#let him be the limp noodle he was born to be

[ohyou-pretty-things]

weeping about this!!

*SLAMS FIST ON TABLE* ow

[kikkieabby]

The Saints: As We Rise from the Ashes, Part 2

“Honey…you okay?” Lenard ask his wife, but the Boss ignores his voice as she searches for the keys to their vehicle. After last night, Lenard was on high alert when it came to his wife, however, he did not realize that he should let go now rather than later.

“Leave me the absolute fuck alone.” She growled at him as she continues to search for the keys.

“Your not going to find the keys.” He spoke, causing her to stop in her tracks and look at him.

“Give them to me.” She growled, but the man stood up tall to her. Walking over he stared her down before saying:

“Listening, I don’t know what’s gotten into you. Nor do I know when you started taking kick-boxing class. But, stop! Don’t mess with the Morning Star.” Lenard begged, but the Boss did not budge.

“Muther-fucka, I will fuck with who ever I want to fuck with. You limp dick noodle! Now give me the keys, I gotta go find my gang.” The boss demanded, her words just caused more confusion to the man.

“Gang!?” He shouted. “You wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“Yea, that’s about to change.” She chuckle. “Oh, whats my name again?”

“Grace?” He spoke, causing the boss to nod her head.

“I am grace, roger that!” The boss growled at her name. Her actually name was Scarlet where she had  come from, but for her own sake she decided to take the name Grace for own well being, well until she figured out what was going on.

“What ever, see ya Lenard.” She tells the large gutted man before walking over towards the front door of her house. Only to be stopped when the door swung open to reveal two familiar Faces, faces she never thought she would EVER SEE!

“Mom? Dad?” She asked as her parents proceeded into her home. Her father was dressed in his Sunday best while her mother seemed to still be wearing her uniform from a restaurant. It was a haunting view for her, especially since her father was kind of a religious jerk.

“Grace.” He spoke, causing the dark skin woman to look over her shoulder for a second before looking back at him.

“Sup.” She spoke.

“Honey, what has gotten into you?” He spoke as he walks over to her. Placing a hand on her shoulder, he pushes her towards her dinning table where she takes a seat. Her mother sits next to her while her husband sat across from her.

“Lenard told us what happened last night,” Her mother started. “My sweet, are you okay?”

“Uh…” Grace moaned as she looked to the side yet again to avoid eye contact, especially with her mother.

A little history about our Boss. She was born and raised in a very heavy church life, that only got worse when her mother had passed away. See, like this time line, her father was a priest in Grace original world. And he was an awful father, thank god she had her mother to mellow him out a bit. However, her mother would pass away due to cancer when Grace was 13, leaving her to become the woman of the house while also leading by the churches example. Long story short, it did not last for her, she eventually would run away and then found her way to the Saints. So by the view of the world, it would seem that this is the route she would have taken in life, if her mother was still around, as well as no zombie apocalypse.

“You seem lost.” Her father spoke. “Are you on drugs.”

“I wish.” Grace chuckled. “A bowl would be great right about now…with lemon shots, and dick on the side.”

“Oh my god!” Her mother shouted in shock, she had never heard that type of language come out of her daughter. Just the vulgar word of a males genitallia made her mother clench her pearls. Grace on the other hand did not care, for she didn’t know these people. Her mother had died years ago, and her father had made a new family and forgotten about her. So to her, these people were nothing.

“Grace!” Her father shouted, however Grace was done with this entire talk. Standing up, she heads straight for the door again, ignoring her father and husbands protest for her to stay. However, she didn’t care! Walking out of the house, she begins to walk down the street and think of a way to find her gang. Now in this new world, there was tons of opportunity for the Saints to rise again, the problem, she didn’t know where to start. Even when she was thrown into a situation like this after waking up from her coma, the Saints were still known and popular enough for people to want to join. But now, they were a distant memory, and she needed to fix that immediately. And she knew just how to do it too!

Running into the street to stop a man straight in his tracks, she hijacked his car! After throwing him out of it of course, and then drove straight to the local news station. If she was going to find her friends, this was the only way she was gonna do it. Marching straight into the studio, she smiles ear to ear to see that they were live and talking on the television. Running up to the camera, she looks at the lens, causing everyone around her to panic since they didn’t even notice her enter the room.

“Hey, yea! Hi! Listen, I am only humiliating myself once in the hopes that ONE OF YOU FINDS ME!” The boss started as she stares into the camera lens. “Listen, go to kinzie’s warehouse! And there were gonna regroup. And don’t fuck with me! Drop everything and go there right fucking now! Bye!”

The boss shouted before leaving the studio with a smile on her face. Heading down stairs, she gets into her car and drives to Kinzie’s warehouse, and to her surprise, the place was unoccupied! So she waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

But no one came.  

No one came to the warehouse, leaving Grace in a rut. It was starting to dawn on her that perhaps the saints might truly be gone forever. This was her new life now, and what she had before was gone. Her heart started to sink a bit, she had done things that no man has ever done before, and now she was a normal person. The sheer thought of it made her sick to her stomach, but it was feeling she felt that she would have to get use too..until…

“Scarlet?” A voice spoke, causing her to look to the side to see a tall, dark-haired male standing by the doorway. He wore a black suit with a neon blue tie, but she knew his voice immediately.

“Matt?” She spoke. In shock at the sight before him, it looked like Matt but older with no makeup. However, it did not matter, her surprise was enough to run over to him and plant kisses on his lips. He wraps his arms around her waist and begins to kiss her back while also enjoying her warmth.

“You look different.” He chuckles, this causes her to stick out her tongue at him. “I think its cute.”

“Yea, well don’t get use to it. I need to change my look soon.” She says. “So, you saw my message.”

“Yea, of your beating the crap of the two morning star guards.” He says, much to her dismay.

“Shit…” She muttered under her breathe. Walking around the empty warehouse, she begins to feel that sinking feeling of doubt as she looks around.

“I thought you be happy to see me?” Matt spoke, this makes her snap out of her bad mood for the moment.

“No, I am glad that you are here. Its just…the saints are gone.” She tells him. “My friends…”

“Our friends.” Matt corrected her, causing her to nod her head.

“Yea.” She said before looking back at him. “Wait a minute, what’s your name here?”

“Charlie Watson.” Matt chuckled at the ridiculous of his new name, but one he didn’t seem to mind. “Unlike the original me, I was sent to a different orphanage that catered to my hacking abilities. Ironically, I still ended up working with Philip, the Deckers don’t exist though. They're called the Idols in this world (yes, those guys from the reboot), and personally, they are the worst!”

“Why are you older?” She asked, causing him to shrug his shoulders.

“I don’t know honestly, but being 23 is nice.” He tells her with a chuckle. “And I got to say, you have a very nice body in this world.”

“Awww, the same could be said for you buddy.” She chuckles as her cheeks begin to turn a deep red. “My King.”

“My queen.” Matt chuckled before leaning down to give her another kiss, only for a piece of plastic to be thrown over his head. Bouncing off the skin to land right next to his feet. Looking behind him, the two gasp when they saw a familiar red haired woman entering the building.

“KINZIE!!” The boss shouted, running over to hug her. Only for the red-haired woman to raise her hand to her and growl.

“The amount of work I am about to do, does not even come close to the bullshit you put on TV!” Kinzie yelled at her. “We were coming to get you, why the fuck did you go on TV!?”

“We?” The boss questioned.

“Oh, yes, Kinzie works with me.” Matt explained. “In this timeline, she works for the Dwynter sisters as their head accountant.”

“So you both work with one another!?” The boss shouted. “How the fuck was I suppose to know?!”

“You weren’t, which is why I said we should find her immediately before she does something stupid, right Kinzieton?” Matt said, causing the redhead to let out a gag sound before saying:

“You wanted to fuck her Matt, you were not searching for her out of fear!” She growled. “Plus, incase you forgotten, there is a large wrestle that is always keeping an eye on us! Its not easy to move around.”

“Oh definitely not. I swear, Kilbane got bigger in this timeline.” Matt muttered. “ I think even Philip is scared of him.”

“Really?” The boss asked.

“It doesn’t matter now. Once’s he’s dead we’ll deal with Philip later.” Kinzie explained as she takes a seat on the edge of the loading dock. She then pulls out her laptop and begins to type away at her computer. Matt was about to say something, but the boss had cut him off when she pressed her lips to his once again. Only this time, her tongue slithered into his mouth. Causing him to moan a bit before they separated.

“Oh shit, I’m married in this timeline.” The boss spoke, causing Matt to stare at her in shock.

“Married!” He shouted.

“Right, I married a fucking bus driver?” She growled. “Ugh, and we live in a small house that’s dirty and shit and I am nurse! It sucks! Ugh, I need the saints!”

“That’s not all you seem to need.” Kinzie chuckled as she points to Grace’s fat thighs.

“Listen, when we get the gang together and start making money. All of this will be fixed in no time.” Grace says before looking over to Matt. “You however can stay just how you are.”

“Oh, you naughty Vixen, you!” Matt chuckled before laying a kiss on her lips. Causing Grace to moan but Kinzie to gag.

[aggressively-crying]

Wasp is going up against IDW Whirl! Not Cyberverse. BIG BIG difference. Your argument is confusing because half way I thew it I thought you where saying Wasp had something worse then being dismantled. I waited for you to say what Wasp had done to him that is worse then Whirl getting dismantled, having the government chop his hands off because they didn't like him going against his function, suffering depression because everyone is trying to kill him.

Sooooo..... what did Wasp have done to him???? because you did a dang good job about convincing me that Whirl is the superior poor mew mew because he gets blown up, dismantled, and everyone just generally hates Whirl.

1. I realized after posting that they specified idw rather than whirl in general. My reblog has since been edited, my apologies for misleading.

2. I think you're taking this a mite bit too seriously. The point of the contest is not about who has endured greater pain, but who is more pathetic about it. A waterlogged cat is not necessarily going through torture or even pain, but they just look so fucking pathetic about it that you can't help but feel your heart bleed for them.

