“Watch your step, there’s lots of vines here.”

He shook his head. “Well, aren’t you a little smartass.”

“Takes one to know one,” she shrugged.

“Eh, can’t argue with that.”

She brushed her fist along his arm again and caught his grin.

All too soon, she began to make out traffic and chatter in the distance again. It felt like leaving a different, peaceful universe, where the rest of the world and its problems didn’t exist. It was kind of disappointing. And if that wasn’t enough, on their way back to the cars, her phone started ringing with a very familiar name filling the screen. She sighed. She didn’t want to deal with that right now, but knew that ignoring his call wouldn’t make anything any better.

She threw Hiccup an apologetic look and held her phone against her ear. “Hi.”

“Hey.” There was an awkward beat of silence. “I’m on my way home and uh… I just wanted to know if you’re there.”

“No.”

“Are you… still in Berk? At your parents’ place?”

“Yes.”

“Do… Do you know when you’ll be coming back?”

“No.”

When her answers didn’t become more elaborate, Eret cleared his throat, and after years of being with him, she could tell he was about to say something he’d rather not say at all. “You, um. You were right, by the way. About Dana.” Bright red warning bells rang in her mind at that name. “She kissed me last night.” He cleared his throat and gulped audibly.

She stepped past the last line of trees and onto the gravel of the parking lot, and leaving the woods had never felt this sobering. “I fucking knew it,” she mumbled through clenched teeth.

“Astrid–”

“I knew it!”

“Hey, hold on, please let me finish!”

She walked a small distance away from Hiccup and any other people in the near vicinity. No need for them to overhear her personal drama. “Fine, I’m listening!”

“Like I said, you were right, she wanted–”

“Did you kiss her back?”

“No–”

“So there’s nothing going on between you and your coworker?”

He didn’t immediately answer and his hesitation stung. “Will you just let me explain?!”

“You didn’t answer my question!” She was yelling and she knew it. People were turning their heads so she glowered at them.

“And you didn’t let me speak in the first place! You know what, my mother’s right, sometimes you really do act like my personal dictator.”

Astrid’s jaw dropped to the floor. “WELL, FUCK YOU TOO!” she screamed and it took everything in her to not fling her phone across the parking lot. Instead, she hung up and forcefully kicked at a large pebble on the ground. It whirled up dust and gravel and hit a stranger’s car. She couldn’t care less. Everything inside her was fuming. How dare he? How dare they?!

With a frustrated growl, she turned around and walked back to Hiccup. He had given her some space and was leaning against his car.

“Everything alright?” he asked carefully at her aggressive body language.

“I was right! Eret just told me! He and his stupid fucking coworker!”

“So… He admitted to cheating on you?”

“Well, no, not in those words, but…”

“So he didn’t?”

“He was telling me the story of how he and Dana had fun last night, but I just...”

“You avoided the topic.”

She opened her mouth, closed it, then huffed. “I didn’t need to hear any details.”

“Hm,” he made, thoughts scurrying across his face. “Are you sure there isn’t more to the story than you think? Maybe you should talk–”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” she interrupted him, the words breaking out of her on their own.

He held up his hands in defense. “Geez, sorry. I’m just trying to help.”

Something churned inside her stomach, between all the raging knives, something akin to guilt. Seeing his expression, her shoulders untensed a little. “No, sorry for yelling at you. I’m just so– ugh!” Her fist punched the next best thing, which was the metal pole of a parking sign. A flash of pain shot through her knuckles and she shook her hand out with a hiss.

“Hey, can I say something?” Hiccup asked, caution coating his voice with his eyes set on her aching hand.

She shrugged. “As long as it doesn’t include the word overreaction.”

He shook his head, brows furrowed in contemplation. “I might be going out on a limb here, but… Do you think that, maybe, you want it to be true?”

“Why on Earth would I want that?!”

“Because… Because you’re not happy in your relationship and- and this way, you can put the blame on someone other than yourself.”

“EXCUSE ME?!” The blazing wall of fire burned every shred of guilt and sympathy she felt.

He held up his hands again. “I’m just saying, you accused him of cheating, kept yelling at him – I’m assuming offensively – and now you yelled at him again instead of hearing him out. Is that what happened or am I totally off-base here?”

“Are you taking his side?!”

“No! If it were up to me, I wouldn’t be involved in this at all!”

“Then why are we still having this conversation?” She crossed her arms tightly over her chest as he sighed.

“Because I care about you. And I hate seeing you digging yourself deeper into this mess, so I’m trying to help you realize what to do.”

“Really? Then what is it I should do?”

“Let him give you his side of the story. Without any yelling.”

She leaned against the pole, suddenly very tired. “I…”

“You know,” he said when she didn’t continue, avoiding his searching eyes, “for someone claiming to be so straightforward, you sure like to run from truthful conversations.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” she asked, voice rising again.

He looked at her for a moment, then shook is head. “Never mind.”

“No, if you have something to say, then say it!”

After a short contemplating glance, he stood up straight. “Fine. You say you don’t like to beat around the bush, but how come we’re not talking about what happened on your wedding day? Or at Dagur’s party? Are we just going to ignore all that until we die?”

“What- I don’t- We-” she stuttered, her stomach dropping further than the ground beneath her feet. At once, she felt exposed, vulnerable, and confused at the same time. Her mind decided on the next best defense mechanism. “What is there to talk about?” She could see the small change in his eyes, a gray curtain falling, tired, disappointed, sad.

“You’ll keep denying it, won’t you.” It was more of a statement than a question and that somehow hit even harder.

“What is there to deny?”

Suddenly, he took a large step towards her, until he was so close, their noses were almost touching. She could feel the heat of his body, smell his deodorant, make out every tiny hair on his face and the miniscule change of skin tissue at the edges of the long, white scar on his chin. Her breath hitched, heart pounding rapidly, her entire being longing to close the remaining gap between their bodies. Her knees weakened. It was hard to not get mesmerized by his eyes, a deep, green galaxy right before her. She tore her eyes away from them, only to latch onto his lips. She couldn’t breathe.

Like detaching himself from a magnet, he slowly stepped back and the air found its way back into her lungs. She could hear her heartbeat in every cell of her body, had trouble making sense of her surroundings, like waking up in a dark room with only a sliver of light coming from an unknown direction. By the time her feet touched solid ground again, mere seconds could have passed, or entire lifetimes.

“You’re right,” he said, strained voice cutting right through her chest, “there’s nothing to talk about. You dropped your phone, by the way.” With that, he got into his car, reversed out of the parking spot, and drove away. Even after he was long gone and the sound of his engine had faded in the distance, Astrid was still rooted to the spot, staring in the direction he had disappeared.

It took her a while to reassemble herself, clear the fog in her mind, will her heartbeat to finally slow down. On autopilot, she picked her phone up from the ground, wiped the gravel off the screen, saw the new variation of tiny scratches on the back but didn’t truly see anything. Her mind was still drowning in the sudden proximity to Hiccup Haddock, which shouldn’t have shaken her as much as it had, considering she’d sat close to him merely an hour ago.

Only when she was back in her own car, weaving her way through Berk’s rush hour traffic, her fingers stopped twitching at the memory of being almost skin to skin with him. As the fog was clearing, her confusion began settling, the puzzle pieces setting themselves back together, and a fist of steel closed around her still thumping heart.

It remained like that for the rest of the day. She managed to smile, make small talk, be present enough to get through the conversations with her parents, avoiding too much eye contact, especially with her mother. She probably noticed her mental absence but knew it would be futile to try and get anything out of her.

Astrid went to bed at ten; she tossed, turned, buried her face in her pillow until long past midnight. Now that she was alone with her thoughts, lying in the dark in her old bedroom, there was no place to hide from her mind. It insisted on replaying the whole day over and over, gnawing and nibbling away at her from the inside. When she closed her eyes, she saw green irises, a storm of freckles dancing across her retina, lips so close her fingers twitched to touch them, her own lips puckering. And even though it’s been several hours, she could still feel his hand on hers, warm and gentle and setting a blazing fire to her core.

He kept haunting her, occupying her every thought, every beat of her heart. Her ribs were aching from the steel inside her chest, pressing cold and heavy against her heart and lungs ever since her fight with Hiccup. She felt terrible. All he’d done was be honest, something she had not been with herself for a very long time, and she’d lashed out at him just like she had at Eret and her mother.

She grabbed her phone from the nightstand and squinted at the bright screen. Opening the right messenger app, she drafted an apology message, deleted it several times, all the time hoping he wasn’t looking at his side of the chat right now and saw her typing. Because in the end, she’d gone through at least ten versions of the same text and didn’t send any of them. None of them sounded right, didn’t fully convey the sincerity of her feelings. Instead, she got lost in her thoughts again, staring at the ceiling, phone forgotten beside her with the screen gone dark from long inactivity.

Gazing down at her was a pair of eyes. Lighter towards the middle, a dark green ring at the edges, and depending on how the light hit them, either forest green or a brilliant shade of emerald. It was so fascinating to watch him, to survey the everchanging expressions on his face, his emotions an open book most of the time. The way his eyebrows dipped, the corners of his mouth twitched or the crinkles around his eyes deepened, eyes always the most telling. How his features changed with every new thought, every new idea, and the way his shoulders and hands could carry half the conversation for him.

The sound of his laugh, sometimes dorky, sometimes sassy, sometimes charming, and always so uniquely Hiccup. That lopsided smile of his that could turn into a smirk when he thought of something witty to say. How he listened to her, even when all she was spouting was a bunch of mundane bullshit. How he showed interest in everything she said and did. His kind nature, his honesty, his spirit. The way he could turn her insides to mush and her soul to dangle freely a few thousand feet in the air by just a look or a simple touch. How he inspired her to be herself.

Never before had she been this intrigued by someone, never had she wanted to discover every little thing there was to know about another person. Wanted him to know her better than she did herself. Wanted to know him better than anyone else. Wanted him with her here, next to her, right now. Wanted to feel his warmth, his touch, his breath ghosting over her lips, over her skin, before tracing every line, every patch of skin on her body with his tongue. A deep, longing sigh escaped her as she imagined all the things she wanted him to do to her, everything she wanted to do with him. Craved him more than she ever had anyone else.

But above all, she couldn’t keep running from the truth any longer, especially since it was blaring in her face like a trumpet. As soon as she opened that gate, the steel in her chest melted, glowing and smoldering as it encased her heart. A giddy thrill coursed through her, as well as fatigue, as she finally gave in, let the wall crumble brick by brick. By the time the first choked sob rocked her body, the tears were already flooding down her face, hot and salty, paired with incredulous laughter.

Fuck. This was it, wasn’t it? She was undeniably and irrevocably screwed.

[thewalkingdead-imagines]

Negan Imagine ~ “You are enough”

This was requested by @ly--canthrope​​ and is based on the song “You are enough” by Sleeping at last (you can find the lyrics at the end, below the tags)  Hope you all enjoy this!!

Snowflakes were swaying down the nightsky, passing along the window beside your bed, filling the darkness with small light spots that got thicker with every passing minute. A bit of the icy air from outside could slip through tiny leaky spots in the frame of the large factory window and brush over the parts of your body that weren’t engulfed by a thick blanket.  Shivering, you slipped deeper underneath the sheets, feeling how your body yearned for the cozy warmth beside you. Slowly, you turned your head to its source, allowing your glance to land on the sleeping man next to you in bed. He was all still, only his chest was rising and falling in a steady rhythm underneath the white shirt while small, content breaths were slipping through his relaxed lips. His face was turned to you, the expression all calm and slackened, the brows that usually tended to perk playfully up when he was talking to you were now at ease. You weren’t even exaggerating when you said that he nearly looked like a painting in the faint moonlight, with that salt and pepper stubble covering his jaw and cheeks, those handsome features of his and the dark hair that looked a tiny bit tousled by now. That view was nearly enough to keep you up all night, but that wasn’t actually the reason you were laying wide awake in your bed. It was something that had simmered in you for a while, somewhere deep inside you and it had creeped it’s way up your body until it could fully sneak into your head tonight. Were you enough for him? It was an ugly thought, something that had enough power to send a stinging pain through you every time you just thought of that question but regardless of how much you tried to push it away and finally fall asleep, it always popped back up to torment you all over again.  It took its roots in the incertainty about your relationship and its nearly secretive nature, and about the women who still called themselves his wives. He wasn’t seeing them anymore, but yet they still paraded around the grad hall, wore the black dresses and yet the whole Sanctuary still thought these were the women who were with him. And you, well you were his little secret. You were his little escape from being the big bad wolf he was outside this apartment, from the work, the stress, the constant threat of the wandering dead outside the fences.  Outside this room, there were no kisses, no loving touches, nothing of what you got as soon as the door of this room closed behind him; officially, his wives were the women by his side and you were maximally the girl Negan visited on her shifts from time to time to flirt a little, nothing more.  It shouldn’t bother you this much, it really shouldn’t. You should just be glad to have someone, even if it was just for the nights, especially in these times. But you wanted more certainty nevertheless, the question was spooking too much through your head to keep on facing Negan without it popping back up and putting tension all over you. You had tried to find other explanations for it, but the little devil on your shoulder had done its very best to cram up explanations that only strengthened your fears. Ones that whispered in your ear that you really weren’t enough, and if you were only for now, only for these hours, only for some comfort, but not more. And maybe, yes, maybe you weren’t enough for the long run. Maybe you were just enough for these nights, and maybe it was just a matter of time until he would grow tired of you and go back to them, turn you into nothing more than a shadow of the past. Slowly, you could feel a single hot tear falling from your eye and rolling down your temple until it fell on the pillow that cradled your head, forewarning others that already welled up in your eyes and got fueled by your thoughts and the big lump in your throat. Fuck, you hated this. Sighing you reached up to brush the tears away, only leaving their damp trail behind while you turned your head to look outside the window, concentrate on the white snowy dots to distract yourself. Oh how you wished that you would just wake up and everything would be figured out. Just know how things stand, know what he felt for you, know that you were actually enough.  Suddenly, you felt the mattress move a little, elicited by the man beside you whose movements immediately let your head snap towards him. He grumbled, his face grimacing drowsily and a little confused while his eyes were still closed, his body somewhere between being asleep and awake while you stayed all still, not meaning to wake him. But instead, he stirred some more, now passing over the edge to slowly waking up while you tried to figure out what would happen once he would open his eyes. “Baby?”, Negan finally drowsily mumbled, a little confused by the lack of your warmth and your figure cuddled up to him, his brows furrowed while his eyes were still closed before they slowly opened, just enough to glimpse at you. “Come back here”, he mumbled, grumbling a little as he stirred and shifted some more, rolling onto his side to reach out to you, caress his fingers over your arm while you tried to gulp the rest of the tears down, hoping he wouldn’t see them right away. But instead, he seemed to catch the brushed away tears from your cheeks in the faint light and your watery eyes, as his brows furrowed and he slowly propped himself onto his elbow to get a better look at you.

“Hey, you okay?”, he asked, his voice still sleepy while a shivering breath fell from your lips and you somehow tried to find the right way to answer him as he grew more restless. ”What’s wrong? Nightmare again?”, he mumbled, stroking his large hand over his face as if it could stroke the drowsiness away while you still had no idea what to say. Should you have this conversation with him now? In the middle of the night, tired and already upset? ”Sweetheart?” Yes, you probably should. Negan wouldn’t let it rest now and maybe it was good this way. You wanted certainty, so you had to get it now. “No, I uh...”, you mumbled, gulping as the words got stuck in your throat and you shifted uncomfortably over the sheets, watching as Negan’s brows perked up while you pushed yourself to get the question that had ghosted through your head finally out of your mouth. “Am I enough for you?”, it finally fell from your lips, fear striking through you as soon as your voice hushed again and you weren’t sure what response to expect as Negan’s brows tightened and the muscles in his cheeks twitched. “What?”, he asked, more confused than before as he leaned for a moment back to switch the small lamp on the nightstand on to get a better look at you as soon as he moved back and sat up on the bed,”Course you are, why-” “I mean enough for something more than this secret thing here”, you said, moving up to sit as well, while your eyes wandered nervously from his, and your fingers began to fumble on the edge of one of the pillowcases before you forced yourself to look back at him. “Is it really secret?”, he asked, his eyes burning into you as if he was trying to read all answers off your face.  “It feels like it”,you said, growing more insecure even though an urge in you gladly pushed you to keep going and get those thoughts out of your system,”Outside this here we’re not acting like a-” You’d almost said couple. Almost. Shit, you didn’t even know if you were that or if this conversation now would catapult you even farther from it. “Like we are in here, not even close”,you switched it up quickly, your fingers still fumbling on the cloth, as you gulped thickly and still felt the pain and fear crawling through you,”It’s like I’m just your little escape for some comfort in the nights...nobody really knows of us they don’t think I’m with you, they think your wives are.” “Baby, you know there’s nothing going on there-” “I know, but it’s like-”, you added quickly, then stoping abruptly to sort the right words while you could feel Negan’s eyes burning into you as he shifted full of restlessness,”It’s like you could back out of this here anytime and everything would get back to business as usual for you and anybody else...and I��d just-” “But I won’t back out”, Negan said, the tone in his voice almost pleading as his hand reached towards yours that still rested on the mattress, bringing you to look right back into his eyes. “Then why are you keeping this so secretive? Why-”, you started, the warmth his last words had elicited still tainted by the doubt as you forced yourself to push out a question whose answer could hurt the most,”Why haven’t you left your wives yet?” For a moment, it got silent in the room, Negan’s lips dropped a little open as he stared at you, his hand still resting on yours as he thickly gulped and let a deep breath fall from your lips, rising the tension within you up until the point that you felt like it would slowly tear you apart. “Listen it’s not because I want a way back out of us, okay?”,he finally said, only taking the suspense off a little as he ran a hand over his stubble and squeezed your hand softly,”I thought it’s what would be easiest for you.” What? Why should it be easier? So now, you were the one staring at him with in confusion furrowed brows, trying to figure out what he meant. “Remember that time I wanted to cut some shifts for you? About two, three months ago?”, he asked, and though you were still confused you slowly nodded,”And I know you wanted to have those cuts so fucking bad but you said ‘no’ ‘cause you didn’t want to turn into some kinda outsider if people would think you’re getting advantages ‘cause you’re on “good” terms with the boss.” Slowly, you started to connect the dots. You could still see yourself right at this exact spot here, curled up in his arms, exhausted and with muscles hurting from the work at the fences. He’d offered to take some shifts off your schedule, make sure you weren’t as drained of energy as you had been in these moments. And he was right, you had wanted these cuts badly, but not badly enough to forget the glances you’d gotten once or twice before when Negan had rearranged some schedules a bit to give you some time off. Of course, they couldn't have known for sure that this had been what had happened, but most people don’t really care if what they hear is one hundred percent true or not. Maybe you’d been a bit paranoid, but those odd glances they’d thrown at you, the way the bit of recognition you’d earned with hard work seemed to vanish with them had been enough for you to not take Negan’s offer. And now that you thought about it, you could see where his thoughts were coming from. “That’s why I didn’t push down on making it all official. ‘Cause fuck, people will definitely treat you different when we’re all out...thought if you don’t want the cuts you most definitely wouldn’t want us all out as well”, he said and slowly the suspense in you calmed down, replaced by some annoyance about yourself that you’d let your fears get the best of you instead of thinking further. Of course he would think that, it made sense now that you heard it, but in your head, the cuts that would only get you some more rest couldn’t compare to having him officially for yourself, something that would be worth dealing with whatever reaction would follow. You hadn’t even thought of a connection between these two things. ”I don’t need them, you say the word and I leave ‘em. But it will all change, that shit’s gonna spread like wildfire, more like those rumors already do, I just want you to know that.” Negan’s voice was calm, genuine and his hand grasped yours a little tighter, turning it so your hand vanished fully in his while you slowly began to nod. Yeah, everything would change when you both were official. Work most definitely, the glances you’d first been intimidated by would be nothing compared to the talking behind your back and whatever else that would unleash as soon as the word would, be out but every good thing claims its sacrifices nowadays. But if you would get Negan completely, with neck and crop, without all the secret-mongering, the risk would be worth it. “Then I’m gonna have to live with that”,you mumbled, squeezing his hand back while a small smile began to grow on your lips, pushing the last fear out of your body,”I...I want us...all the way.” “Now if that isn’t one of the hottest things I’ve ever heard”, he chuckled, the tension falling from his face as well while a wide grin began to grow on his face ,”Then first thing I’ll do in the morning is make sure every fucker in this damn factory knows we’re the real deal.” You nodded, feeling the warmth flowing inside you, mixing with some excitement, maybe even nervousness, but of the good kind this time before Negan moved his other hand up and caressed it over your cheek, letting it come to rest on your jaw, enough to let his fingers grasp it to make sure you kept looking straight at him. “And don’t you ever fucking think you’re not enough for me”,he said, the tone nearly warning even though his rough voice was soothing and almost soft,”I promise, you’re enough.” You slowly nodded again, feeling how the small smile on your lips grew a bit wider while more of the burden that had lasted on your shoulders seemed to fall off and lifted the pressure off you entirely. “Fuck, you’re more than I could ever ask for”, Negan added, sending another warm shiver through you before he let his hand fall from your jaw and opened your arms ,”And now c’mere.” You didn’t need a second invitation to move closer to him until you could climb between his legs and settle in his lap, feel his arms wrapping around you as you nuzzled your head into the curve of his warm neck, letting him engulf you in his scent and his warmth. “We really talked past each other, huh?”, Negan mumbled as he leaned his head against yours, sighing thickly as he grasped you a little tighter,”Shit...never wanted you to feel like you’re not enough...feel like a fuckin’ asshole for not noticing.” “No don’t”, you quickly shook your head, moving enough out of his neck’s crook to glance at him,”I could...no, I should have just asked you earlier...before letting some fears fuck with my head.” “Well, I could’ve asked too...Next time you please talk to me before you’re crying in the middle of the fucking night, okay”,he said, the expression on his face serious before the corners of his lips began to twitch slightly,”That’s an order.” “Okay, I’ll follow that one”, you chuckled, watching as his lips widened out into the grin you knew so well, the one that could still get your knees to turn into jello. “Good”, he nodded, shifting slightly to get a better look at you,”And I’ll ask you too before thinking up some bullshit.” You nodded back, watching as Negan’s grin mixed up with a smile before he slowly leaned in and let his lips meet yours, caressing over them while his beard softly tickled you, and a low growl rumbled up his chest and vibrated against your skin, stirring up the tingling in your stomach. “Well shit, now I can’t wait for tomorrow”, he mumbled against your lips as soon as you parted a little, pecking yours once more in the very next moment while a small chuckle left your lips.  “Me neither”, you mumbled, watching as Negan’s eyes lit up like the ones of an excited kid on Christmas eve, impatient to wait for the morning to unwrap their presents. Surprisingly, Negan didn’t add anything onto that and just pulled you back against him, enough for you to cuddle yourself back against his chest and to let your head rest on his shoulder while his arms wrapped you up in his embrace. And slowly, it got silent in the room, enough to hear the wind outside that brushed against the factory windows, whose frames got adorned with snow, leaving just enough space to get a good look outside and into the darkness that was still filled with small, white dots. “We’re gonna have a whole ass winter wonderland outside tomorrow”, Negan mumbled into your hair, nuzzling his nose against you as you softly nodded, cuddling deeper into him while you watched the snow flakes swaying down the night sky, just like you had done it before. But differently to these moments that had been marked by sadness and fear, you now looked at them with a smile on your face, knowing too well that the wish of waking up one day and having everything figured out wouldn’t be a wish anymore. Tomorrow, when you’d wake up in Negan’s arms, the snowflakes would have covered the world in a white coat of snow and everything would be fine, everything would be just like you dared to dream.

Tags:

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“You are enough” When we woke up The world was figured out Beyond the beauty we’ve dreamt about This brilliant light is brighter than we’ve known Without our darkness to prove it so Still, we can’t help but to examine it To add our question marks to periods At the foot of our bed, we found an envelope… “You are enough” These little words, somehow they’re changing us “You are enough” So we let our shadows fall away like dust When we grew up Our shadows grew up too But they’re just old ghosts That we grow attached to The tragic flaw is that they hide the truth That you’re enough I promise you’re enough I promise you’re enough, i promise you “You are enough” These little words, somehow they’re changing us “You are enough” So we let our shadows fall away like dust “You are enough” These little words, somehow they’re changing us Let it go, let it go, “you are enough” So we let our shadows fall away like dust

[ackermans-freedom-inc]

Hiya! I was debating on whether or not to ask you this, considering that you're probably busy with valentine and other matchup asks, but here it goes. I was wondering if you can match me up with a AOT male, taller then me (I'm 5'5 lol). If that's possible? Here I go-(I'm sorry if this is long!)