Whirl, from what I have seen, is less of a sad, pathetic little creature and more like a cool uncle that's been to jail 6 times and desperately needs therapy. While has been through a lot, the difference is how he carries the suffering. Like. Being depressed and having no friends does not make one pathetic. Whirl is suffering, yes, and needs help, but he doesn't carry himself like a sad little limp pasta noodle and his tolerance for misery seems much higher than wasp's. He's more like a pissed off, wounded wolf in that he retains being a badass despite how much pain he is very clearly in and how much help he clearly needs. He gives off vibes of anger and suffering, not weakness and general malcontent.

Waspinator acts like he'd cry if he closed a door a little too loud. He's the kinda guy that would say "aheem heem whimper" out loud. The entire basis of his character is having cartoonishly shitty luck. "I was born with glass bones and paper skin. Every morning I break my legs, and every afternoon I break my arms. At night, I like awake until my heart attacks put me to sleep" tier misery. The universe itself hates him. Every single episode he's in has him get scrapped in some fashion. He's like if the eagle got creative with tearing out Prometheus's liver every day. He is well aware of how hard he in particular is the target of constant injury and pain and he laments it at every opportunity. And on the somewhat heavier side, wasp has no friends either. Hes in the middle of a war on an unfamiliar planet with the most cartoonishly evil and despotic incarnation of Megatron Hasbro has cranked out. He gets sent out alone into battle to die by a boss who does not give a shit about him so many times but primus won't let him die <3 All he can do is mistakenly put his trust into teammates that are perfectly willing to use him as a meat shield. The only two people that were ever kind of nice to him comparatively got melted alive in a pit of lava and slowly replaced with increasingly murderous, sadistic freaks that were equally increasingly willing to tear him apart for fun. He is a sad, wet little freak of a man who has been possessed, shot, crushed, cubed, betrayed, brain damaged, electrocuted, thrown through a wall, screamed at, kicked in the dick, shredded, blown up, dismembered, flattened, decapitated, beaten, burned, buried and more, and each and every time, he has to drag himself back to the repair chamber with whatever limbs are still attached to him (if any) knowing fully well he'll have to do it all again tomorrow and nobody will care enough to ask if he's okay. Waspinator gets so few wins he actively keeps count of the shots he actually lands.

To top it off, wasp actually gets the exact same treatment as whirl in terms of nonconsensual frame adjustments. After flying back to Cybertron from Earth with nothing but his weak lil bug wings (which took millions of years), the second he got back, Megatron ripped his spark out of his shell and used it to power a new mech altogether, which wasp has no say in. He was fully conscious in the new con he was powering, but had zero influence on his actions.

Like. Wasp was fucked from day one and fucked til the end and he bumbled his way through life for the whole series. He went through none of this with a trace of grit nor grace. Waspinator is the definition of cringefail. He's a funny little guy that got fucked over repeatedly because his misery amuses the masses. He's like a plushie you pour milk on and throw at the wall as hard as you possibly can. He's the universe's stress all. Just a sad, sad little gremlin who is somehow still standing and considers that a curse.

[livingwithhorrors]

Hello, I hope you are doing well with everything!

I just wanted to say I recently read your fanfic (Welcome back Bobby) and it's one of, or my favorite fanfictions I have read! You write each character well and detailed, I do love Linda a lot. I love your take on Robert and Pennywise, I took their 'relationship' as a version of Venom and Eddie from the 2018 movie. You are a great writer, it's like I was watching a tv show and in some parts I was nervous for the outcome like I was in the situation myself.

If you need a break, take it you deserve it! I wish you everything well with your life and everything else, have a wonderful day/night!

<3

Thank you so much Anon it means a lot.

I do plan to finish and possibly make a sequel.

But sadly at the moment I needed to take a step away that’s been keeping me from finishing the story for a long time.

The reason being around the start of Covid my dog, that was gifted to me by my late grandfather (who passed in 2019) and I had raised since a puppy (born 2016) began to suffer from seizures.

He’d be fine and then suddenly he would be shaking.

We began trying to find the proper meds and dosages and it would never be right.

It began to look worse and be longer and several more times in an amount of days.

Then finally we thought we’d found the right dosage. He went for 3 months without a seizure.

Then in December he suffered another suddenly and continued to have them the following days.

Sadly the last round he suffered were constant and he could no longer fight his way out of them.

He had only turned 6 when my family had to say goodbye.

It’s been a hard following months as he was not only an amazing dog, he was also a very sweet loving boy. He gave hugs and kisses when I needed them most.

Though I’m still processing it, I’ve been busy as well as exactly a month after his passing we ended up adopting a rescue.

It had not been planned and happened suddenly. We also have a Cat and another Dog that I’ve looked after since we adopted each.

Our other dog I had hoped to get a new friend as he was best buds with our late dog, but had dent thought it would be so soon.

But it’s been a wonderful thing for him and I think even the cat enjoys having her.

She was a rescues from something similar to a puppy mill and was not used to humans or being a normal dog.

She’s been slowly getting past her fears and coming out of her shell thanks to working with her and our other dog.

She looks just like my late boy just a bit smaller. She’s a part of a different breed then he was as well. He was a mini Goldendoodle and her papers say she’s a mini Labradoodle.

I plan to try and write more hopefully after I’m sure she comfortable and acclimated to her new home.

She’s no longer skidding, but still isn’t sure how to communicate with us when she just wants to run, when she has to potty and how to react to being held and loved.

She loves to zoom, but if she doesn’t want to go in yet she’ll cower and crawl. She would a similar action when we met and got her but she was afraid and would pee and submit. Thankfully she no longer pees when doing this, but kind reassuring words are needed to sooth her into knowing we’re not upset if she wants to keep playing.

She’s gotten better with potty as well. At first she’s pee just being approached or even excited. Thankfully no longer, but she has a few accidents when she doesn’t know how to get our attention. That thankfully is improving as she has begun to understand the bells on the door that we ring going in and out and say potty. She now will hit those, though sometimes too lightly. She’ll stand by the door and stare out and at us. She’ll even bark at us if she’s not in a play mood to let us know. So far it’s been days since the last accident.

She’s starting to understand commands as well. Though the the holding and loving is still an on going thing.

I pick her up and give her affection and she used to be a limp noodle with a dead stare, but thankfully she’s starting to understand that it affection.

She’ll still be limp and look dazed, but she now gives kisses and will move when she’s done with being held which I’ll let her down gently and praise her on both kisses and letting me know she’s done.

Tonight was the first night I actually got her to let me hold her and she was relaxed enough while I did that she fell asleep. I was so happy and excited.

She enjoys laying in my lap after a period of not doing so. She still checks rooms before going into them, but will rush in more. She calls our other dog who is a Pomeranian we rescued to go in a room first if she’s too scared to go first.

He looks annoyed at times but he still does it for her and then she’ll come bonding in happily.

When we first got him he was skittish as well and was sacred of men. But our late boy helped him out of that and they became inseparable.

Now it’s our poms turn to be the guide and help.

She follows him around and mimics him in many ways, though he does get overlay times and needs time away from her. Usually that’s when my mom takes him into my parents room, when he gets to lay in my lap as I watch tv or play video games. Sometimes he has to share the charge with his sister, but not always and that’s when he gets belly rubs and love. He also gets to sleep in my bed at night. It’ll be some time still before his sister can do that.

She does get to sleep in the bed in the morning when my parents get up before me and let them out. She likes to sleep in my bed with me like my late boy. He loved joining me in bed and would start at my feet curled up before splaying out and taking over the entire bottom of the bed.

When she no longer has accidents it’s more likely she’ll get to be in bed too. Until then it’s my Pom and cat only and they love cuddling up on my, lol.

We’re guessing she’s around a year and a half. It’s hard to say as she is very puppy like right now. Part being how she loved til now and her age.

So hopefully soon I’ll start again with writing. Sorry for the long reply. Felt only right to explain since you were so kind.

Thank you so much.

[visionmarred-archive]

Shepherds of Haven Recruit Form

thinking about my boy lately and everybody else did this so why not me :^) template by @shepherds-of-haven​​! one should read it if they haven’t! it’s great!

minor spoilers for the alpha demo

(face claim: Ruba Wilson)

Biographical Info

Name, Nicknames: Tysinno Maratis, sometimes called “Tysi” by friends

Callsign: Cure

Gender: cis man

Sexuality: biromantic demisexual

Pronouns: he/him

Age: 28 years old

Background Info

Weapon: guns

Magic Specialization: Elae (Healer)

Racial Heritage, Birthplace: Hunter heritage, presumed born in Maj (but who knows?)

Education: Circle taught

Miscellaneous Info

Past Jobs: bodyguard for hire, sailor, farm hand, shop hand, accountant (is that a thing a medieval-esque dude can be when he doesn’t stay in one city for too long? we’ll roll with it), various odd jobs

Likes: art, both creating and discussing. literature. learning things. cats of any kind. clothes shopping. he’s a goth mage with an interest in the morbid and bizarre of the world.

Dislikes: friggin snobby nobles and the Autarchy. gossip for the sake of being hurtful (which he can be hypocritical about, because he’ll definitely engage in that if he dislikes somebody enough.)

Strengths: usually composed and calm in most situations, with exceptions of course. compassionate and caring, and good at making people feel calm and safe. good at thinking things through in a logical way. gifted with his magic. knows how to heal people without magic, and how to mix up potions for the occasion.

Weaknesses: incredibly self-loathing and blames himself for what happened to Maj, and has a hard time not seeing himself as bad luck for people that he cares about and who care about him. depending on the situation, that self-loathing or his frustration with the world can influence his decisions, and not necessarily for the better. physically a limp noodle and definitely won’t be winning any strength contests anytime soon.

Hobbies/Special Skills: painting and sketching, writing (prefers poetry that he will never let another living soul read tysm), letting cats into his room even though Blade said that’s against the rules. enjoys gardening when he gets the chance. Tysinno also possesses one heck of a poker face and composure in most situations, which translates well to gambling.

DnD Morality Alignment: chaotic-good

Meyers-Briggs Personality Type: INFJ-T

Personality

(Bold which way your recruit leans.)

Heart of Gold/Will of Iron

Rebellious/Loyal

Independent/Social

Tactful/Straightforward

Bold/Cautious

Charming/Stoic/Intimidating

Witty/Sincere (depends ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

Resentful/Forgiving

Self-Preserving/Self-Sacrificing

Book-Smart/Street-Smart

One-God/Atheist/Old Faith

Relationships

Best Friend(s):

Shery - calm and loving soul who deserves good things. somebody to have chill discussions with while they gush over cats and drink tea together. romance novel reading friends.