✨I have blue/greenish eyes, and red dyed hair (I put this last, idk know why-)

✨I'm an aquarius and honestly, I truly live up to my sign. I'm a Ambivert cause even though I love hanging out with my friends and get along with them, there are times where I just need to get out and be alone for a bit and just let out everything in me.

✨for my personality, I got a turbulent advocate, INFJ-T (I don't know if that helps-) I'm usually quiet and shy around new people, and keep to myself around them unless they come over and talk to me, or I hear them say something that is an interest of mine then I can break out of my shell and start talking.

✨After speaking up to a person and getting to know them better, I'm a very bubbly person, I try to be kind by treating people the way I want to be treated and only rarely am I angry unless someone really press my buttons. I also use humor to cope with, pretty much everything, and I always try my hardest to make someone laugh, because whenever I hear someone laugh, my heart melts because of it. Idk why it just does.

✨considering my height, and my weight, I'm a chubby girl, thick thighs and all. It took me a long time to love myself and try to accept myself for who I am, since I was bullied quite a bit during my childhood for my weight and other things. However, even though Im starting to love myself, there are times where I become insecure but I usually keep it to myself unless someone makes me blurt it out.

✨speaking of insecure, I have really bad anxiety. Whenever I'm under pressure during a situation I have no idea how to fix, I start to pick at my skin, usually digging my nails into my skin to the point it draws blood. And whenever I'm around a lot of people, like at a store for example, I always feel like their eyes are on me which makes me feel very insecure and I keep my arms around my stomach to try to keep my nerves down. Whenever I feel my anxiety rise, my body start to twitch, especially my hands, so in order to calm it down I start to sketch out a drawing or listen to music to help me calm.

✨I was mentally and physically abused as a child so it takes me a while before I can truly open to someone. I always feel like I'm a burden to people when I speak out about my problems or my feelings, so I tend to keep them to myself. However, there are times where I just can't keep it in anymore, so I just let it all out to someone by either crying or speaking at high speed (pretty much gibberish) and tug really hard at my hair. Because of this, I love it when someone understands me or, even if they don't know what I've exactly been through, they're still there to help and support me no matter what.

✨I usually don't use words or describe my emotions in these types of situations, so I express it to my partner by actions. Such as hugging them tight, or crying in their shoulders. Because I'm always worried I'll say the wrong thing to someone. And whenever I do say something wrong, I apologise to them, but it still lingers in my head for a while before I can come to terms with it.

✨In many situations, I try to use my brain before acting out, but there are times where my emotions get the best of me.

✨I have an immense fear that I'll be forgotten by the people I love, or I lose someone close to me. It didn't bother me back then, but now it's become a big fear of mine.

✨ANYWAY- aside from the "that" stuff, I get really flustered whenever someone compliments me, or even remotely flirts with me. Sure, I flirt back or compliment to someone as well (even if it's cheesy sometimes-) but when it's directed to me, I blush SO hard and smile because Ive never been complimented a lot during my past, so I take compliments to heart a lot of the time.

✨My hobbies are Drawing/Painting, Reading, Writing, Video games, and Hanging out with my friends.

✨Drawing has always been my favorite hobby as long as I can remember. Through out the years, my art style has gotten better, even though I still don't have an officially art style for myself. I especially love to draw or sketch out the people I love, ocs, animals, and mythical creatures. Mostly dragons/wyverns since I've always been entranced by mythology and mythical creatures. Drawing, or sketching in general has helped me a lot with expressing my emotions and my creativity on paper.

✨Animation has always been my biggest aspiration and I'm currently saving up money so I can study in animation.

Anyways, I think imma stop my matchup ask here so I hope all of this information about me helps! Again, I'm sorry if I'm bothering you with this matchup!

Hi Onyx!!!! You are NEVER bothering me!!! Thank you for sending in such a detailed bio for me! I just wanted to say, a lot of how you describe yourself sounds like me! Maybe its a fellow Aquarius thing? You are so so brave to be able to share so much about yourself with me, and I am so very thankful you felt safe to do so! <3 rooting for you and here for you if you need an ear, or shoulder. 

Alright, now. I have excluded Levi, Armin, and Connie because I believe those are the ones that are shorter than 5′5. 

I think the single thing that made me choose who I did for you was your love for art! I would match you up with....

Jean! 

We saw how much of an artist Jean was, and honestly that part stuck with me. 

Jean would be a good match for an ambivert such as yourself because I feel like he is a good balance of quiet contemplation and keeping to himself mixed with a very particular personality that can lean towards outgoing and sarcastic. 

I feel like Jean would be very respectful of what you wanted, and in time, would get more perceptive towards your needs. Did you agree to go out with your friends but as the day drew closer seemed a little hesitant about going out? He would be willing to be your scapegoat, telling your friends that he had something come up and you couldnt hang out anymore, or that there was some sort of leak or issue he caused and he needed you to stay behind to help with it. Essentially, he would be partner and that friend you call to bail you out of unfortunate situations all rolled up into one! 

At first, Jean would be the one who prompts you to talk and share more about yourself, but over time, as you grow more comfortable with him, you’d be the one dominating conversations, and he'd be absolutely fine with it! Just listening to you talk with an occasional hum or comment. 

Jean I think would be a mixture of actions and words. He is a little more vocal about sharing his emotions, but not by much. Hes mostly in his head with things and can come off as a little cold, but if you knew how he communicated his love, it would be obvious how much he cares. He does the little, mundane things to make life easier for you rather than profess his feelings all the time. When he notices how you cope with stressful environments, he'd be a great help. He'd gently take your hands and help you unfurl your clenched fist, or lacing your fingers with his to prevent you from picking at em. He would be that rock you need at the store, ushering you into a quiet aisle with an arm around your shoulder, making sure you're okay before resuming the shopping trip, planning out the optimal routes to take in order to minimize time spent in the store. 

The two of you would rarely get into arguments, mainly due to the fact that he could never really argue with you, also, you are just...never really angry. He would know better than to push your buttons or pick a fight so its usually pretty smooth sailing. 

You and jean’s everyday talk would be cute to listen to, him taking every opportunity to flirt or throw in a cheesy pickup line to make you smile. “good morning! its a beautiful day!”

“morning! You’re right. Gorgeous.” and hes looking straight at you and not at the blue skies smh 

Jean might be a little embarrassed or self conscious about his art, but would love to watch you sketch. He would go along with you to the park, or just out to explore new spots, sitting beside you quietly, sometimes laying his head in your lap as you sketch. That would be his ideal lazy afternoon. 

Overall, you two would be super cute! Everyone thinks so, but most importantly, the two of you would support each other, each helping the other grow in the best ways! 

Valentines Day Event 

[teaspacebar]

guarded soul part i: chipped

summary: you didn’t think the man with the pretty brown eyes and white hair was anything more than a bodyguard the night you met him. he thought the same of you. you never expected to meet him again - with his clone squadron in tow. turns out your lives were more different than you thought. takes place in the ‘war of hearts’ universe.

pairing: salem (clone oc) x jinx (mercenary!reader)

warnings: smut (18+), salem and reader being sassy bitches

words: 2.3k+

beta: @ambereyesandwine​

taglist (open): @abovethyfold​ @obiorbenkenobi​ 

masterlist

a/n: a big thanks to @karasong​ for helping me figure out the logistics of this and for letting me fangirl about my own clone oc’s endlessly. and a big thanks to my beta - and love of my life - for letting me hover over her shoulder as she read the first smut i’ve written in a while.

***

Salem wouldn’t consider himself a hopeless romantic. He wouldn’t consider him a romantic at all. Salem didn’t have time for romance – he was too busy keeping his brothers from getting into bar fights. Although, let’s be honest, if his boys got into a fight, he’d probably jump right in.

But right now, his mind was occupied with a multitude of thoughts surrounding an individual.

“Salem, we’re leaving before Flare starts to believe that he can drink Fives under the table!” Ziggy had an arm around the red-headed clone, who was barely keeping himself on his feet.

“Alright, gimme a minute.” Salem ran a hand through his hair, internally reminding himself that he needed to get some more bleach – his roots had started to show more than he liked. The sniper used his eagle-eyes to spot Maverick heading in his direction.

“Leaving?” Salem gave a single nod in response.

“You stayin’?” Another nod. Maverick and Salem were excellent at communicating with little to no words. It made it easier for them in the battlefield. And in bars that were filled with a bunch of rowdy clones.

Salem made his way out of 79’s, Phys joining his side. Outside, Salem quickly spotted his brothers talking to a few women off to the side.

“Salem! I was just talking about you to these wonderful ladies here!” Yep. Flare was definitely drunk. “This guy can take down anything with his sniper – he modded it himself!”

Salem held back a groan as the medic chuckled next to him, “He’s trying to get you laid.”

“Not interested,” Salem muttered.

“Salem! Come ‘ere!” Flare was waving the sniper over as Ziggy apologized profusely to the women – who were in various states of amusement. Salem relented, walking behind Phys who had already started in that direction. As he joined the group, one of the women squinted her eyes at him.

“Wait a second – I know you.”

A look of recognition crossed Salem’s face – it was you.

-

“Don’t like stuck up politicians either, huh?”

Salem glanced in your direction as you came up beside him. You were just a bit too close for comfort, and it put him on edge. You weren’t in a fancy dress which meant you weren’t one of the ‘stuck up politicians’ you had mentioned.

“You’re a bodyguard?”

Silence.

“So, you’re the quiet, grumpy type, I get it.” That finally garnered a glare from the clone. You grinned in response, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Gotcha.” Salem rolled his eyes, turning his gaze back to the middle of the ballroom. “You look familiar, have we met?”

Salem tensed. You couldn’t have recognized him; his face was covered - from the nose down - with his mask. His hair was bordering the lines of breaking regulation, and he had enough body mods to differentiate him from his brothers. “Not my usual hunting ground,” he responded casually, keeping his voice low.

You hummed a response, “A shame, with pretty eyes like that.”

-

“I knew you looked familiar!” Salem would have thought you were proud of yourself if you didn’t look so…angry. “Of course, a pretty boy like you would be with the Republic.”

“Always are, Jinx.” A smaller girl from the group chimed in, her green hair reflecting the light.

“That’s your name?” Salem quirked a brow.

You crossed your arms, “Better than Salem.”

The green-haired girl spoke up again, “She’s the boss. Her real name isn’t Jinx.”

“Thank you, Vega,” you shot a look at the girl, before turning back to the boys.

“You know each other already?” Phys spoke up from beside him.

You smirked, “We met at one of those fancy events where the food portions are tiny. Looked into his eyes and I just knew he was the one for me.” Ziggy snorted, using the hand that wasn’t holding Flare up to cover his mouth. Salem bristled, and he could tell you were enjoying it. Two taxis pulled up to the side of the street at the same time.

“Ride’s here!” The group of women that were with you piled into one, the girl you had called Vega poking her head out, “You coming, boss?”

Your eyes never left Salem’s, “I have some business to take care of, I’ll catch a ride later.” The other girls seemed to take the hint, pulling Vega into the taxi before it flew off. Salem was ready to make his escape. His walls came up around him, attempting to find safety in the isolation. He darted toward the other taxi, only for you to call out to him. “In case you weren’t aware, you’re the business I was talking about.”

Cue snorts from all three of the boys this time.

Realizing that the only way out of this was to either embarrass himself by jumping into the taxi or to go along with what you said, he grumbled, “Fine.”

-

You were annoying.

And you hadn’t left his side all night.

“So, who’s side are you here for? Separatist? Republic?”

“Does it matter?”

You raised an eyebrow, “Most people say it does.”

Touché. He had his own opinion on the matter, but it would give him away too easily. And if anyone found out that there was a clone undercover in the middle of a politically neutral event it would cause too many problems. The idea of being anything else but a soldier – or the idea of a world without the war – was something that Salem buried down to eventually deal with at a later date.

“…what about you?”

“Oh, I’m not on either side, I’m just a hired bodyguard for the evening.” Salem pushed away his curiosity. It made sense. You didn’t seem to care what people thought of you, and you seemed indifferent to what was going on around you.

-

“Are ya’ going to talk or are we just gonna stand here?”

He had followed you to another bar – it was quieter, less crowded. He got a few looks from the patrons, but they left him alone.

“You don’t look like your average clone.”

“You don’t look like a bounty hunter.”

You scoffed, “I’m not a bounty hunter. I’m a mercenary – there’s a difference.”

“Right.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, chin in your hand, “I don’t kill people for credits, Salem. Me and my girls, we help the ‘little people’. The people that the Republic and Separatists ignore.” Salem frowned at your explanation. The urge to defend himself rose, his walls shaking in irritation. “I know that helping people is your goal, but I don’t think that the Republic has done anything more than balance the scales. It’s nothing against you and the rest of the boys in the GAR, I just can’t believe in a party that thinks the war is the only solution.” Your voice had softened, and Salem could feel the passion in your tone.

“You were a bodyguard for a politician,” he pointed out. He wasn’t looking to argue with you; he just wanted to understand your reasoning of your work.

He didn’t know why he wanted to understand, but he did.

Your laugh was genuine, “I still have to make money somehow, pretty boy. Good deeds don’t pay, unfortunately.”

-

“Shit, shit, SHIT!” You continued to curse as you pulled two blasters from holsters on either side of your thighs. “Pretty boy!” You tossed a blaster in his direction, Salem catching it with ease. He had his own blaster strapped to his hip, hidden underneath his jacket. You had been faster, quick to take cover behind a table you had tipped onto its side.

The first shot had rung out just a couple minutes earlier, a Separatist senator dead on the ground. It seemed like other people had the same idea, weapons being pulled by most of those attending. Salem scoured the room in search for Pip. He had no luck, but instead saw Senator Amidala behind a pillar. He spared another look at you.

“If you have somewhere to be, then go!” You seemed able enough to take care of yourself, and so he ran off in the direction of the Senator.

-

Salem hated to admit it, but you were growing on him.

Maybe it was the ease in which you said what was on your mind. Or the mischief that was always ever present in your eyes.

Or maybe it was the way you kissed him like he was the best drink you’ve had in your life.

Your laugh separated your lips from his, “Am I not keeping your attention, pretty boy?”

“Distractin’ me is more like it.”

You grinned, pushing him onto his back, “I can stop, if you’d like.”

Salem groaned when you straddled him, “Not a chance.” You kissed up his chest, paying attention to the scars littered across his body. When you reached his lips, you hovered above them, smirk playing at the corners of your mouth. “Tease.”

“Name’s Jinx…but thank you.” You pressed a bruising kiss to his lips, heat bubbling up between you. You rocked your hips, brushing up against the hardness that was beneath his pants. A soft moan escaped your lips as you attempted to create more friction.

You were gorgeous above him.

Salem had his experiences with women – and a few men – but none were like this.

You pulled away to tug at the waistband of his pants, “These need to go.” Salem moved with an urgency that sent you into laughter again, but you were soon distracted by the hard length that presented itself to you. You hummed in appreciation, fingers running across his length.

Salem gasped, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth as your touches turned into you pumping his cock. Your pupils were blown wide, lips parted as you stared down at him. “Kriff,” he slipped his hands beneath your shirt, pulling at your waist as he tried to keep himself from bucking his hips.

You pulled your hand away from him, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before leaving the bed so you could shed the clothes you were wearing. You sent him a wink as he gazed at you. You bounded back over to him, letting him pull you back on top of him. “Fancy seeing you here.” He could tell that you were about the chuckle at your own words, so he grabbed your hips and bucked his own against yours.

You glared at him playfully, but continued to grind your core against him, “Rude.”

“Definitely,” he breathed.

You nipped at his neck, arousal building as his cock brushed against your soaked core. You gasped, nails digging into his shoulders as he slid into you. Salem let out a groan, rutting his hips up into yours as you rode him. He felt his orgasm creep up on him faster than he expected. He cursed out loud, rolling over so you were the one on your back. The new angle had you keening, hands reaching up to tug on his hair. The slight pulse of pain only spurred him on, sending a jolt of pleasure through you.

“Salem, fuck–” He ran a hand down your side, brushing it across your stomach and down to your core, caressing that little bundle of nerves. You tightened around him, nails digging into his shoulders as you arched your back. You lifted your head up slightly, and Salem obeyed your silent plea, kissing you harshly. He bit your lip, tugging on it before diving back in for more.

There was nothing soft about it, but it wouldn’t have made sense if it were.

You coming undone beneath him sent Salem soaring seconds after you. His face was buried in your neck, arms at an angle as he tried not to place all his weight on top of you. A couple of minutes passed before he made to move, pulling out of you slowly and rolling over so he was on the left side of your bed.

Salem was debating whether he should leave when you got up from the bed. You lowered the lights and entered the refresher. He heard water running for a moment, then the pad of your feet heading in his direction. Salem squinted, barely able to make out your form in the dimly lit room. You sat on the edge of the bed, holding out a cup to him, “Water?”

He stared at the cup like you had grown an extra limb, “What?”

“It’s good to hydrate, pretty boy, drink up.” He took the cup from you and sat up a little in the bed. You were staring at him with an amused expression.

“What?”

You hummed, “Oh, nothing, just admiring the view.” You took the empty cup from him when he was done drinking, “Feel free to wash up and sleep, I have some work to do. It’s probably one of the only times you’ll sleep in a bed as soft as this one.” Your words weren’t directed at him, if anything, they were the gentlest words you had spoken to him since he had met you. You reached over to ruffle his hair before leaving him alone in the bedroom.

-

Salem entering the barracks before breakfast that next morning was the highlight of the Juno Squadron’s week.

“You got laid,” Phys commented, looking up at him from the book he was reading. It was an old one, not even on a Datapad.

A crow of cheers came from Bailey, Flare, and Ziggy.

“About time somebody pulled that stick outta’ your ass,” Flare grinned wolfishly.

Salem rolled his eyes, “Can we not talk about this?”

“Oh no,” Volts replied, “we’re talking about it.”

“Leave him alone, boys,” Maverick said as he walked in. “Or else the stick might crawl back in.”

There was a ‘ping’ on his Datapad, but the guffaws from the rest of the team was enough cover for him to check it without being pestered.

Hope you slept well. See you next time, pretty boy.

And a crack in the wall was formed.

[writingwhywhywhy]

Derailed Chapter 5

Sorry its late.

The five of you sleeping at the same motel was not ideal. Elijah and Klaus went to find a food source. Klaus gave a darker than needed smile when Dean and Sam reminded the two vampires not to kill anyone. You were sure he would have killed a few people if you hadn’t given him a glare.

That left Sam, Dean, and you to walk to the dinner. As soon as you walked in your favorite waitress Kathy greeted you. “How is my favorite just passing through? And is one of those for me?”

“I am doing great. I don’t think either of them can handle you, but you can have them both Kathy.” You said with a smile

“They would make my wife a tad bit upset. You know how she is about me bringing home men.” Kathy joked

“Well she would like it more if you picked up after them.” You jokingly scolded her.

“I know, I know. So a booth for the three of you?” Kathy asked

“Could we perhaps get one that could accommodate two more who may be meeting us here?” You asked

“As long as I get take the tall one home.” She replied.

“It’s a deal.” You said, as Sam’s eyes went a bit wide.

Kathy showed the three of you a nice booth that could fit Klaus and Elijah after they had their fill. Well it was made for four people but Kathy put a chair at the end. You slid in on one side, while the boys slid in the other. Sam received a phone call at almost the same time that Kathy brought the drinks over. He quickly excused himself. The most awkward silence you ever had started. “So how have you been?” You asked trying to avoid the silence.

“Do we really want to talk right now?” Dean asked

“Someone is upset.” You huffed

“I just don’t want to fill the silence with pointless talking.” He huffed back.

“Well what do you want to talk about?” You asked

You could see Dean become a little vulnerable. “Why did you leave?” He asked

“Why did you ask me to leave?” You asked

“You knew I was scared of losing you. You could have come back.” He accused

“I didn’t want to force myself back into your life. So I called and you didn’t answer. I even picked up the habit of constantly talking to Sam, which I still do today. Hell I even speak to Bobby on the regular. You could have called back or put up some kind of fight.” You accused back

“Would you have come back? I mean you were pretty much with Elijah the day you left!” He said

“And until the day I fell in love with him, I would have ran back to you. Anytime, any place! All you had to do was call!” You told him

“So I messed up.” He jeered

“Yes you did! You don’t have the right to be mad at me because I tried to move on. You broke up with me and it shattered me, and I happened to fall in love with the person who was there to pick up the pieces. The worst part has always been that I still love you.” You said as you felt tears form.

Before Dean could respond, Sam was back. As he told the two of you about the call from a hunter needing info for the monster he was hunting, you quickly turned your head and wiped away the tears that had yet to fall. Like clockwork Kathy came with the food the moment Sam wrapped his story.

Before you finished eating, Klaus and Elijah arrived. Without a single word Klaus slid in next to you and Elijah took the seat. “Oh no honey you are not leaving this dinner with all four men.” Kathy said the moment she came to get orders from Klaus and Elijah.

“I am already giving you the tall one.” You replied

“No you need to leave with like one.” She said

“Am I suppose to just hand them out to everyone I see? I know your wife won’t let you take more than one home, if she lets you take one home.” You replied

“So how did you meet Ms. Just passing through?” She asked the table ignoring you

There was a moment of panic. “I went to the shelter and picked the first four I found.” You joked hoping Kathy didn’t notice the panic

“How come every time I stop at the shelter they are all out?” Kathy joked, missing the panic

“See your wife calls ahead and tells them to not let you take any home.” You said

“So what can I get for the two newest members of  Y/N’s harem?” She asked Klaus and Elijah

You could have sworn Elijah choked on air. “Coffee for us Love.” Klaus said unphased

“You have to forgive Kathy. She is just so playful and she is always more playful with me. We are both bisexuals and it’s a whole bonding slash almost friendship thing between us.” You said

“It almost feels like you put some roots down Love.” Klaus said

“Well I kinda did on accident. I really like this town. It’s a nice place.” You admitted like it was a dark secret.

There was a new silence. One that rang the truth of the fact in five days you would never be back. “So where else do you want to show off?” Elijah asked saving the day.

You rambled on about what you wanted to show them until your phone rang. You made a motion for Klaus to let you out. He hesitated, and you decided to answer. “Hey Bobby. Can you give me a moment.” You said while still motioning for Klaus to move with a bit more force behind it.

He did and you slid out as Bobby gave you an affirmative. “Hey. What’s up?” You asked as soon as you got outside.

“So I haven’t herd from you for a bit.” (A pang of guilt ran through you) “Then I get this call from Garth practically yelling at me. Something about Dean or a vampire knocking you up. How I should have raised Dean better and how I should have looked out for you. He was also very instant that I look out for you now.” Bobby huffed

“Surprise! You might be a grandfather.” You said trying to back out of the conversation

The silence on the other end told you to explain. “So it’s either Elijah’s or Dean’s. It happened when I was helping them with the cult thing. I didn’t know who Garth was when I started sleeping with him on random whims.” You said

“Well you could’ve called.” Bobby said

“Sorry.” You said

“So what is this whole might be a grandfather thing? Bobby asked

"I thought you thought of Dean as a son. So I assumed that you would think of the baby as your grandchild.” You explained feeling silly about thinking that way.

“If you want me to be in the kid’s life, I will be. Dean and Sam aren’t my only family you know.” Bobby said

You could have cried. “You know the dad might be a vampire.” You said

“Well it wouldn’t be the first nonhuman in the family.” He replied

A few tears that you ignored fell. “Thank you.” You said

“You know that no matter who the father is, you can call me. I believe I did a decent job with Dean and Sam when I could.” Bobby said

“I know.” You said ignoring the stream of tears down your face.

“You call me when you figure out who the father is.” Bobby said

“I will.” You replied

“Okay. Well speak soon.” He said

“Bye.” You said hanging up

Elijah like magic appeared beside you. Without a word he handed you his handkerchief, and you took it and dried your eyes. “Did you draw the shortest straw and have to come fetch me?” You asked.

“No. I just wanted to get away from Kathy. She seems adamant about taking all of us home with her.” He said with a smile

You cracked a small smile. “So how much of that conversation did you hear?” You asked

“Not much. I can forget it if you would like.” He offered

“Please do.” You said

Silence kept following you around today. “So this is probably the only time we have to talk. Sam and Klaus apparently have figured out a way to give me a moment with you and Dean. Sam faked a phone call earlier so me and Dean could patch up. This is probably our turn to work out what we can.” You said

“Well aren’t they clever.” Elijah replied

There was a pause. “I wish I had called you back. I was trying to protect you.” He said evenly

“Well that worked out well.” You replied

“Very well.” He said

The was a beat. “Well if that’s all you need to help me with a child then we should head back inside.” You said

Elijah gave you a look that told you he wanted to say more. You waited, but he just offered you his arm and escorted you back inside. “Bobby knows.” You said as you slid back into your place.