Chase - Tysinno’s kinda surprised about this one because he keeps to himself and Chase is Chase LOL but their friendship is surprisingly solid! Chase brings him out of his shell and helps him to have fun. may or may not have thought Chase was cute for a bit there, but their relationship is firmly platonic.

Briony - see above but with less surprise lol. they bonded in the arena and they’ve been close ever since.

Preferred Mission Partner(s):

he’s generally chill with working with anybody if they’re right for the job, but probably feels most at ease around Ayla and his closest friends.

Friendly Rival(s):

Halek - if anybody fits the bill then prooobably Halek? but idk if I’d even call them rivals, it’s more just that their relationship is complicated lol. Tysinno longs to be involved with Hunter culture and to be a part of that community again, and he can’t help but be just a little bit jealous of Halek coming from that world but being so ready to walk away from their people when being a part of it is what Tysinno wants. but he also recognizes that it’s irrational on his end and that Halek has absolutely valid reasons to want to get away from the Reach, so it’s just. complicated. lol.

Love Interest(s):

Ayla - local healer man crushes on this amazing and tough wind mage who is?? pretty much perfect as far as he’s concerned like have you looked at Ayla Aescar?? I Have Eyes Only For You.mp3 as he thinks about this kinda smooch

Ship Name(s): Tysayla? Aysinno? Marscar? idk their tag is “OTP: Windswept”

First Kiss Scenario: 👀

Art

Enemies:

Lavinet - they can work together and be civil and polite, but that’s probably the best it’s ever gonna be. she hasn’t forgotten Prihine’s death, and even if that hadn’t been a thing, their personalities and views on the aristocracy would likely clash too much for them to ever be friends.

pretend that this picrew let him have a streak of white hair bc Hunter heritage <3

[theriverpersonshadow]

Lamia Drama Part 5

It’s ya boi Oozy. Apparently my brain deeply desires to touch on some potentially uncomfortable subjects today. Warnings for a completely made up medical condition - that is NOT meant to depict anything irl and any similarity to such is completely unintentional on my part - being treated with some seriousness as a chronic condition that does impact Oozy’s life.

Also skirts the line a bit between Corny laziness, general Sansitude, and feelings of guilt and depression. And touch starvation. But thankfully the snake DOES get pet in this and he ends the chapter happy ^u^

The Corny species of lamia belongs to @vex-bittys

< PREV | BEGINNING | NEXT >  

           Oozy was laying in his hammock, a thing patched together from whatever they make raincoats from, as almost always. He could get down, but then someone would have to deal with the mess. Besides, one of the staff had gotten him a waterproof phone long ago. The hammock was coated in a layer of slime… as was he. As always. Most people found it gross, but he’d been born with it.

           Despite what some might think, snakes aren’t slimy… usually. He was a rare exception to that. No one could figure out why, it wasn’t anything wrong with him physically… So far as they could tell his soul just thought he was an amphibian or something. Maybe he should join the Kraits, but they didn’t seem overly fond of his weird magic-mucus either (not that they’d ever say it). Heh. But for real, the best theory anyone had was either that he did have some kind of amphibian magic-gene that wasn’t working right, or that for some reason his soul couldn’t process magic quite right, making a sort of buildup of inert magical sludge. Possibly both. So yeah, he was a slimy boy.

           If he showered more often it’d probably be manageable, but then some worker would have to clean up after him on the way to the shower and they’d have to rinse the hammock off too or else there’d be little point in showering in the first place, and if he was taking two or three showers a day, when would anyone else? Plus that’s just a lot of showers. Nah, it’s easier for everyone to just not. Or maybe those are just excuses, but hey, he’s a lazybones, born and bred.

           Oozy sits there in a half-daze, only partly awake as his hammock slowly sways. There was a podcast going on in his ears but he was only half-listening. Somehow he’d gotten from DnD advice to doctors? More likely he just hit a button by accident. Regardless of how he got here, her voice is soothing, even if he probably doesn’t need to know much about orthopedics. It’s enough to make him want to nap…

           Until footsteps come by. He waits for them to pass, but they don’t. He peaks an eye open to see a girl pacing back and forth, occasionally stealing glances at the nursery. Looks like they’ve got a new volunteer. Well, he should introduce himself then.

           “Yo, sup,” Oozy says. He stretches his arms and neck, joints popping, and pushes his upper body up onto the fake-trees holding his hammock up so he can get a better view of her. His nose flicks and he impulsively says, “Ya smell like dirt.”

           “Hmm? Oh, yeah, I work in a greenhouse.” Dear lord she was loud. Not upset or yelling or anything, but she could rival a full grown Papython.

           “Ah, they bring you in to get us more real plants or something? I don’t know if they can have indoor trees though.”

           “Probably not. Most trees aren’t really shade-plants anyways, and even if they were, they can’t grow strong enough without wind.”

           “Really? Huh, weird. But I’ll take your word for it,” Oozy says. He removes a little more of himself from the slimy confines of his hammock, draping himself over the tree and leaning his upper body down so he’s closer to her level. “So, why are you here then? Looking to adopt? I think you’ve gone too far then.” There weren’t many to adopt this far back. There wasn’t officially a “permanent residency” ward or anything, and theoretically anyone could get adopted, but let’s face it, they weren’t going to. They were hidden in the back for a reason, you’d have to be looking for a special case to even reach him.

           “I heard there’s DnD.”

           Oozy blinks a few times, then chuckles, “Well alright then!” Not the answer he expected, but okay. “They advertising it now?”

           “I mean, apparently yeah! Though in retrospect, I think you were expected to come with a lamia…” The girl looked down,

           Oozy shrugged, “Maybe. They have community events now and then and stuff.” Or maybe they were trying to get some of them out of there. No reason it couldn’t be both.

           The girl nodded. “So, uh… I followed someone, they had gold teeth? The DM. Then one of the cobra ones wanted me to leave, and, uh… Should I go?”

           Keith had taken her to the nursery, hadn’t he? “Nah, Keith just did something dumb. Whatcha thinking of playing?” He was curious how she was going to be worked in. They pretty well had their bases covered already. Red was the Tank and melee fighter, Trousle was the party face, Nikolai had healing and support covered, Liam was the other party face who really liked fireballs (freaking sorcerers), and… Well, Oozy himself was mostly just there to goof around. He’d made a ranger and had an Giant Owl (maybe not on the list, but Keith was nice enough to give him an upgrade since rangers were kinda bad in 5e) as his animal companion. The “hoo” jokes flew left and right! What could he say, him and his Giant Owl, Hoodini, were birds of a feather.

           “I mean, I figured I’d see what you guys already have? Warlocks are one of my favorites – patrons are basically built in lore – but Druids are a mood and Martials can be fun too. Sometimes you just wanna smash stuff with a big hammer, y’know?”

           “Mood.” Oozy said. “Well, we could probably use another full martial, but ask Hux, that’s sorta his thing, y’know?”

           The girl nodded. “Sounds good.”

           “Heh, yeah. Name’s Oozy by the way. Who are you?”

           “Alex.”

           “Nice to meet ya Alex. I’d shake your hand, but, well…” He held his hands up, shrugging. A drop of slime hit the floor.

           “Are you okay by the way? You’re kinda…” She made a vague hand motion, squirming in place.

           “Eh, I live with it. Called Oozy for a reason, y’know?” Oozy said.

           “… can I touch it? Or you? Both?”

           Oozy blinked a few times, surprised. “Uh… sure? If ya want?” He crawled a little further down, looping around the tree to keep himself stable. The girl’s hand reached out and touched his head. It was rather nice, actually. He found himself leaning into it, the gentle strokes feeling warm and tingly despite her hands being cold. Might as well enjoy it while it lasts, right? His tail relaxes some as he sinks into the feeling, eyes shutting.

           …

           …

           …

           Well, if she wants to keep petting him, he’s not going to stop her. This feels great. Hopefully she’s not just trying to be nice, but she seems pretty wrapped up in it herself, running her fingers through the layer of goo that had built up and down to the bone below. Oozy was vaguely aware that he was dripping all over the floor (and probably on her shoes, but they were caked in dirt and scuffs anyways), but y’know what, it was someone else’s problem. He started to reach out instinctively, wanting to wrap around her and cuddle, but she drew back.

           “Uh… sorry. I don’t really like my clothes getting wet… It’s really uncomfortable.”

           Something in him deflated, soul feeling heavy, but he put on a lax smile and nodded, “Eh, don’t worry about it.” Just keep petting him, please…

           “It’s alright. Heh, it feels kinda cool, y’know? Maybe not exactly like slime, but, like… It’s fun to play with.” Pause. “That’s a weird thing to say, huh?”

           Oozy snorted, “A little, but I ain’t gonna complain.”

           “Can I…?” She pointed to his tail.

           “Go for it.”

           Her fingers stroked down the length of his scales and he shuddered. It didn’t feel bad or sexual or anything, but it’d been a while since anyone had stroked him. Dear lord how did he go so long without this? He wanted nothing more than to wrap around her in a full body cuddle, to just run fingers through her hair and vice versa, to just get any kind of physical contact from someone. He was starving for it. Tears sprung to his eyesockets but he blinked them away before she could see. It was just so nice…

           “Thank ya,” he whispered, voice coming out choked.

           “Are you alright?”

           “Yeah… Yeah.” His soul felt a little lighter and he smiled in earnest, “Heh, feels good to get some of this off me.” Maybe he should take a shower today… The floor was a mess anyways after all. But it’s fine, it’s tile. It’d mop up. “Thanks.”

           “No problem. I think you feel cool.”

           “I mean, I am a reptile.” He snorted at himself, finally just saying fuck it and crawling down to sprawl on the floor like a limp, happy noodle. “I mean, probably.” There was a slight chance he was an amphibian after all.

[scaryscarecrows]

Beggar, Pick Up Your Crown

AN: Title from Jerry Cantrell’s ‘Siddhartha’. Takes place the day after ‘Out of Hell’.

Happy birthday, Jason!

* * * 

Jason wakes from the...he’s thinking the third-best nights’ sleep he’s had in his whole life. First one was...pfft, one’a those random nights, Mom had been feeling okay, and they’d stayed up to see the sunrise and made s’mores on the stove. Second had been after his first. His. Patrol. First patrol.

He has no idea what time it is, and he’s afraid to open his eyes, lest last night turn out to be a dream. He stays still for the moment, concentrating on the cheap hotel mattress under his still-aching body, the smell of complimentary soap and cleaner and that lingering people have been born, had sex, and probably died in this room smell that these sorts of places have. He can hear rain and traffic and general Gotham Living outside and in the rooms around him.

And he’s hungry.

Okay. Okay. He’s woken up out of nice dreams before, and it hurts, but. But he can do it again. One more time.

Please…

He cracks his eyes open.

The room is beige and...rusty orange...and very bright. Well, bright to him, anyway. It’s empty, but he rolls over and, muscles protesting the whole time, peers under the bed. Zilch.

Still unconvinced he’s not hallucinating or unwillingly playing one of the clown’s head games, Jason stumbles out of the warm bed, ankle cracking horribly when he makes it take his weight, and shuffles to the bathroom. Nothing. Nothing in the shower, or wedged into the little cabinet under the sink. He’s alone here.

He lets his breath out slowly, slumping forward against the sink to take some of the pressure off his ankle. He’ll have to look at it later, look at everything later, but...but not now. Not this second, huh?

His hair’s too long; his bangs are in his eyes and he can feel dead ends scraping the back of his neck. No way in hell is he letting anyone near him with scissors. That’s okay. He did self-trims when he was a kid.

He’s out.

He’s out, he’s free of that monster. That bastard’s never going to hurt him ever again. The thought makes him lightheaded, brings an unfamiliar twist to his lips that feels like it might be a smile.

And then he makes the mistake of looking up at the mirror.

The boy-no, he’s not a boy anymore, is he-looking back at him looks dead. He’s pasty white, thin and hollow-cheeked with no spark to his eyes. There’s cuts and gashes all over his face, his nose is crooked, and...and there’s that. The brand on his face, the one that still hurts, the one that screams to the world, PROPERTY OF THE JOKER, IF FOUND, PLEASE RETURN!

I’ll never get away from him.

The mirror shatters under his fist, shards jabbing in between his knuckles and falling into the sink and bouncing off the counter to hit the tiles by his feet. He doesn’t care. He can’t face this he can’t face this he can’t--

This is too much for his ankle; it buckles and then he’s kneeling in the glass, sobbing so hard it’s silent and hurts his throat and chest. He chokes, doubles over so’s his forehead’s pressed against his knees, bites down on his lips to try and...and…

Willis always said, ‘boys don’t cry’. Bruce hadn’t...he’d never known what to do with tears. Or any outpouring of emotion, for that matter. And Joker had loved them. But Jason? Right now, he doesn’t care about any of that. He wants Mom, but Mom can’t be here anymore.

It takes him several minutes to register that the tears have stopped and that he’s just...huddled here on the floor with glass jutting out of his skin. The glass doesn’t hurt, but his ankle does and he slowly and carefully brings it up to investigate.

It’s swollen and hot to the touch and it...something about it doesn’t look quite right. He’ll wrap it, he decides, he’ll get a compression bandage or something later today. Okay. He’s okay. He’s just gotta breathe, get up, clean this mess up because he was raised better than to leave this shit for the housekeeper, and then...if he is where he thinks he is, there’s a bodega two blocks south, one that has a gray tabby that lounges in the window. They’ll have a thing of chips or something he can choke down (safely), maybe bandages. Definitely a hoodie, at least, a nice touristy hoodie.

He can make it two blocks. Like he’s got a choice, but he can make it two blocks.

* * *

The smell of rotting watermelons, cheap ice cream bars, and packaged bread is possibly one of the best things Jason’s ever smelled in his life. He’s starving, and now, confronted with food choices, he knows he’s gonna have to exercise some restraint and not just devour a stale baguette in the middle of the store. Crackers. And maybe a soup-cup-thing, that’s mild. And, uh, cranberry juice, yeah, that’s sorta healthy. And a Reese’s. If the Reese’s makes him sick, it’ll be worth it.

The owner is dancing lightly to the mariachi on the radio and the cat is more interested in the birds outside than in him, which means he can limp through the store on his own sweet time. They do have bandages, and the food he thinks he can do, and a red hoodie* proclaiming, I Survived Gotham. It’ll do.

What’s worrying him-apart from, you know, everything else-is where he found money last night. He doesn’t remember a damn thing after leaving Arkham, and it scares him. Mystery for later, though, because he’s hungry and grateful he doesn’t have to rob the bodega man, who-miracle of miracles-doesn’t so much as look up at him. He pulls the hoodie on the second he’s outside, though, tugs the hood up to try and cover the damn thing at least a little.

He doesn’t know what to do.

He can’t go back to him-he’ll die first-and he can’t...s’like they say, you can never go home again. If Wayne Manor was ever home. 

Left me he left me with him he said he’d always be there and he fucking left me with that bastard--

He just doesn’t know what to do.

He stumbles back into the hotel room, debates on whether or not he wants to use the grody microwave provided, and decides that yes, yes he does. This will be the first real food he’s had in over a year and he wants to try and enjoy it, if that’s possible.

Man, he hasn’t had one of these in...geeze, since before Mom died. They’re not Old Money Approved, after all. Good. He’s not Old Money Approved, either.

It’s done, he decides, when it pops and the lid gets all soft and hot. It smells okay. Safe, anyway, no hint of Joker venom or any other little surprises. The steam curls around his face, making the...the burn a little tender, but it’s fine. It’s fine. He bought it all sealed up and he’s the only one who’s touched it. He took off the safety tin.

So why can’t he eat it? His appetite’s vanished, even though he knows he needs to eat, it’s just…

You gotta eat, baby.

That sounds like Mom, and it should be concerning, but...he does need to eat. And he can’t just chug it, either, much as he’d like to get it over with. He’s gotta be slow and careful.

Cracker! He’ll dip a cracker in.

The soup’s hot and salty on his tongue, miles above the slop he’s been eating in the asylum. Once he swallows the slightly soggy cracker, his appetite returns with a vengeance and it’s an effort not to pour half the column of crackers in, smash them to bits with the spoon, and eat the resulting mush here and now. But he can’t. He’ll be sick. Hell, he might be sick anyway, who knows.

He dunks another cracker in, catches a wispy noodle on it this time. Jesus. Jesus Christ, this is it, he’s living on soup and crackers forever, this is the best thing he’s eaten in his life--

--no. No it isn’t, is it. Alfred. Alfred made…

Not now. Just eat.

That’s right. He can’t think about anything, that’s not...he’s spent a long time, trapped in his own head. Not now. He can’t do that now. Food first.

The soup goes down easily enough, the cran juice a little less so but it stays in, and then he has to admit that yup, time for some self-examination.

He’s not facing the mirror-or what’s left of it-again. It’s better to stay here, to strip off despite knowing that hotel beds are scuzzy, and, well, survey the damage. And there is a lot of damage. Burn scars, wire scars, marks he can’t even begin to trace. He doesn’t really want to know what his back looks like, but he’ll have to find out.

Further poking the ankle says that oh, sure, it’s...healing, or maybe as good as it’s gonna get, but that squeezing certain spots of it makes his vision go white and over-manipulating it is worse than that. He puts the bandage on it, because what else can he do, and struggles back into his clothes. No more. He can’t do more right now.

* * *

Jason does not mean to fall into a fitful sleep, but that’s what happens. He wakes up gasping and soaked in sweat, a man’s shouting echoing in his ears. Sounds like Willis.

After a minute of lying here, he comes to realize that it isn’t Willis, and it isn’t a dream. It’s...lobby, something’s going on in the lobby.

Shit.

It’s hard to move as steathily as he used to, but he’s still quieter than the average schmuck when he slips out of bed and opens the door to creep down the hall. It’s late, which means the clerk should be alone, which makes them easy pickings. People never change, much as Batman insists that they do.

The shouting man has a gun. He’s wearing a scarf around the lower half of his face and he’s actually kinda big. Looks plenty comfortable threatening a woman half his size.

He doesn’t think, just moves; grabs one of the little chairs near the doors and hurls it

Owowowow not good movement not good

at the man’s back. He trips, gun falling from his fingers and sliding under the desk. The woman, wisely, ducks.

“What the fuck--oh, we got us a Batman-wannabe.” The guy cracks his back. “Come on, then, hero.”

He’s out of practice. Doesn’t mean he’s helpless. He dodges the oncoming haymaker and retaliates by going straight for the jugular.

Or, in this case, the balls. Fighting fair does not get you far in life.

The bravado vanishes. It’s hard to be badass when you’re shrieking like a little girl with your testicles twisted in a fist. Jason lets go, headbutts him to get him down, and steps around him to fish the gun out from under the desk.

“Get the hell out of here,” he says, more out of breath than he should be after that. His shoulders hurt from the throw. That can’t be good. “Or pray to God Batman shows up to save you in the next thirty seconds.”

“You son of a bitch--”

“Twenty-nine. Twenty-eight. Twenty-seven--”

“I’ll kill you!”

He cocks the gun. Little awkwardly, it’s true-Bruce taught him the absolute bare minimum of gun handling-but it gets his point across.

“Twenty-six. Twenty-five.”

The man can’t quite get upright, but he manages to hobble outside. Jason doesn’t chase after him. He’s shaking, a little, and the gun’s awkward in his hand.

“Thank you.” Oh. Yeah. He forgot about her. “I don’t know--he wanted money, I guess--”

“Don’t they all.” He doesn’t turn around. He can’t; he’s way too identifiable. “You’re welcome.” Back to his room it is, to get his crap and clear out. “I’m gonna check out before the cops show.”

“I’m not calling them.” Huh. “They never come. That’s the third time in two months we’ve had someone in here.”

Figures.

He doesn’t answer-what do you say, huh?-, just shuffles back to his room. He doesn’t realize, until the door’s locked behind him, that he’s still got the gun.

Well, he figures, as he stumbles back towards the bed, at least if Joker manages to track him here, he won’t have to go back. He’ll kill the clown or himself, it doesn’t matter which, but he’s not going back.

He crawls under the blankets this time, tries to get a little more comfortable. It must work, because in five minutes, he’s out. Nothing wakes him this time.