“Did you tell him?” Dean asked

“No. Garth did.” You said

Silence was honestly haunting your life right now. You couldn’t have been more thankful than when Kathy came with the bill. “So you pay for the whole harem right?” She joked

“No. You have to pay for the tall one because you get to take him home. Plus two of these guys are charity cases, because you are only letting me take one home.” You replied

You pulled put your wallet to pay when four other men also pulled out their wallets. “Come on guys you drove all the way out here. I can’t let people think I don’t have enough money to feed my harem.” You said giving Kathy a wink and the money.

The rest of the five days were spent pleasantly enough. You got to show them the town and you guys didn’t fight. An onlooker might have even mistaken you all as friends. Sometimes the lot of you might have mistaken each other for friends.

When you and your party arrived at Dr. O'Brien’s office, Mercy had you meet with Dr. O'Brien by yourself. “So the test results came back. I just wanted you to clarify how far apart had you slept with both men?” She asked

“Within a day.” You said a bit curious why she asked

“Dean is the father of one twin. Elijah is the father of the other.” She said

“What?” You asked not registering the news

“So one egg was fertilized and than the other. Superfecundation is rare but can happen. Usually it happens…” She started before you tuned her out

How were you supposed to tell them that? How do you tell a hunter that a vampire was stuck in their life forever or vice versa? This could not have been worse news. Then a new thought shook you to your core.“Y/N” Dr. O'Brien says breaking you out of your mind

“Understood. I will go tell them. Thank you.” You said before rushing to the lobby.

You came upon the boys waiting in the lobby. “Hey we need to go.” You said

Anyone familiar with the supernatural could read the look of “did something supernaturally go wrong?”. Anyone else would read a slight look of concern. You said nothing, not even with your face. You just walked out of the building with four men following close behind. “We need to drive to New Orleans.” You said as soon as you all were outside.

“What the hell happened in there?” Dean asked

You took a breath. God you wished you didn’t have to tell them. A small part of your brain said you should have just raised the kids on your own. “I am pregnant with twins. One is Dean’s and the other is Elijah’s. I would ask the doctor to check if either is mine but that seems a little weird. So we need to travel to Freya and find out.” You said

There was the dreaded silence back. You went ahead and hoped into the back seat of the impala, claiming a window seat in the back seat. All four men followed. As they were getting in you made a phone call. “You become pregnant and I don’t even get a phone call?” Came the voice on the other line.

“Look Freya I called like 4 people. All of which I asked for a DNA test. Plus I am calling now.” You responded

“So is this how I find out I am an aunt again?” She asked

“Kinda of. One out of two are your brother’s. Look I need a test to see if the twins that I am carrying are mine, human, and what not. Plus if they are human how they came to be.” You said

“The first half would require a spell. I am pretty sure you know how they came to be.” Freya said

“Look the odds are highly against us. I can safely say that between the three of us we have slept with over 300 people. On top of that I spent almost a year sleeping with several different men using the same amount of birth control. Plus I am like 100% sure if one of them was going to knock me up it would have happened years ago.” You explained in a rushed voice

“Okay. So we find the magic that caused your pregnancy, and then what?” Freya asked

You could sense Elijah and Klaus shift in their seats. Their eavesdrop was not ideal but you had made the call in a semi painced state. “We figure that out later. I really just need some answers.” You said

You tried to ignore everyone else in the car once you hung up with Freya. You immediately called Bobby to delay any questions from them. You were hoping to stall any questions until you reached New Orleans. Yet you knew you wouldn’t be that lucky. You filled Bobby in on what was happening and he told you to call if you needed anything.

You just got off the phone with Bobby when the first question came your way. “What’s the plan if they aren’t human?” Sam asked

“I don’t know.” You answered

Tagging: @idkhaylijah

[aire101]

Ferrum Chapter 4

Hey y'all, got this chapter out a bit sooner than the last one!

For those who read the light novels of SAO this chapter will be kinda familiar, for those who have only watched the anime, this is the town where Kirito ran to after leaving Klein in Episode 1, and the quest where he got his Anneal Blade we see in the series.

Also, while I make no promises that it will make it into the story, I am open to suggestions on what kind of adventures or shenanigans you would like to see the boys get up to in SAO. As I've mentioned previously I don't really intend to get the boys mixed up too much in the main canon, so if there's an aspect of the SAO world in general you'd like to see explored outside of the main battles and Kirito's storyline I'm open to considering it. I'm also ok with interactions with known characters, just trying to avoid writing the whole Kirito centric Aincrad arc.

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

Activate-Vertical slash-hold

“Switch!”

1-2

“Switch!”

Defend-rage spike, upward strike—

“SWITCH!”

Peter fell back again, the post motion-delay that set in for a measly few seconds was nevertheless a highly vulnerable moment that he and Mr. Stark had figured out a work around for early on in their trek. The boars from Day 1 had been easy one hit kills, so they hadn’t noticed the system forced post-motion cool down period until they had been fighting on the road the next day. Their tag-team approach served them well, and best that Peter could tell from when they came upon other players in the wild, most of the rest had come to the same conclusion that they had. Because of that, it was unusual these days to find someone soloing in the pvp areas by choice.

Mr. Stark switched in with a strong horizontal slash, bringing the Little Nepenthe's HP down to zero.

“You know, I was never one for plants anyway, but after this quest I swear to god I will never put a single point into the gardening skill,” said Mr. Stark as he sheathed his sword.

“I’ve told you, green stuff is sadness and disappointment solidified,” replied Peter, following suit.

“I still expect you to eat your greens, kid.”

“It’s a tragedy, I tell you. Here we are, trapped in a fantasy game and every meal is still served with vegetables.”

“Yeah, that’s the real tragedy here.”

“I want my money back.”

“You weren’t even the one who bought the game. But either way, I’ll buy you every Playstation, X-Box, and Nintendo game ever in existence when we get back if you just never touch a full dive ever again,” said Mr. Stark, laughing.

And there’s Peter’s daily reminder that he still hadn’t informed Mr. Stark of the horrific truth of his situation.

“I think it’s time to call it a night, Underoos.”

“Is this quest even worth it? We’ve been out here for like three days weeding these things out. The drop rate on this thing is atrocious,” moaned Peter.

“From what our source says, this quest has one of the best weapons you can find on this floor as it’s reward. And while I’ve been funneling as many points as possible into weapon creation, its not quite where it needs to be to match that yet, so better to start with a good blade and just do the enhancement myself. Also, don’t think I didn’t notice that terrible pun, you should be ashamed.”

“Hey, there’s no shame in my pun game.”

Mr. Stark gave a deep sigh/groan before he turned and started walking back towards the direction of Horunka Village. He probably had rolled his eyes too, but it was impossible to tell through the helmet he always wore.

Night had long since fallen over Aincrad, and it had been dark in the forest even before that. Pale blue light slit through the trees overhead, lighting the path, but otherwise they made their way by memory and intuition. A breeze stirred up leaves from the ground, and Peter shivered slightly from the cool night air.

“Do you think its going to snow here in the winter?” asked Peter.

“If we’re all still here in the winter—which all signs point to yes— I think it will. We can see from the thunderstorm last week it has a functioning variable weather simulator. I wasn’t a part of that programing team obviously, so I don’t know for certain just how far that variable goes, but I would think the primary associated weather variations like rain, snow and heat waves will be included. It might also vary by floor. Probably won’t know the answer to that until we get a few floors opened up,” answered Mr. Stark.

“Huh… something to look forward to I guess,” said Peter.

“Why? You don’t get enough snow in Queens?” Mr. Stark said with a joking tone.

“Yeah, but you know in the real world I kinda have to be careful with the cold. My body temperature runs a bit cooler than the average, so unless I’m in the suit I try to keep exposure to a minimum. In here I can probably spend all day in it with out any trouble,” said Peter.

“I didn’t know that, actually,” said Mr. Stark, this time far more seriously. “You haven’t mentioned it, and I hadn’t thought about that at all.”

“Oh. Well, that built in heater and temperature regulator in the suit pretty much took care of the problem. It’s just something I have to keep in mind,” said Peter, awkwardly trying to cover his slip up. Obviously that had been a conversation they had some time after Mr. Stark’s last memory.

It had been almost two weeks since they had been locked in this game, and Peter was still no where close to figuring out how Mr Stark was even here. And he was equally no where closer to telling Mr. Stark the truth about the events in the real world— Thanos and the Infinity Stones, Mrs. Stark and Morgan, Mr. Stark’s death and Peter’s own—

“Anyway, we should definitely make a day of it once it does. I don’t know about you, but its been years since I built a snowman and I kinda want to change that,” said Peter, quickly diverting his thoughts.

“Sure, might as well. Not like we’re going anywhere fast in here. Though if you start singing Frozen songs I might reconsider.”

“You know, they’ve written out your entire life story in news articles and magazines, but they always leave out how much of a killjoy you are.”

“Whatever, kid. I’m the life of the party.”

“A retirement party, maybe.”

Mr. Stark threw the finger back over his shoulder at Peter and kept walking.

Peter was just just about to follow suit when out of the corner of his eye, the sight of polygons coalescing into a hazy form caught his attention.

It was obviously another Little Nepenthe, but above the typical hellish roots and vines and the bizarre, speckled pitcher plant topped with its gaping fanged mouth, was a large, blood red bloom.

Petter inhaled sharply, the sound causing Mr. Stark to spin around as well.

This was it. This is what they were looking for.

Before the creature could attack and he could second guess himself, Peter drew his sword and leapt in with a swift Horizontal Strike at the plant’s weak spot— the joint between the stalk and the pitcher.

The strike hit true, and before the evil hell plant got even a single chance to spew its corrosive liquids, it dissolved back into broken polygons, leaving behind nothing but the delicate flower holding the Ovule they had searched for.

“Whoa! You actually got one!”

Mr. Stark and Peter both spun around, swords raised. Behind them stood another player no older than Peter, with his arms now raised in a sign of surrender.

“Sorry! I was using my hide skill in here. It doesn’t really work on the Little Nepenthes, but it helps avoid other confrontations,” said the player.

Despite what they said, Peter took a good look around, searching for others. The timing and the seeming lack of a party giving good reason for concern. PKers lurking around valuable drop spots to attack and rob unsuspecting players of their loot wasn’t an uncommon thing in PvP games, and unfortunately not even a full two weeks in, SAO was no exception. In any other game, they may simply be considered griefers. But here, to the best of their knowledge it was nothing short of murder.

“Where’s the rest of your party?” asked Mr. Stark, not lowering his blade.

“Eh, I don’t really have one,” said the guy sheepishly

“Forgive me if I find that a little hard to believe,” said Mr. Stark. “Kid, do you see anyone else? Or are they hidden as well?”

“Look, there’s really no one else, its just me. People in here don’t really like my type,” said the guy, with a sad note in his voice.

“Oh…” said Mr. Stark, voice now tinged more compassion than aggression. “You’re a beta tester, aren’t you kid?”

The guy flinched, but nodded. “Please, I promise I’m just doing some light grinding in the area. There’s no one else, and I already have the quest item.”

Mr. Stark didn’t sheath his sword, but he gave a nod and backed away.

“Alright, good luck then,” he said.

The other player nodded in return, turned and walked back into the woods.

“Pocket the ovule quick and keep an eye out. Don’t sheath your sword until we get back into town,” said Mr. Stark before he began running back in the direction of Horunka village.

Peter slipped the item into his inventory and easily kept pace with the other man. After a few minutes of running, Peter finally spoke up, “Do you think he was telling the truth? Pretty surprising he freely admitted to that. For all he knows we could have been Beta Killers.”

“If we had killed someone our player cursors would still be orange. It is unusual though. He must have figured it was worth the risk to try and get us to back off,” said Mr. Stark. “Poor kid, as if being stuck in this game wasn’t bad enough, having to hide a beta status from other players…”

Just as Mr. Stark had expected that first day, it didn’t take long before the terrified and angry masses started looking for someone to blame. And with Kayaba disappearing into the digital ether, apparently the scapegoats they chose were the 700 or so beta testers who had logged in with the rest that day. According to most pub talk, the beta testers had left the rest of the players in the dust of the Town of Beginnings, getting through the most lucrative quests and hunts before most even dared to leave the city. They were condemned as selfish and greedy, and were therefore persona non-gratis in most parties. Even worse were the stories of betas being outright murdered and monster PK’d. Out of the almost 1000 players who were already dead about two weeks in, around 150 had been beta testers. A staggering amount given how few of them there had been. Plenty had undoubtedly met their end due to the game itself, but many had ended up victims of angry mobs.