THE END

*Arkham!Jason has a fondness for red hoodies even pre-Red Hood; both baby Jay and grown-up Jay are shown wearing one in the prequels. For obvious reasons. :p

[gaytorade-official]

Based on a story by @iishipallthethings. Future oc. Basically what would happen if Korra , Asami, Kuvira, and Lin were somehow able to have kids. In my defense it’s a really good story.

Netsu Sato

The second youngest

19

Lesbian

Shortest

Fire bender

She can’t Lightning bend but she can lava bend

It’s the same concept as Lightning bending

She bends the heat

She can’t make lava she can only bend it if it’s already there

She has serious anger problems

Remember when Korra destroyed the airbending gates?

Or when Sharkboy tore apart the bars of the cage?

Yeah that basically Netsu when she’s angry

She’s not a bad person she just gets annoyed easily

She only tries to fight the assholes who deserve an asswhoping

That being said there’s a lot of assholes deserve an asswhoping

“Say that to my face you limp noodle!”

A family member usually has to stop her from beating the crap out of someone

That someone is usually Siku

She’s a pro bender and a volunteer firefighter

She doesn’t like to talk about how she got her scars

Loves to feel the earth under her feet so goes without shoes as often as possible

Gnam Sato

The youngest

18 years old

Asexual and bisexual

Airbender

She can fly

Yes she can fly like Zaheer

Yes she was able to let go of her earthly tethers and enter the void

Let’s be honest it’s mostly because she somewhat of an airhead

The only one who can calm Netsu down with little to no problem

Basically a babey

The unspoken favorite among everyone

Doesn’t like to fight if she doesn’t have to

Tries to talk things out first

Has no problem fighting for her loved ones though

“I’m not a fighter but don’t push me”

Ever the optimist

Doesn’t have a set career in mind so usually ends up taking odd jobs

Nothing illegal

Somewhat of a wanderer

Siku Beifong

Third youngest but like to refer to themselves as the fourth oldest just to fuck with Netsu

Basically one of the middle child

20

Genderqueer

Uses any pronouns honestly

Gynesexual

Waterbender

On rare occasions they have been able to bend the water out of the air

Silent type

But in a cocky narcissistic kind of way

Like ‘my presence speaks for me’ kind of way

Is most definitely a sadist

Likes to mess with Netsu mostly

Will go out of their way to mess with Netsu some times

Will end up in suitations they didn’t mean to end up in

They’re not always bad suitations

That how she became a professional actor and singer

“This isn’t were I thought I’d be in my life but who am I to complain?”

They’re also a part time personal trainer

It’s perfect because they get paid to hurt people

Also owns a gym

Yán Beifong

Third oldest

Basically the other middle child

21

The tallest

Transmasculine

Uses she/her he/him and they/them pronouns

Gynesexual

Demiromantic

Graysexual

Earthbender

Can’t use seismic sense though

Never got the hang of it

They can metal bend though

Oh and Lava bend

Strong, mysterious, silent type

It’s because they’re shy when it comes to talking

And that’s because they have a slight stutter

Yán and their family learned sign language so that they feel more comfortable communicating

They usually hangs around Siku the most because they require the least amount of talking

Is usually the one to break up the fights in the family.

Grabs them by the collar and dangles them above the ground

Has done this to their parents

Yán doesn’t play around when it comes to her family

No nonsense kind of attitude towards it

They run an animal daycare

“Animals don’t expect you to talk”

Takes any animal as long as they are trained to a certain degree and doesn’t try to eat the other animals

He also does some animal training on the side

Tamashī Beifong-Sato

The second oldest

22

Non-binary woman

Pansexual and demisexual

Is technically a nonbender

They’re very strong spiritually

She has a strong connection with spirts and the spirt world so most spirits like her

She can come and go from the spirt world as she pleases

She can spiritually project herself like Jinora

The first time she did this it was completely on accident

She caught her parents doing something no child should see their parents doing

“That night never happened”

She is so in sync with spirts that she can use her body movements to guide spirts to do what she needs

Kinda like the dragon dance

So yeah she’s basically a spirt bender

Can she bend spirt energy like Korra?

No idea

Are we really gonna test that theory?

Absolutely not

Yes she has purple eyes

No that doesn’t necessarily mean anything

No we are not aiming a spirt cannon at that poor child

Usually tries to avoid problems

Usually ends up dragged in them anyway

She spend most of her time helping spirts and humans come to an agreement or an understanding

Wèilai Sato-Beifong

The oldest

24

Lesbian

Is a nonbender

Don’t worry she has a gun

She’s not afraid to use it

“Parry this you fucking casual”

It’s a handgun

Yes she created the gun

Don’t worry she doesn’t sell them and doesn’t intend to

She has the only gun that exists and probably the only gun to ever exist for a very long time

She’s a fucking genius

Has helped create so many things

If her parents were literally anyone else she would of been an evil mastermind and have taken over the world by now

Also a master martial artist

She causes problems

On purpose

Plans them out so nothing leads back to her

Usually harmless pranks

Harmless to her anyway

She is set to takeover Future Industries after Asami steps down

Until she spends a good amount of her time taking down corrupt people in power and taking down underground rings

It takes time

But a gun can gets you places

No idea how she was born

I idea how any of them were born

Probably some spirt shit

This idea had been stuck in my head for awhile so I decided to actually create it. I love thinking about what the kids of a specific ship in a story would look and act like but this is the first time I’ve actually drawn it out.

While you’re here you might as well check out the story.

[aerdendios]

Daily Writing Challenge Day 3 - Mask

He slipped on his ‘devil’ mask and smoothed out his suit jacket before turning to look at himself in the mirror.  He blinked a few times in disbelief, leaning in closer while furrowing his brow; he looked like an almost completely different person.  The silver, neatly styled hair, the sharp suit, this was definitely not a reflection he was accustomed to, but he liked it.  A lot.  He looked older, more mature, more...devilish.  Well, maybe not ‘more’ devilish as he often wore an expression of innocence and youth with a healthy dose of confusion daily, but just devilish in general.

He could get used to this reflection.

Tonight was all about being anonymous, maybe even pretending to be someone else for a while. Not that he wanted to be anyone other than himself, but Aerden with a bit more confidence would be nice. Just about anyone close to him suggested or implied that it was something he should work on, and he always agreed. Easier said than done. It was difficult for him after a lifetime of being put down by his mother’s husband, and being bullied in school for always being the small, scrawny one. Things were different now, and had been for a while, but the confidence was still lacking. Thus was born the Silver Devil.

At first, he wasn’t quite the beacon of confidence at the Mabon Masquerade, especially not after that incident where he referred to Xylaes as ‘Mister Daddy’. There were a few people that would never let that one down, but in his defense, the older man did take the moniker ‘Bone Daddy’ for the evening and Aerden was just trying to use polite titles.

Throughout the evening, his confidence grew, especially once the dancing began.  All those times his mother dragged him into the middle of the kitchen to waltz while playing her favorite classical pieces on her music player had paid off.  He had hated it at first, groaning as she would hug him to her chest and twirl around the floor, while he played the part of a limp noodle in her arms. Reluctantly, he began to dance along, and soon enough he was leading her around their kitchen in a variety of styles. It had become one of their things, and now lessons and memories he would always hold dear.

Overall, it had been an amazing evening. He had only recognized a very small handful of people, but that didn’t stop him from speaking with anyone nearby, or from asking a couple of strangers to dance. He reminisced over the evening’s adventures as he wandered through the streets of Silvermoon towards his apartment early in the morning.  His mask dangled from a finger and he smiled at anyone he happened to pass. There were a few strange looks given he was still in his fancy suit from the night before, but that mattered little right now. He was exhausted and his feet were sore, but it was an evening he wouldn’t soon forget. That was exactly what he needed at that moment in time, an evening to forget all of his troubles and woes. A time just to be young and have fun.  He also decided to keep the hair this way for a while.

@daily-writing-challenge​ @xylaes​

[themockingcrows]

Doki Doki Grist Panic! Ch. 1

pairing: John/Dave Characters: John Egbert, Dave Strider, Bro Strider cw: Canon Typical Violence, magical boys, more tags to be added as needed

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27802735/chapters/68066416

The life of a magical boy is a tough one, but Dave doesn't really have much of a choice in the matter. It's the fate he was handed, and the fate he'll cope with. With new enemies spawning in his city left and right, Dave has his hands full trying to maintain the peace and little time for much else. That is, until the cute boy he rescued turns up in his college class and seems to share all of his interests. Is love on the horizon? Or is love too much to hope for in this line of work?

     There were nearly too many to count by the time Dave arrived on the scene, dark creatures that looked like they were born from an oil slick, their shoulders and head decked with odd looking colorful scraps of fabric collars and hats. Most of the people had fled the area when the hungry beasts had turned up, but a few victims had been downed by the creatures, their bodies lying limp surrounded by bright colorful gems of energy in a rainbow of colors.

     Grist. It was the energy of this planet, the energy that powered every living thing, and as such it was a tasty target for most enemies from beyond the asteroid belt who wanted a quick powerup. Dave had run into plenty of creatures before, both from home and from beyond, who were a threat to the populace, but he’d never seen beings act this efficiently before.

     Everywhere the creatures jumped they left behind an oily mess, even soiling the grist their greedy hands reached for, wanting to throw the delicate candy looking items into their mouths. Were they just going to eat them to further their own power? Or were they eating them to transport them? It didn’t matter. They weren’t going to get far. Dave was planning on doing a silent takedown, a sneak attack, but he realized there was a risk. A lone person was standing in the midst of the carnage, dark hair and tanned skin stark against a blue sweater the color of the crisp autumn sky itself and a bright white shirt collar.

     He had to get them safe, before they fell to the same fate as the scattered bodies.

     Right. Showy it was, then.

     “STOP RIGHT THERE,” Dave cried, bounding out of cover and out into view in a flash of red. His black and white knee high boots, black buttons shining on the side, clicked on the concrete as he landed safely from the larger than life jump he’d performed. The black leggings he wore beneath the red, gear pattern edged tunic were pristine from the recent transformation, the same material coating his arms and chest like a second skin. The dark red cape he wore fluttered in the wind, hood down and back, white hair windswept. It was quite the impressive appearance, all things considered.