Peter didn’t understand it. Yeah, the beta testers had more info and experience than the rest, but they had shared much of that info on the internet before the game even began. Then after a few days in game, vendor markets began carrying a free SAO Guide booklet created by someone called ‘The Rat’, who had clearly made and circulated the original file Ned had uploaded to the Nervegear. Almost anything you could want to know was available. It was how they had learned of this quest in the first place.

“Hey Ferrum, why do people have to suck so bad?” asked Peter, mostly rhetorically.

“If I had the answer to that, I wouldn’t have been a weapons manufacturer.”

After a few minutes of running they finally crossed over into the town Safe Zone. Horunka was a small village, with only about ten buildings in all. One of which was the house of the NPC who gave the quest, and their current destination.

As they walked down the road towards the house, several parties milled about, clearly having just returned from their own hunts. A couple eyed the two of them as they walked through.

“Looks like someone finally managed to snag an ovule. Lucky bastards…” someone muttered.

“Who actually wears a helmet in this game?” said another.

“Yikes, imagine being stuck in here with your dad…”

Overhearing that last line caused Peter’s face to flush, which given its digital nature was just plain unfair. Did they have to be that thorough?

No bigger than the town was, they were soon standing in the living area of the house. The lady of the house whom they had met previously still stood stirring a pot of simmering liquid, her expression drawn and tired. The only thing that about her that gave her away as an NPC rather than a player was the exclamation mark hovering above her head in the place of a player cursor, indicating a quest in progress.

“Go on, kid,” said Mr. Stark, staying by the door.

Peter slowly approached. Even knowing that the woman was an NPC, it still felt rude to just barge into the house without invitation. He brought up is inventory and took out the ovule, handing it out to her to take.

Immediately her face brightened, and Peter couldn’t help but wonder just how developed the NPC AIs were. Were they simple rudimentary ones like most games? Or were they more like Mr. Stark’s AIs? Was she aware of what she was?

“Oh, thank you so much, kind swordsman! My daughter has only grown worse since we last spoke, I was beginning to worry she may not make it till your return,” she said, taking the ovule from my hand and adding it to the pot.

I saw my quest log update to the left of my view, but I was distracted by the sound of deep coughs coming from further in the house.

“Here, this blade has been passed down in my family for generations, but I gladly trade it in exchange for your aid saving my child’s life. Take it with my blessing,” said the lady, pulling a blade encased in a worn red sheath from an old trunk. With both hands she extended it out to me to take, a smile still on her lips, tears of gratitude sparkling in her eyes.

“Thank you,” said Peter, perhaps unnecessarily, but old habits die hard.

The lady nodded in response and went back to stirring the pot in the kitchen. The quest was complete.

In the center of his field of vision, Peter received a message declaring as much, along with one noting the EXP points gained.

“Alright, let’s head back to the inn and get some grub and call it a night,” said Mr. Stark, holding the door open for him.

Behind them the lady did not acknowledge them at all, but began carefully ladling the contents of the pot into a cup. Peter wondered if somewhere inside there really was a little NPC girl the lady tended to day in and day out, forever trying to alleviate an illness she was created to suffer through.

As Peter walked through the doorway out into the night, he thought back to Aunt May. Back to when he always seemed to catch whatever bug was going around at the time. She may not be the best cook, but one thing she had down pat was chicken noodle soup. She would stand over a pot in the kitchen just like the NPC had, cooking up a big batch that he could easily heat up through out the day when he felt up to eating. Their finances being what they were, she and Ben could not always get out of work so easily, if at all. They did their best to schedule their work so one could be there with him, but sometimes the overlap just wasn’t quite there. Fortunately, a little old lady all the apartment kids called Nana lived a couple doors down from them and was usually content to be on call for kids who needed it.

He wondered what Aunt May was doing right now. Was she sitting beside his hospital bed, holding his hand, but he couldn’t feel it? Were they literally in the same room with each other, but worlds apart? Would she talk to him like she used to when she thought he was sleeping, hoping against everything that he could somehow hear her? What would she say? They had only just started finding their new normal when this happened…

He looked down at this hands, but all he could feel was the weight of the sword he still held.

Tears came, unbidden and unwanted.

If that bastard was going to lock them in this prison, the least he could have done was not code in visual emotion effects.

“Awww… look at the little boy crying,” mocked one of the players outside the inn as they passed.

“Don’t be an asshole, Derrig. You cried for two days straight when this shit started,” said one of his party members, while slapping the offender on the back of the head.

“You ok, Peter?” asked Mr. Stark quietly. “I would offer to go beat the shit out of that guy, but not sure if its worth a duel.”

“No, don’t do that. I’m alright,” said Peter. “Let’s just get up to the room.”

“You go on up, I’ll order some dinner to be delivered,” said Mr. Stark.

Peter nodded. They pretty much always ate in a room so that Mr. Stark could remove his helmet. Occasionally Peter wished they could eat with the other players, just to visit with someone else for a change. This wasn’t one of those nights.

Once in their room, Peter quickly removed most of his gear, leaving only his breaches and his tunic. The sword he placed on the table.

Apparently the sword was called ‘Anneal Blade.’

Peter fell back into a chair, letting his head roll back, closing his eyes.

In the real world, he would undoubtedly be able to hear every conversation going on in the rooms around them, as well as whatever hubbub was going on in the main room downstairs. But in here there was naught but silence. It had taken him a bit to get used to not hearing literally everything going on around him. He hadn’t realized just how much noise he was used to constantly filtering through in his day to day life until it was completely removed. He had thought he would love not having to deal with his extra sensitive senses, but come to find out it was pretty anxiety inducing to have them taken away, like an extended bout of sensory deprivation.

If only he had never put on that Nervegear. If he had told Ned that maybe they should wait until the next round of production of SAO to get into the game, let them get the bugs worked out.

Except…

The door opened, and in came Mr. Stark and two plates of whatever today’s special was downstairs.

“They were pretty busy down there, so I just brought it up myself. Figured I’d listen in on a pub talk a minute and see if any news has been circulating,” Mr. Stark said, setting down the plates.

“Did you hear anything interesting?” asked Peter.

“Not much. But one group did mention that there were some rumors floating around about a Log-Out point in a forest west of the Town of Beginnings. No one going in has come out alive though, and the Rat has been trying to get word out that the information is false and didn’t come from her,” said Mr. Stark, sitting in the chair opposite.

“Ugh, that sucks,” said Peter. “What’s the point in starting a rumor like that anyway?”

“Some people get their kicks in screwed up ways, kid. It’s as simple as that.”

The lapsed into silence as they ate their meal. But eventually Peter noticed Mr. Stark looking up at him.

“What?” asked Peter.

“Wanna talk about it?”

Peter swallowed and shook his head, “Not much to talk about. Was just thinking about Aunt May.”

Mr. Stark nodded, “I’m not going to say she’s doing fine, because we both know that’s probably a lie. But I will say that she’s a strong woman, and I know as soon as we get out of here she will be right there waiting for you with some awful attempt at baked food and the world’s longest hug.”

Peter gave a laugh as tears began to spring up again.

“You’re definitely right. Thanks, Mr. Stark.”

“Look kid,” said Mr. Stark with a sigh. “I know you enjoy watching me squirm, but I would really appreciate it if you would switch to just ‘Tony.’ For one thing, there’s millions of Tonys in the world, but with the right info out there the name ‘Mr. Stark’ might become a bit suspicious eventually. We’ve just been calling me by my user name outside of our room, and that’s worked out alright, but eventually you might slip. And given my track record on secret identities, we should probably do everything possible to avoid scrutiny as long as possible.”

“Dude, you never had a secret identity. As soon as Iron Man became a thing you outed yourself on live television,” said Peter with a caustic tone.

“Whatever, my point still stands,” said Mr. Stark, waving off Peter’s remark.

“Does it though?”

“Yes, please, please start calling me Tony.”

“It really bugs you, doesn’t it?” asked Peter with a laugh. “Why?”

Honestly, when he asked he had expected Mr. Stark to blow off the question and change the subject. Because in the real world— back before the Decimation— every time they’d had this conversation and he had asked, that was ultimately what Mr. Stark did.

This time however, a tense silence met his question.

“Growing up, Howard was always ‘Mr. Stark.’”

There was a pause, as if he was unsure whether to continue, or how.

“Pretty much everyone on earth calls me ‘Mr. Stark.’ And that’s who they see— billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, wanna-be hero, narcissist, hedonist. That’s by design. It’s what everyone expected from me—being my father’s son— and I rose to the occasion. There’s only a handful of people who have gotten past ‘Mr. Stark’ and made it to ‘Tony.’ At this point, I’d like to think you’re one of them who has.”

Peter sat in quiet shock. Then slowly his heart filled up to the brim with something warm and sad, until he felt he could have burst.

There were a million things he felt, and only a few he could say. But only one he felt needed to be said right then.

“Ok… Tony. But I don’t want to hear you call yourself a wanna-be hero again. Because you are a hero. To everyone… but especially me.”

Tony didn’t reply for a moment, but eventually settled on a nod.

“Alright, deal,” Tony finally said, turning back to his food.

The got a few more bites in before Tony spoke again.

“I’m thinking of skipping on meals for a while. I’m kinda curious how long it takes to actually start feeling hungry in here.”

Peter looked at him confused, “What do you mean? You haven’t been hungry? Like at all?”

Tony blinked at him, “No, you mean you have?”

“Uh, yeah… several times a day usually.”

“Huh… maybe its because of your real world metabolism bleeding through. But no, haven’t felt it at all yet. Seems like a waste of Cor for me to buy meals if I haven’t actually been hungry,” said Tony, finishing up the last bite of his roast. “Not to say that its a wasted experience. They did a pretty remarkable job on this coding. But it would probably be better to save what money we can for now.”

Peter nodded, turning back to his own plate, but could only bring himself to push the food around a little, his stomach suddenly a bit queasy. Perhaps Tony was right, and it was just because of his RL body needs…

He’d talk to a few other players about their experience. Just to be sure.

“So, ‘Anneal Blade,’ huh?” said Tony, looking over the sword still laying on the table. He brought up its specs to analyze.

“Yeah, not exactly sure what the name is about. I mean, I know about the annealing process in biochemistry. I studied it a bit after the spider bite. But not sure how that would really apply to a sword,” said Peter.

“It was originally a process to remove impurities and harden iron for weapons. That’s where scientists originally pulled the term from that they used for the DNA process,” said Tony offhand, still reading through the sword’s numbers and looking it over in his hands. “The sword is as good as the guide implied. It should definitely hold up for you for a good while. Especially once I can start enhancements on it. Looks like we can attempt up to eight.”

“Does that mean we need to put a blacksmith’s forge on the shortlist?” asked Peter.

“Nah, I still have a few levels before we need to worry about that. Still, like I said, it is probably a good idea to start pinching pennies where we can. Jesus, I haven’t had to save money since that time my old man cut me off for a while back in college. This sucks.”

“Welcome to how the other 99.9% live,” said Peter, not an ounce of sympathy in his voice.

Tony shrugged, “Karma is definitely a bitch.”

“This isn’t karma. You’re just a spoiled brat.”

Tony stuck out his tongue, just like the mature adult he was.

Peter laughed, “Exactly. I’m calling it a night. We good to head out in the morning?”

“Yup, heading west from here to grind a bit on some of the higher level forest mobs. We’ll see where we end up after that.”

Peter nodded. Where ever they went and whatever they faced, they would do it together. They’d make it through this.

Even without his spider powers and Tony’s money, they were still Spider-man and Iron Man. Kayaba couldn’t take that away from them.

[dapper-ships-herself]

First kisses aren't always so sweet

I know I said the next thing I was going to write would be one of those two scenarios I posted about, but then this came to me last night and I wrote it in a fury, so that's where we're at.

A Gilahara (Chuuya and ADA! Gillian) piece.

Warning from some description of violence and blood, if that bothers ya.

---------

Dust stuck to Chuuya’s lungs, the jacket sleeve he held to his face doing little to keep it out. Rubble crumbled beneath his shoes, glass crunching with each step.

“Damn.” He cursed. He didn’t know where anyone else was right now, all he knew was that thing and its handlers had sure done a number on this place.

A colossus, summoned and brought to life by that damn Mary Shelley and her cult of freaks. What a mess.

He heard a cough up ahead, and his head snapped in its direction. A figure could just barely be seen through the haze. Instinctively, his body went into a ready stance, poised to launch himself at the potential enemy. It was only as they drew closer that he realized who it was, and he instantly relaxed.

Gillian, with her fluffy, brown hair matted with dirt, and black smudged along her face and clothes, the cloth also ripped in some places. Despite that, despite their surroundings and the obvious hell she’d just been through, when she saw him at the same moment he registered her, she smiled. “Hey Chu-tan, fancy meeting you here.” Her voice sounded hoarse from the dust in the air, but it still sounded like music to him.

“What the hell are you doing here?” His question was rough, but in actuality he was so relieved to see her he felt like he could just run right to her and crush her against himself. His feet stay rooted though, because that relief is mixed in with the absolute terror of realizing she’s here, where that thing is still lurking somewhere.

“Same as you,” She says “I’m trying to fix this.”

He grits his teeth. “No offense, Gillian, but I just watched what it’s capable of; there’s no way you can beat it.” So get away from it.

“I won’t know unless I try. And does that mean you’re gonna stop it? Because you seem to be no better off than I am right now.”

It was true he’d seen better days. His own body was covered practically head to toe in grime, his suit ripped and covered in flecks of blood that had mixed with the dirt to form a gross muck. Still, he stood straight, hopping down from the raised bunch of concrete he’d been on to stride towards her. “What’s your plan, then, huh? How are you going to stop it? Your voice? I doubt even your ability is enough to calm that thing down.”

“Look at what it did to this place; imagine what it’ll do to the city if it’s not taken care of here.”

He stopped mere inches from her, his eyes boring into hers. He saw fear deep within the blue, but it was wrapped in a thick iron determination that didn’t falter even under his hard stare. It wasn’t that he thought she was weak, he knew the strength hidden in her small body, knew the force of nature her voice could be. Thinking about her going against that thing, though; even she… “It’ll crush you.”

“What’s your plan, then? Do you even have one?” She crossed her arms defiantly, her gaze not leaving his once.

His scowl deepened. He had an idea, all right, but it was stupid. He’d been mulling over his options just before she’d shown up. He knew how extreme the situation was, but the consequences just didn’t seem worth it. There was certainly some other way to stop that thing from reaching the city, something that wouldn’t come at such a great cost to himself. That was before he knew she was here. Here, in this place and ready to throw herself in its path if it meant saving even one person. A rumble in the distance reached them.

“My ability,” he started. He saw her expression shift with the change in his voice, confusion blossoming at the flat acceptance it’d taken on, all anger and frustration drained away in a second. He seemed calm. “has another aspect to it. A true form, capable of crushing an opponent in seconds, leaving nothing in my way. All I need to do is let lose all my inhibitions and I will be unstoppable. It’ll be more than enough to stop her Frankenstein.”

“What?” She whispered “If you have something like that, then why…” some realization sparked in her eyes, and they widened slightly. “What does it cost you? Moves like that always cost something. My own scream leaves me emotionless and robotic for hours, what does this true form do to you?”

“It’s called corruption, and that lack of inhibition means that once I activate it I can’t stop it. Corruption will keep fighting even after everything around me is crumbled, and it’ll sap away my strength until it uses me up entirely.”

“No… No, how could you ever use such a dangerous ability if it destroys you? There’s no way- Dazai. You and him used to be partners, didn’t you? His ability would stop yours before it could do permanent damage.”

“That’s right.” He nodded watching her work it out.

“But he’s miles from here! He’s back in the city, we have no way to even contact him if there was a way he could get here in time!” the fear buried in her eyes was starting to leak out, as she realized what Chuuya had already decided. “You can’t.” Her whispered voice broke, and then the panic made it rise again. “If you do that then you’ll-“

His hand came up to grip the back of her head, pulling her towards him at the same time he surged forward. He kissed her, deep and rushed, pouring more words than he could ever say into the action. The open palm of his other hand rested on her back, helping to push her body further into his. He wanted to feel as much of her as he could while he had the chance. He was acutely aware of her own hands wrapping around him to grab at his shoulders, and of the tears he could taste mixing with the flavor of her lips. Who did they belong to?

He made himself pull back, and only allowed himself a moment to rest his forehead against hers, before pulling away. His coat whipped up around him as he turned his back and walked quickly away from her.

“Chu-tan. Chu-tan, wait!” She called behind him. He refused to look, even as he heard her footsteps trying to catch up.

His ability activated around him, and with a single leap he was far above the ground, heading in the direction of the noise the thing made.

“Chuuya!” She screamed, raw and loud. It still sounded like sweet music to him, as it faded into the distance.

------

The earth was shattered beneath him. Cracked and splattered with gore. Pieces of that thing littered the ground, its blood mingling with that of the people who’d controlled it.

He loved it.

Manic giggles peeled from his throat. With each wild swing of his arms, more balls of dark energy flew from his palms and tore apart his surroundings.

This was bliss. Pure carnage, unobstructed chaos, ruin beneath his feet. He threw his head back and full on cackled. Blood flew from his lips into the air.

---

Her feet pounded against the ground, desperate pants sounding from her as she ran.

---

A spray of dust flew into his face. Not that it mattered. Stone cracked and blew away at his touch, and he laughed at it, his wide eyes not really seeing it. All he cared about was destruction, all he saw was red.

---

She stumbled, and her palm was sliced by a sharp chunk of rock. She payed it no attention, not stopping in her race.

---

He threw another black ball, stumbling forward from the momentum, nearly falling over before catching himself. His arms hung limp before him. His laughter didn’t stop, but it was heavy now.

---

She could hear the rumbling so close now, a random crashing that shook the ground and made her steps unsteady.

---

Blood trickled from his eyes like crimson tears. It came from his nose, from his mouth, from his ears, turning his face into a red mess.

---

She could see him. He stood hunched over in the midst of his wreckage, rippling with energy and a crazed look in his eyes. Angry red and black lines covered his skin like great wounds cracking him apart.

Gillian pushed forward, skidding over scattered rock, jumping over the deep fissures marring the ground. He was still so far away.

She couldn’t help it; his name flew from her lips in a desperate cry. “Chuuya!”

His head swiveled to face her. His smile twitched for a moment, before spreading even wider than before. Finally, something new and whole he could break.

He was in front of her in a blur, his bare hands snatching her by the neck in the same second and lifting her from the ground. She gave a strangled cry as her windpipe was crushed.

“Ch-Chuu-ya…” She forced out. He squeezed harder.

She strained to look down at him, into his crazed eyes that watched her struggle with glee. His fingers dug into her throat, bruising the skin.

Still though, still her eyes softened from fear to utter gentleness. “Chu…-tan. I know… you’re still there.”

Her shaking hand came up to rest against his pale cheek. She reached deep within herself, grabbing hold of every bit of power she could muster in that state, and poured it all into her command. “Come back, Chu-tan, please.”

He shuddered, the silvery purple aura coming from Gillian washing over his body. His grip loosened slightly, and her breathing became easier. With more breath, her voice became stronger, and she spoke again. Her voice echoing and ethereal, ringing through the open space.

“I know you can do it, Chu-tan. You are not lost to this power. Do you hear me? Turn off corruption, come back.” Her soothing voice flooded him, clashing against the chaos within him, mixing and roiling. The darkness raged, rearing and spitting and clawing, but the light just embraced it. The marks on his skin started to flake off and drift away in wisps of smoke. He stumbled forward, her feet thumping back to the floor, his grip on her neck a weak squeeze. Her other hand cupped his face as well, her thumbs wiping away the new clear tears cutting a path through the blood.

“Come back to me.” She said. With the grip on her throat gone, her power ripped through the sourness she could feel and made her voice come out strong and sure.

His legs buckled, and he fell forward, taking both of them to the ground. The marks of corruption faded and flew away, his eyes losing their wild energy and falling closed as the exhaustion immediately lulled him to sleep before he’d even finished falling.

Gillian landed on her butt, and caught Chuuya against herself, his head resting against her chest. She gasped for breath, her mouth tasted of iron and her throat was raw and pained from a combination of being choked and forcing so much power out like that. The will of corruption was strong, she could feel the mindless chaos fighting back against her, but there was no way she was going to have submitted to it. Not when it was threatening to take Chuuya.

She looked down at the dirty mop of hair she could see and closed her eyes in relief, a few tears squeezing out. She wrapped her arms around his slumbering form and buried her face against his hair, not caring that he smelled like grime and ruin. “It’s alright now, Chu-tan. We’re both alright.” Despite everything, despite the pain she was in, she smiled, warm and real.

[thelittlesttimelord]

The Littlest Timelord: Cracks in Time Chapter 8

TITLE: The Littlest Timelord: Cracks in Time Chapter 8 PAIRING: No Pairing RATING: T CHAPTER: 8/? SUMMARY: A little girl escapes the Time War when the Timelord’s return in “End of Time Part 2″. The newly regenerated Doctor must now raise the little girl while trying to find out why cracks in time keep following them around.

[A/N - I had a hard deciding where to cut this chapter off.]

The Doctor and Elise landed on something squishy and nasty smelling. Amy landed next to them as the Doctor pulled out his sonic screwdriver.

Elise did the same and pressed the button. It made a buzzing noise just like the Doctor’s only the tip of his was green and hers was yellow.

The Doctor smiled seeing the tiny Timelord copy him. “High speed air cannon. Lousy way to travel”, he told Amy.

“Where are we?”

“Six hundred feet down, twenty miles laterally, puts us at the heart of the ship. I'd say Lancashire. What's this then, a cave? Can't be a cave. Looks like a cave”.

Amy flung some of the stuff at the Doctor. “It's a rubbish dump, and it's minging!”

“Yes, but only food refuse. Organic, coming through feeder tubes from all over the ship”.

“The floor's all squidgy, like a water bed”.

Elise noticed it too and bounced lightly.

“But feeding what, though?” the Doctor asked.

“It's sort of rubbery, feel it. Wet and slimy”, Amy told him.

There was a growl or a groan and the Doctor and Elise realized where they were.

Elise tugged on the Doctor’s jacket and pointed at her tongue.

“Right you are, Elise. Amy, it's not a floor, it's a… So…” the Doctor said.

“It's a what?” Amy asked.

“The next word is kind of a scary word. You probably want to take a moment, get yourself in a calm place. Go omm”.

“Omm…”

“It's a tongue”.

“A tongue?”

“A tongue. A great big tongue”.

“This is a mouth. This whole place is a mouth? We're in a mouth?”

“Yes, yes, yes. But on the plus side, roomy”.

“How do we get out?”

The Doctor started scanning with his screwdriver. “How big is this beastie? It's gorgeous. Blimey, if this is just the mouth, I'd love to see the stomach”.

The creature grumbled.

“Though not right now”, the Doctor added.

“Doctor, how do we get out?” Amy asked him.

“Okay, it's being fed through surgically implanted feeder tubes, so the normal entrance is…closed for business”.

Behind them was a wall of large teeth.

“We could try, though”, Amy said.

“No, stop, don't move”, he told her as the floor started vibrating, “Too late. It's started”.

“What has?”

“Swallow reflex”. The Doctor pointed his sonic screwdriver at the mouth.

“What are you doing?” Amy asked him.

“I'm vibrating the chemo-receptors”.

“Chemo-what?”

“The eject button”.

“How does a mouth have an eject button?”

“Think about it!”

Elise’s eyes went wide as she noticed a wave of vomit coming towards them.

The Doctor grabbed her and held her close to his chest. “Right, then. This isn't going to be big on dignity. Geronimo!”

Amy screamed as it got closer to them.

They eventually landed in an overflow pipe.

Elise coughed as the Doctor set her down. She wobbled on her feet, the smell making her feel a bit dizzy.

He reached out and grabbed her to keep her from falling over. “Woah, easy there”.

Amy sat up next to her.

“There's nothing broken, there's no sign of concussion and yes, you are covered in sick”, the Doctor told her.

“Where are we?”

The Doctor started to sonic the controls next to the door. “Overspill pipe, at a guess”.

“Oh, God, it stinks”.

“Oh, that's not the pipe”.

“Oh”.

Amy took a moment to sniff her nightie. “Phew. Can we get out?”

“One door, one door switch, one condition. We forget everything we saw. Look familiar?”

A Forget button lit up.

“That's the carrot. Ooo, here's the stick”.

Two Smiler booths lit up.

“There's a creature living in the heart of this ship. What's it doing there?” the Doctor asked.

The Smilers’ heads turned. They now had frowns on their faces.

“No, that's not going to work on me, so come on. Big old beast below decks, and everyone who protests gets shoved down its throat. That how it works?”

The heads turned again with scowls on their faces this time.

Elise grabbed the Doctor’s hand in fear. She did not like those machines.