     “Wh-what?” said the soon to be victim. His eyes were pretty to look at behind the thick glasses he wore, black frames perched on his nose. He didn’t look nearly as terrified as he should have, but then again shock can do a lot to a person.

     “Get to cover!” Dave barked, a gloved hand pointing to the clear area he’d come from. As planned, the creatures focused on him, pausing in their gorey gathering ritual to flock his direction. Another flash of red, the afterimage of a slowly ticking gear hanging behind him for a moment and Dave had summoned his weapon of choice, a long silvery blade with a gilt crossguard, broadsword firm and true. He bounced on the balls of his feet for a moment, hyping himself up as he shifted his grip, before pointing the sword at the incoming beasts.

     “You will not best me. I am a warrior of Earth and you’re not gonna get in my way!” he shouted.

     Time slowed around him briefly, the clock gear flashing in the air behind him as he darted forwards, giving him enough speed and delay to get in the heavy strikes he needed against the inky interlopers. Their bodies felt solid at first hit, but when they collapsed it was into grist and oil slick once more. Darting around this way, the creatures slower than usual, gave him an upper hand that was in some ways criminal. They were low tier creatures judging from their density alone and the lack of a fight they put up, but their numbers were still worrisome to Dave. He was panting by the time he finished the slicing and dicing, black gunk coated grist littering the ground behind him.

     He held the sword as he caught his breath before slowly straightening, loosening his grip on it and willing it back from where it had been summoned. The released grist was slowly beginning to move, rolling and bouncing back towards the limp bodies they had come from. With luck, they’d wake up soon. No doubt the police would be coming shortly, ambulance in tow, if only from the amount of people that had run away in terror.

     Right, where was- Oh. Good, there he was. The fellow from before, mister blue sweater, seemed fine and dandy. A little wide eyed in shock now, but who could blame him? It wasn’t often that Dave had to make appearances where people could see him. It was far, far easier being a magical boy out of view of the populace, guarding people from a distance, not having to deal with aftermath even if he was capable of making quick escapes unseen. Mister blue sweater might have been hit if he hadn’t exposed himself as he had.

     Actually, speaking of-

     “What’s your name?” Dave asked as he clicked his way closer to the bystander’s side, glancing him over. No sign of damage. A little oil on his shoes, when he looked closer, but otherwise unharmed. Good.

     “John,” said the black haired fellow. “Who are..?”

     Dave smiled a bit, reaching a gloved hand up to flick his bangs away from his face. “Doesn’t matter who I am. John, you got really lucky. Do me a favor: when the cops get here, make sure that the people who are still asleep get help. They should wake up soon, but some might be feeling sick for a while after this. Grist doesn’t always redistribute evenly, when there’s a lot scattered like that.” Pain in the neck, really, but what could anyone do? Somehow have an inventory of how much grist people had at the moment of attack then inventory reclaimed grist and distribute it evenly? Impossible.

     He smiled then, blue eyes crinkling at the edges, and showed buck teeth that were actually pretty charming when taken in with the rest of the whole. The upside of this duty Dave had, this burden in some lights, was that he got to see all kinds of people. Even the really cute ones. Charmed, but needing to beat feet, Dave smirked and turned around, making a series of difficult leaps to reach the top of the buildings before speeding away, flash stepping out of sight and allowing the magic to slowly fade. There were no more feelings of intense wrong, nothing on his internal radar nearby, at least for the night. Safety had returned. Time to relax.

     By the time Dave was closer to home, his hair had changed back to blonde from the stark white it had been during the fight, and the uniform had returned to the clothing he’d been wearing before the change, a simple t-shirt and some jeans with rips in the knees, sunglasses, high top sneakers and a chain wallet, his keys with the stupid heart keychain Dirk had given him that he’d never bothered to get rid of. He made his way up the long sets of stairs before unlocking the door with his key, waving to his Bro where he sat on the futon in front of the television, playing a video game.

     “Hey.”

     “Hey,” he heard back, ignoring the sound of familiar game music in favor of carefully raiding the fridge for something to eat. “Very big of a mess this time?”

     “Nah. Nothing I can’t handle,” Dave said, settling on a bottle of juice. Instant ramen sounded better than the leftovers that were available, even if it was mostly salt and carbs. He was tired and needed something hot. “Y’know, if you thought it might be a big mess you could’ve at least bothered to cook.”

     “You’re a big boy, you can handle it,” Bro said casually. “When I used to run around on the beat, I-”

     “Flew uphill both ways in the snow,” Dave said flatly, annoyed, but breaking his noodles into a bowl and adding water and the powder before slapping it into the microwave to cook.

     “No, I was gonna say I didn’t have anyone to run me a bath and cook me stuff, I was on my own. If I could do it, you can do it. Who knows when I won’t be here to help back you up anyway?”

     “Back me up?” Dave said, brows lifting over his shades. “You can’t back shit up when it comes to some of these things!”

     “Please, Dave. I might not be magic anymore, but I still know how the fuck to fight some monsters.”

     “If anyone could back me up against monsters, it’d be Dirk, but he’s off bein’ a prettyboy ninja stud fuck knows where. You need magic to beat this shit, or at least the shit that’s turned up in the last few years. You know that. You knew that before you gave everything up an-”

     Bro was quiet for a moment before he paused his game and sighed, leaning back against the futon, interrupting Dave’s train of words. “Yeah, yeah, I know. C’mon, man, at least let me pretend I’d be useful to your ass beyond fightin’ practice.”

     “I don’t need fighting practice! You always wanna use katanas, I use a broadsword! A broadsword!” Dave said, looking to the microwave when it beeped before aggressively popping it open. He grabbed a fork and his hot noodles before heading for the hallway. “I’m gonna go eat, shout if you need me. Or text, or whatever.”

     Bro frowned, but let Dave go without a word. Not that he could really say much. He knew how much stress Dave was under, knew he could probably help in some ways that would matter a lot, but knowing there was no way to gauge how much longer he’d even be around to begin with, it made it hard to know when to try being close and when to push further away.

     Probably better to just keep things at arms length like they had been for a few years now, make it easier for them both. The last thing Bro wanted to do was become a source of weakness for Dave, after all.

     It was the least he’d be able to do.

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

      The last face Dave expected to see on Monday was a familiar one. Amidst the chatter of his classmates filling the lecture hall, Dave spotted messy dark hair and shining blue eyes, black glasses with thick square lenses. When he spoke, when he grinned at someone, he saw the buck teeth that had finalized the squirm in his stomach on the weekend. It was still early enough in the semester that students were dropping and adding classes left and right, so it wasn’t unthinkable that there’d be another handful of new faces in the class for a while. The fact it was this one, though, was surprising. More surprising still was the eventual way the tall guy made his way towards the back, towards Dave’s table, and pointed at the seat beside him.

     “That open? Everyone else has their bags on their chairs, I guess they’re saving them for someone else,” he said.

     More like trying to deter randos from sitting beside them, Dave thought, realizing he’d forgotten to do the exact same thing. Whoops. Oh well, not the worst person in the world to want to sit beside him and listen to the professor prattle on up in front of the lecture hall.

     “Yeah, it’s open,” said Dave after a moment of processing that… shit this guy was pretty fucking cute up close. Sounded nice too, when he wasn’t high off adrenaline. He kicked his backpack further under the tabletop and glanced down at his laptop, making sure he wasn’t on anything embarrassing without realizing it. Nope, youtube and a flash game till the class started (and for during class if the guy went off topic and wouldn’t get back to the relevant things for class, as was this Professor’s apparent specialty).

     “My name’s John,” offered messy hair as he sat down. “What’s yours?”

     His name didn’t matter.

     “Dave,” he said, grinning a bit. “Nice to meet you, John.”

     “Oh man, you’re subscribed to them too?” he asked suddenly, pointing to the screen. “I’ve been watching their Lets Plays for years, it’s kinda amazing how much they break the games they play. And it’s neat to see two girls running a channel that big, normally it’s guys as far as the eye can see.”

     “Yeah? I feel ya,” Dave said, glancing to the screen again and clicking to pause. Rose was in the process of executing a risky near game breaking glitch that would speed them towards the ultimate weapon of the game, while Jade was explaining the process and the details, as well as the history of the game itself, and giving real life comparisons to the events and reality. He’d seen this episode at least a half dozen times, but the duo were charming as hell and really knew their shit. Cut throat and cut throat, and yet entertaining and casual. “Space Needle is kind of a weird name for a channel though. Isn’t that a landmark somewhere?”

     “I know, but have you heard Jade go on about space and technology before?”

     “Oh yeah, her science corner,” Dave mused. Shit, this guy really was a fan. ...Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad being distracted by him after all, they’d managed to break the ice without even a second thought.

     The professor had finally made his way into the classroom, however, and Dave nodded his direction to John, who hurriedly dug into his bag for his own laptop. Right, time to focus now. They could geek out later. Dave didn’t miss the Space Needle sticker on the back, along with an impressive amount of other insignia that Dave could only guess at. Dude seemed into pop culture to a wicked degree, there were even memes on display, up to date ones too.

     They were hard cut to focus though, finding it much more fun to whisper back and forth about their favorite episodes, their favorite quotes, in jokes and memes. John apparently had started watching fairly recently but was already die hard, and was living for Dave’s deeper lore on the channel. The whispering only stopped when the professor focused enough to catch them, calling for quiet in the back. They exchanged guilty smirks and went back to actually focusing, taking notes from the display and trying to decipher what would be most important from what was being said to note down as well.

     When the class ended, it was back to business as they packed up and headed out, deciding to hit the cafeteria for more conversation and a snack before they had to go their separate ways. Dave’s eventual regretful time to leave came all too soon after he’d finished some fries, and he was surprised  when John handed over not only his discord information, but his phone number on a scrap napkin. His handwriting was messy but clear, and on his way to his next destination Dave took care to gently set it into his bag for later.

     He’d gotten a cute guys details without even asking. Discord was one thing, but his phone number? Holy shit. The fact that it’d be difficult to remain casual with him was going to be the next task at hand, what with his duties and all, but Dave had confidence he’d manage it.

     He could handle saving the world. Of course he could handle a cute guy at the same time.

     Somehow.