“Oh, stop it”, the Doctor told them, “I'm not leaving and I'm not forgetting, and what are you fellows going to do about it? Stick out your tongues, huh?”

The booths opened up and the Smilers stepped out.

“Doctor?” Amy asked.

Liz 10 appeared behind them and shot the Smilers.

“Look who it is. You look a lot better without your mask”, the Doctor told her.

“You must be Amy. Liz. Liz 10”.

Amy shook her hand. “Hi”.

“Yuck. Lovely hair, Amy. Shame about the sick”.

The little girl Mandy entered the tunnel.

“You know Mandy, yeah? She's very brave”, Liz told them.

“How did you find us?” the Doctor asked her.

“Stuck my gizmo on you”. She tossed the Doctor a tracking device. “Been listening in. Nice moves on the hurl escape. So, what's the big fella doing here?”

“You're over sixteen, you've voted. Whatever this is, you've chosen to forget about it”.

“No. Never forgot, never voted, not technically a British subject”.

“Then who and what are you, and how do you know me?”

“You're a bit hard to miss, love. Mysterious stranger, M O consistent with higher alien intelligence, hair of an idiot”.

The Doctor tried to run a hand through his hair, forgetting that it was sticking to his scalp because of the sick. Elise patted his hand, telling him in her own way that she liked his hair.

“I've been brought up on the stories. My whole family was”, Liz told him.

“Your family?”

The Smilers started to move.

“They're repairing. Doesn't take them long. Let's move”. Liz led them through a basement as she explained how she knew the Doctor. “The Doctor. Old drinking buddy of Henry Twelve. Tea and scones with Liz Two. Vicky was a bit on the fence about you, weren't she? Knighted and exiled you on the same day. And so much for the Virgin Queen, you bad, bad boy”.

The Doctor looked down at Elise, who was oblivious to what Liz 10 was insinuating. “Liz Ten…”

“Liz Ten, yeah. Elizabeth the Tenth. And down!” She turned around and gave them just enough time to duck before she shot the Smilers again. “I'm the bloody Queen, mate. Basically, I rule”.

They entered a corridor and the Doctor stopped to observe the tentacles banging on the bars.

“There's a high-speed Vator through there. Oh, yeah. There's these things. Any ideas?” Liz 10 asked.

“Doctor, I saw one of these up top. There was a hole in the road, like it had burst through like a root”, Amy told him.

“Exactly like a root. It's all one creature, the same one we were inside, reaching out. It must be growing through the mechanisms of the entire ship”.

“What, like an infestation? Someone's helping it. Feeding it. Feeding my subjects to it. Come on. Got to keep moving”, Liz 10 said walking off.

Mandy followed after her, leaving the Doctor, Elise, and Amy.

Elise’s eyes filled with tears as she watched the tentacles. She reached out to touch them, but her arm was too short. Did they know what they were doing to the poor creature? Why couldn’t they hear it?

“Doctor? Elise?” Amy asked.

“Oh, Amy. We should never have come here”. The Doctor gently pulled Elise away from the bars. “Come along, Elise”.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

They followed Liz 10 to her state rooms, where they cleaned up.

There were glasses of water all over her floor.

“Why all the glasses?” the Doctor asked her.

“To remind me every single day that my government is up to something, and it's my duty to find out what”.

The Doctor picked up her mask. “A queen going undercover to investigate her own kingdom?”

“Secrets are being kept from me. I don't have a choice. Ten years I've been at this. My entire reign. And you've achieved more in one afternoon”.

“How old were you when you came to the throne?”

“Forty. Why?”

“What, you're fifty now?” Amy asked, “No way”.

“Yeah, they slowed my body clock. Keeps me looking like the stamps”, Liz 10 explained.

“And you always wear this in public?” the Doctor asked.

“Undercover's not easy when you're me. The autographs, the bunting”. “Air-balanced porcelain. Stays on by itself, because it's perfectly sculpted to your face”.

“Yeah? So what?”

“Oh, Liz. So everything”.

The door opened and a man entered, along with a group of people in black robes.

“What are you doing? How dare you come in here!” Liz 10 told them.

“Ma'am, you have expressed interest in the interior workings of Starship UK. You will come with us now”, the leader said.

“Why would I do that?”

The man’s head turned as he became a Scowler.

Elise jumped back and hid behind the Doctor.

“How can they be Smilers?” Amy asked.

“Half Smiler, half human”, the Doctor explained.

“Whatever you creatures are, I am still your queen. On whose authority is this done?” Liz 10 asked them.

“The highest authority, Ma'am”, the man said.

“I am the highest authority”.

“Yes, ma'am. You must go now, Ma'am”.

“Where?”

“The Tower, Ma'am”.

[mrsmess]

Faves and fails of SPN (season 12):

Favorite episodes in chronological order:

12:3 The Foundry - Mylings! Nuff said. And I knew it as soon as I heard the baby cry. And that makes me feel good about me.

12:4 American Nightmare - Stigmata. Dean dressed as a priest getting stuck looking at a boy lighting a candle in the church. Mr Mess: ”Dean! Time and place!” Sam wasting his sensemaking on a relentlessly angry Dean as usual, but then laying the hard truth on the crazy lady - is it hot in here?

12:5 The One You’ve Been Waiting For - Nazi dirtbags! Referencing one of the great episodes of season 8 too. Good. Good. And Allison Paige is friggin’ beautiful! Nauhaus is such a spoofy villain I think this is a comedy. ”Do you know what it’s like to have en nazi necromancer as a father?” ”He had a guy named Fritz try to kill me!” GOLD.

12:6 Celebrating the life of Asa Fox - badass-intro. And Jody. Hunter community! Canadian hunter community! Here for it. Bucky, or as I like to call him: demon nr 5 from early season.... single digits.

12:7 Rock never dies - Loving this glam-metal thing. Crowley in LA. And omg! Cass being snarky with Dean of all people. ”Atleast I don’t look like a lumberjack.” I laughed. And Mr Mess pointed out that Cass is tired, that that’s why he snapped, and it dawned on me that Cass is *choosing* to be kind under normal circumstances. My heart! ”I work for sexists, rasists, even politicians.” Lol. Loving the group dynamic of the four. But I’m a bit disappointed that Lucifer can’t chill, he could have had so much fun.

12:11 Regarding Dean - A goofy Dean episode. That’s rarely bad news. I like Rowena in this, she’s rly growing on me.

12:15 Somewhere between heaven and hell - Honesty’s the best policy, signed, Dean. Hear, hear! ”So, ten years ago did you rly want something? Like, a Hello Kitty backpack or the death of an enemy?” Lol! Dean and Crowley and Lucifer breaking free! Dean is a hoot this episode. Sam, killing the hellhound like a pro, and thanking Crowley. And Crowley kicking Lucifer’s ass. That’s the stuff. And Sam being honest with Dean and Dean being all reasonable about it! Loving it!

12:16 Ladies drink free - Claire! Nuff said. Loving everyone this episode, except Mick of course, but my homicidal thoughts at the sight of his beard have lessened. ”The experiment was on mice.” Werewolf-mice! XD

12:17 The british invasion - Eileen! God this show needs more women, the brothers are so much better dealing w them, which I guess is a problem on its own. ”Make your voice a mail.” Oh Cass. Eileen and Sam! My heart! Am I shipping this? God I hope not, it’ll mean instant death. God, Mick is an idiot, I mean, I’m obv digging his change of heart, but apparently he hasn’t learned a thing in the entire life he’s worked for his fucky organization.

12:18 The memory remains - Goodness. Loving this intro. Taxidermist sheriff. Man, sometimes I feel these quirky characters are wasted on the just-passing-through format. ”Hunting people! Killing them! The family business!” Lol.

Fail episodes in chronological order:

12:1 Keep Calm and Carry on - ”You’re bad at your job.” Sure, she has a point, but as generous as this british chick’s offer is, her pitch is somewhat lacking. A torture montage is the quickest way to wind up on the fail list. Also ”break his mind”? That’s what it’s like inside Sam’s head *all* the time.

12:2 Mamma Mia - A sexscene featuring Dean Forrester is the second quickest way to wind up on the fail list. You say his name is Sam Winchester? Nah. Nope. Not buying it. Listen, I know I talk a tall game about being a big Sam-fan, I just don’t ship him with a.n.y.o.n.e. So what the sexscene isn’t real!? I still had to see it with my own orbs of sight. ”Your job was to find american hunters and gain their trust.” I’m howling! Maybe *you’re* rly bad at your job, lady!

12:10 Lily Sunder has some regrets - uhm... using demon number 5 to play other randos throughout a 15 season show I’ll forgive them for but you can’t use the same distinct actor (Ian Tracey) to play two distinctly different characters (Lee/Ishim) and not acknowledge it, especially when they could easily explain it as Lee’s body being possessed by Ishim. It ruins the whole episode for me. Also, I’m rooting for the ”bad” guy.

12:14 The raid - The british men of letters are the worst, they are worthless recruiting agents, salesmen and got crappy intel; where the Winchesters go the rest of the american hunters will follow? Pretty sure the opposite is true: ”Oh shit, the Winchesters are joining ’em? Better stay as far away from that shit as possible!” Also Mary’s being more than a little silly and I’m surprised Sam didn’t give her some speech about how he used to aim for big things like killing the devil, closing the gates of hell, before learning to settle for more realistic goals, like, staying alive, keepin your brother alive, savoring the occasional win, y’know, for the sake of your mental health. Anyhoo; Sam’s reaction on finding out Mary gave the Colt to the british men of letters might have been enough put it on the fave list but there are just so many icky characters and so many shots of Mick’s ugly beard I can’t let it slide. Plus Sam winds up joining these assholes. Boooohhhh!

12:20 Twigs & twine & Tasha Banes - Jeez. Petition to have Dean always justify his icky feelings about something w the Star Wars classic ”i got a bad feeling about this.” It would save time and my sanity. Also I have issues w Mary not being reasonable and understanding the basics about the life she and the boys are leading - you’re in or out, but there’s no finishing it w/o finishing yourself. Is this season’s big bad trying to annoy me to death? And the other hunters? What is it with this show and any other fun or awesome characters? Sorry, can’t keep ’em on, it’s a density-thing.

12:21 There’s something about Mary - Booohh! First Eileen, my bae (did I call it or did I call it?) and then the entire episode is full of The Big Annoying. First episode I didn’t bother finishing. Screw this season.

12:23 All along the watchtower - honestly I don’t get the constant jokes about IKEAs manuals, they’re all pictures, you don’t even need to be able to read to read them. Crowley <3 Plz spare me this show’s take on child birth, really just any show, (how is it possible that it’s so frickin’ hard to get right??), but especially this show’s. And Crowley. And Cass. And Mary. Such an intense bummer.

Honorable mentions:

Crowley blowing up Rowena’s scammer! And Rowena’s reaction! ”That is the sweetest thing you’ve ever done for me!” Covered in blood. Priceless.

Cass and his sass is on this season. He’s so done w everyone. The exasperation!

The hug at the end of 12:22.

Dishonorable mentions:

Dean and Sam making a deal to get out of jail, kinda unepic w a predictable outcome.

Mediocre mentions:

The entire episode Stuck in the middle (with you) - It’s a Reservoir Dogs reference right? And it works very well until you realize that, then you just start missing Tarantino’s poignant dialogue about tipping (not fucking!) your waitress. The return of the yelloweyed bloodline. Bound to happen with Mary back. Don’t care about that but I do care about Crowley being back and being awesome. The Dukes of Haphazard. That’s good, I’ve just been referring to them as the Two Stooges.

The episode Who we are - There are separate aspects of this I like: Dean and Sam blasting their way out of the bunker, Jody and Alex, Dean dreamwalking Mary back home. Ackles is a genius with this sort of thing. But it’s just so silly: The british men of letters are just so unepic, it ruins everything, wraps it in a mediocre blanket: They’re bad at their job, have inexplicable motivations, are such annoying stereotypes the only way this would be a win would’ve been if Sam’s speech went something along the lines of ”I’ve had this fly buzzin’ around my ear all year, I could use your help squashing it.” But at least, then they do.

Summing up:

I’m rly enjoying the warped relationships early in the season. Crowley and Cass. Rowena and Lucifer, Rowena and Crowley. Sam, Dean and Mary. But my usual creed about the gooey middles of seasons doesn’t hold true this time and I rly feel like it gets good only when it’s almost over. And honestly on whole the season is the worst so far. The british men of letters are so annoying and they’re everywhere, tainting everything. Ugh.