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

     Somehow seemed a lot further away when Dave was busy. A lot less possible. How could he juggle a friendship casually, much less with a really cute guy, while dealing with shit like this every other day? Another attack had laid low several people, with the creatures showing they could reproduce with enough of the inky substance on the ground. Someone had unleashed another flow of them, but this time they seemed prepared to fight back.

     They had sharp claws that cut at the fabric of Dave’s cape, and his usual speed didn’t seem enough for dealing with them with such a heavy weapon. He vaguely wished he had the skills to use a katana like Dirk or Bro properly, one handed and speedy as sound itself, but alas. His mantle was the royal deringer and no less. Fate seemed to think he could handle a broadsword, so a broadsword he was dealt.

     When a group of the imps managed to knock him over, sending him flying into the air and then skidding along the ground till he came to a halt, Dave knew he’d need to change tactics. Slowly getting up onto his scuffed white boots once more, Dave began to circle the creatures, biding his time and waiting till he could strike properly. They were mindless before, but this time they seemed to be working as a team, occasionally using each other as weapons or sending projectiles made of sludgy oil Dave’s direction. He’d dodge, dance backwards, flash step sideways to avoid. He needed to act quickly, though. It appeared as though there was potentially a way for them to combine themselves, to become even larger. Deadlier. Finally though, they left themselves open.

     Gritting his teeth, Dave felt the surge in his blood as the gears activated in the air behind him, flashing brightly as they turned. He flash stepped forwards and angled his blade, slicing clean through four in a go before flash stepping another direction and backstabbing another. He bounced about this way for a good thirty seconds of real time, dodging slightly slowed attacks and striking what he hoped were key points of these taller, more deadly imps. Grist showered the ground with the falling oil, a slow motion wave that only grew in intensity as he finally shouted and beheaded the final creature and came to a knee to catch his breath.

     His arms burnt, his back ached, and the ticking throb in his head only seemed to get more and more intense as the gears slowed and finally disappeared following his strife. He was coated in oil, and was thankful he didn’t need to worry about cleaning and detailing his weapon as he sent it back where it had come from, let alone cleaning himself or his uniform. He ran a hand through oily white hair and grimaced, looking at the fallen grist, the fallen people, and shook his head.

     A repeat attack so soon, escalating no less, meant that this foe wasn’t just another one and done mission. Something felt… wrong. Intensely wrong, really. Dave couldn’t put his finger on it, but his instincts were telling him to be wary of the situation.

     With the sound of sirens on the horizon, Dave bolted from the scene, taking to the building tops with some parkour and extreme jumps, flash stepping some distances and simply taking cover for others till he could return to the ground in a desolate area. Away went the magic, a gear appearing overhead and quickly whipping over him to the ground, returning him to his normal clothes.

     If only it could take away the fatigue, too.

     And the sense of loneliness that cropped up not long after as he was walking back to where he’d ditched his backpack originally tonight, passing by a gaggle of people out having fun, unaware of the danger that lurked around them. Unaware of just how great they had it, being able to go to the movies with friends whenever they wanted to instead of forever being on call.

     Would he be like that someday, somehow? Find a way to get peace for extended periods, or peace everlasting? Not eternally being on call? Or would he be like Bro, powerless and essentially alone, traumatized and waiting for his timer to tick down. ...No. He’d never be like Bro, probably. Bro had given everything up for him. It was his fault he was-

     A chirp from Dave’s phone alerted him that he was near his bag, and just in time to boot. He rummaged in the pocket to dig it out, and blinked at the screen.

     John. 

     That’s right… He had a friend now. ...Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad. He actually smiled as he lit the screen up and tapped out a reply, shouldering his bag before heading home. It was more discussion of Space Needle, which was a welcome distraction from how Dave felt, and how his thoughts had begun turning.

ectoBiologist:  so like i was saying, i just heard about their next lets play and i’m freaking out a bit! turntechGodhead:  yeah?? whats planned ectoBiologist:  they’re going to cover SBURB! can you believe it?turntechGodhead:  sburb huh turntechGodhead:  seems their style i guess turntechGodhead:  didnt it get kinda mid reviews though ectoBiologist:  some people rated it sub par but i don’t care, i think it sounds great. ectoBiologist:  i don’t know what would be better, if it was a great game or if it was a spectacular piece of shit they can tear apart on screen. turntechGodhead:   think theyll stream any of it ectoBiologist:  oh shit i hope so!

     The banter carried Dave all the way home, up the familiar stairs, and into the apartment where he was surprised to smell food cooking. The room was warm from the stove and oven being on, catching Dave out of the conversation and into reality once more, freezing and lifting a brow.

     “Okay, what’s happenin’, you don’t cook.”

     Bro, sprawled out on the futon again with his long legs crossed, smirked from beneath the brim of his hat.

     “Excuse the fuck outta you, I do too. It’s just been a goddamn long time.”

     “Okay, you don’t cook for me though,” Dave clarified, setting his bag down.

     “Who said it’s for you?”

     “...”

     “I’m fuckin’ with you. There’s a casserole in the oven and some sides on the stove. Eat up.”

     “I need a shower first,” Dave said, remembering all too well the feeling of oil in his hair, oil hitting his face, the bittersweet smell of the inky sludge. After warning John he was going offline for a bit, Dave dropped his bag in his room and went to clean himself up. It’d be the first night in a long while he felt secure, comfortable, warm, clean, AND full all at once.

     There were worse ways to spend an evening than falling asleep on his phone after too much supper. Though, right then, Dave couldn’t really think of any. All he could think about was the cute boy on the other end of the discord handle, his favorite gamers prepping for a new title they could experience at the same time, and the lulling comfort of sleep seeping into his bones.

[inactiive-shit]

Monsters

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Prompt: monsters

Warnings: Deceit, Remus, vomit

Pairing: Romantic Dukeceit -> Anxceitmus

Words: 1,892

@sanderssidescelebrations sorry I just couldn’t think of a good title for this one. In other news, I may eventually write more off this prompt as a kind of backstory because I have a lot of ideas now. ANYWHO, here ya go!

“Are you okay, Virgil?” said Patton’s gentle voice. Virgil jumped, then groaned, then took a giant swig of his mostly espresso coffee. He gave Patton’s general direction a despondent thumbs up and carefully put his head back on the table. Patton rubbed his back soothingly, and Virgil could imagine the cooing noises he would make.

“Is he hung over?” came Roman’s deep rumble of a voice. He threw himself down at the table with them, and Virgil could feel all the way down his spine as Roman’s chair and Remus’s were pulled back from the table with a screech. He groaned again and put his arms over his head as though that would block out the noise anymore than his boxy, noise-canceling headphones already were.

“He’s not feeling well?” Patton suggested. “I’m not really sure. He’s only communicating with grunts and groans.” Patton continued rubbing Virgil’s back. Virgil wished he was hung over like Princey thought. At least then there would be an end to this eternal torment. As it was, Virgil kind of wanted to gouge out his eyes and his eardrums. That could solve the problem of the massive migraine that was currently trying to kill him. But hey, the screams of hundreds of unrested souls could do that to a person.

“Well, I don’t know why else he’d be wearing sunglasses inside and with giant headphones on if he’s not hung over,” Roman said. Virgil wished he was hung over. If he was hung over, it would stop eventually.

“Migraine,” Virgil grumbled, face smashing into the table. He could feel the rumble of sympathy coming from Patton as he said something Virgil didn’t quite catch. He sat up slightly and drained the rest of his drink. He shoved the empty cup toward Remus. “More?”

“Should you really be drinking caffeine, though, since it makes your anxiety worse?” Roman asked, clapping a hand over Remus’s mouth to stop whatever was about to come spewing out. “Wouldn’t that just, I don’t know, make your headache worse, too?”

“What about caffeine?” asked Logan, taking the seat on Virgil’s other side. Roman repeated himself and Virgil tried his best not to puke from how the world was spinning around him even with his eyes shut and hidden behind dark sunglasses he’d gotten (read: stolen) from his roommate.

“Actually,” Logan said, voice cutting through Virgil’s headphones with a precision that made Virgil wince, “caffeine is a key ingredient in many migraine medications. It is clinically proven to help. And while the unfortunate, unintended side effect of heightened anxiety does occur with Virgil, it’s fair that he get to choose whether or not that’s worth it.”

“More,” Virgil grumbled again. Remus jumped up from the table and disappeared from Virgil’s limited hearing. More talking commenced around the table, and Virgil began singing a song in his head so that he could block out any wayward stimulation that decided to provoke his already pounding head.

Another chair was pulled out from the table, with a considerable amount of grace that all the other chairs had lacked, and that is how Virgil knew that Dee was there, and also that all of his friends had managed to find him slumped in a cafe, halfway between purgatory and hell. As was the life of a clairvoyant with shit luck. Virgil preferred to take his suffering alone with a side of lonely, thank you very much.

When Remus dropped the drink down in front of Virgil, he almost cried with relief and immediately began chugging it. Maybe, if life were so kind, Virgil could subsist on a diet of solely caffeine and noodles. It hadn’t worked yet, but there was still time to try.

“Bad day?” That was Dee’s voice, smooth and barely loud enough that Virgil could hear it. He winced anyway and nodded as he carefully dropped his head back onto the table. Nothing more was said that Virgil heard, and slowly but surely, the screams died down, too. It was almost peaceful and with his eyes shut to block out any unsavory spirits he may see he could imagine he was somewhere that wasn’t crowded with spirits.

Until a loud shriek of ”Help me, Virgil!” sound next to his ear and Virgil jumped so violently that his headphones flew off. Virgil winced again as the sound of every spirit in a hundred yard radius began assaulting his eardrums. The movement was so sudden that is sent the world tilt-a-whirling again and Virgil knew without a doubt that something regrettable was going to happen.

“Virgil, are you-”

“I’m going to be sick,” he gasped and staggered from the table. He slammed the bathroom door opened and dropped to his knees in front of the first toilet. Everything he’d eaten in the last day was coming up, and there was a hand on his back which could have been anyone and Virgil couldn’t even find it in himself to be embarrassed.

When he was done, the person behind him leaned forward to peer into the toilet and said, “Do you not chew your spaghetti? I could chew it for you and feed you like a bird.” Virgil let out a hiccup of a laugh, feeling the tiniest bit better. There was only one person he knew who would say something like that.

“Shut up,” Virgil groaned. He could barely hear anything over the dead. Reality felt kind of fuzzy which was probably not what it was supposed to be doing, but who was Virgil to argue with the universe? Certainly not the person the universe had fucked over with stupid psychic-seeing-the-dead powers from the day he was born.

Oh, wait, he actually was.

“Are you okay?” Remus asked. Virgil spit up the rest of what was in his stomach. “I think that’s a no. What’s wrong, Stormcloud?”

“It’s too loud,” Virgil said without thinking about it. Then he tensed up and puked again. Now Remus would think he was crazy because it probably didn’t sound loud in an empty bathroom to him.

“What do you mean?” Remus asked, wrapping an arm around Virgil. He might be done puking, he wasn’t sure, but he could tell that Remus was worried about him now because he wasn’t saying anything repulsive.

And if he’d made Remus worried, well, he sort of owed him the truth. He knew Remus wouldn’t care anyway. He was a werewolf. There was no room to judge.

“Mm-hm,” Virgil hummed. “All the dead people are screaming and I’m going to lose my mind if it doesn’t stop because it’s so fucking loud and-” Virgil stopped abruputly as Remus pulled Virgil toward him. He put Virgil’s head on his chest right above his heart and pressed his hand over top Virgil’s other ear. Suddenly, the only sound in Virgil’s head was the abnormally slow ba-boom, ba-boom of Remus’s heart. It was so loud and it was all Virgil could focus on. There was no screaming, no threats, no begging; just the echo of Remus being alive.

Virgil went limp against him and squeezed his eyes shut. It was the most serene he had felt in his whole life.

“Why, Virgil! You see dead people! Why didn’t you tell me? We could have such a fun time,” rumbled through Remus’s chest. Virgil didn’t say anything. It was quiet for once, he was going to enjoy this until his migraine left him the fuck alone. “Did you know I was a werewolf?” Remus asked. That did, unfortunately, require an answer.

Virgil sat back. “Yeah. So’s Ro, and Dee’s a naga and Pat’s a selkie and Lo’s a fae and my roommate is a vampire who thinks he’s a whole lot better as keeping secrets than he actually is. Sorry I didn’t say anything.” With the screaming back and the nasty visions floating around him and the taste of puke in his mouth, Virgil’s words came out kind of stilted and uneven. It didn’t seem to matter to Remus, who beamed.

“Oh, Virgil, I am happy as a maggot in shit to hear that,” Remus exclaimed. “The only reason Dee and I haven’t asked you out yet was because we didn’t want you to think you were getting into a relationship with humans when we aren’t. Ruined the surprise, I think, but what can you do.”

“Remus,” Virgil said slowly. “Did you just ask me out on the bathroom floor right after I puked in the toilet?”

“I like a guy who can get a little nasty,” Remus said and shimmied his shoulders. Virgil groaned, partly because Remus was ridiculous and partly because he might puke again. “So, what do ya say, Stormcloud?”

“Yes, but not right now because there’s still puke in my mouth,” Virgil said.

“Let’s go get that handled,” Remus suggested, “and then you can come back to our apartment and we can keep all those awful noises away. And then when we wake up tomorrow, Dee can ask you out!” He was grinning manically, and Virgil couldn’t help but laugh. It sounded like a pretty solid plan. Remus helped Virgil stand up and brought him over to the sinks to rinse his mouth out. Virgil took a couple sips of water, but decided that was enough or else he’d be spitting that back up too.

When Remus tried to lead him toward the door, Virgil’s legs gave out from under him. Remus, without hesitating for even a second, scooped Virgil up like a baby. He adjusted them until Virgil’s head was on his chest and Virgil had relaxed slightly.

“Okay?”

“Yeah. Just tired.” Virgil shut his eyes again as Remus carried him out of the bathroom. There was a muffled conversation at the table as somebody put his headphones and sunglasses back on for him, and he faintly heard Remus say, “Virgie’s not a normie either!” followed by exclamations and he did really want to hear what everybody thought, but the next thing he knew, he was being picked up out of a car and carried into an apartment.

“Hey, Virgil,” Dee said, plucking his headphones off for a second. Virgil winced, but it was quieter here, less to see and hear, so he hummed a hello. “Remus said you agreed to come over and I really didn’t want to have to take the headphones off to ask in the middle of the restaurant. Do you need anything? Food? Or water? Sleep?”

“Lights off?” Virgil whispered. “I don’t really sleep much like this. But I like listening to Remus’s heart. It makes all the other noises...stop.” Dee smiled in the softest way Virgil had ever seen, and then went to pull all their curtains closed. Remus sat down on the couch, still cradling Virgil, and situated them so that Virgil’s head was directly over his heart. The slow, steady ba-boom, ba-boom was taking up most of Virgil’s senses again.

“Do you need anything else?” Dee asked quietly. Virgil shook his head, and Dee sat down next to them. There was a quiet rumble as Remus said something Virgil didn’t catch, and then a softer one as Dee responded. Virgil took a deep breath and just focused on Remus’s heartbeat. It let the pain fade to background noise much better than anything else did, and Virgil finally fell asleep to the quiet ba-boom, ba-boom of Remus’s heart.

[dracocheesecake]

Ok so for whatever reason I had a dream just...telling me Sir Skubbin's entire supposed life story as told by my brain so here's some headcanons based on that because this is gonna haunt me if I don't do it:

(Warning for spoilers in regard to Labyrinth: Coronation)

He's really not used to physical affection. At all. His father wasn't too keen about that sort of thing. The most Skubbin ever got from him was a pat on the head if he did something right...which was very rarely.

Seriously if someone hugs him he just doesn't know how to respond. His brain just goes entirely blank and he goes limp like a noodle.

Give him a compliment and he also can't handle it. He's just so used to being insulted.

He's also used to not having very much control over his own life. He can go anywhere in the Labyrinth he pleases but he knows he'll never escape; it doesn't matter anyway. The Owl king knows where he is at all times and can pull him back to the Castle at any moment.

The Owl king often did this to make a point to Skubbin: you have no control.

Skubbin doesn't ride a mount because mounts in the Labyrinth tend to be unreliable unless they have reason to be loyal to you; and he prefers to have some level of control on where he goes. His own two feet won't betray him.

He drinks respect women juice. Very chivalrous.

As heir of the Labyrinth he can actually shift things around as he pleases: had the Owl king only taught him properly Skubbin could have left the Labyrinth at any given time.

His father made him become a knight in an attempt to make something of him and his noble heart. A prince- even a goblin one- should behave a certain way.

Skubbin loved it at first- but overtime became disillusioned with it when he realized alot of knights were just hypocrites.

The only knight Skubbin ever respected was Sir Didymus, his old mentor.

He picked up a book about the bandits of the wastes when quite young, but as he grew older decided to become one in an attempt to rebel against his father.

Deep down he truly doesn't want to be a bandit, he only wants to be free and have control of his own life.

There are many parts of being a knight that truly appeal to him- he actually enjoys helping others.

His noble heart was considered a curse only because he was the only one who had such a thing; his father was very displeased by it.

Learned at a very young age to rely only on himself; nothing in the Labyrinth is as it seems.

As soon as Skubbin was born his father considered him a threat and acted to neutralize him (he couldn't kill him, of course. He needed an heir...but he always let him know who had the power between them).

As Skubbin grew older and more independent he distanced himself from his father more and more. The Owl king couldn't care less.

Young Skubbin lived in constant fear of Septimus, and the Owl king always ensured Skubbin knew he could have the night troll tear him apart any time he wished.

Skubbin has some feathers underneath his armor. He just plucks them constantly. He hates them because they remind him of his father.

He actually cries very easily. He's very compassionate and actually really sensitive. It's why he's so terrible at being a bandit.

He still uses the title bandit even after leaving the Labyrinth even though he isn't actually one. He just prefers it over "knight".

[janetbrown711]

“hold my hand.” Hazel and Loucy

Hazel woke up in a cold, dark cell with her little cousin Lucy curled up on her. It took her a moment to take in the scene before she realized that they definitely weren’t at Uncle Louie’s house, but it didn’t take long to remember what had happened. 

She shuddered at the memory. 

She took another moment to take in the scene before her. The cell was dark, damp, and dirty. There wasn’t any furniture and she quickly noticed she and Lucy were wearing tracking anklets to ensure they wouldn’t escape. Great. 

“Finally awake I see,” A familiar female voice spoke from the dark. “Well... at least one of you. I’d suggest waking the little one if I were you. She’ll need to hear this.” Hazel didn’t trust the woman, but she didn’t feel as though she had a choice. She nudged Lucy awake. 

“H-hazel?” she rubbed her eyes. “Where’re we?” she blinked. 

“As if I’d say that,” The woman spoke. This caused Lucy to shrink back. 

“Who is she?” she asked Hazel. 

“Your father knows me very well Lucilia, though I wouldn’t be surprised if he hasn’t told you out of all of them about me,” The woman chuckled darkly. It made Hazel shudder again. 

“What do you want from us?” Hazel asked. 

“From you? Hmm... I suppose not much. It’s your parents that have our interest,” She said. 

“Why does uncle Louie know you?” Hazel interrogated. 

“So many questions,” She woman brushed it aside. She clapped her hands and lights flickered on and the girls were able to get a good look at their kidnapper. Messy green feathers, a scar over a now robotic right eye, a giant brown fur coat, a cracked beak, and a grotesque figure overall. When Lucy saw her, she clung to Hazel’s sweater and Hazel wrapped her arm around her. 

“Now, let me make myself clear: you two are here for ransom; a ploy to get your parents here if you will. I know they want you in one piece so I won’t hurt you,” She said, and Hazel sighed a breath of relief. 

“Unless you misbehave, so don’t get too comfortable,” she grinned. “However that doesn’t mean I’m not going to make use of you two. I’ve compiled a list of chores for the both of you to do. The little one will start with cooking, and you will chop wood outside,” She said. 

“Lucy can’t cook, she’s six. A-and it’s the middle of winter, way too cold to be chopping wood. I-i don’t even have snow gear,” Hazel looked at her like she was insane (which she was, but that was beside the point). 

“That wasn’t a request,” her eyes flashed in anger.

“W-well I get that, b-but-”

“Listen here little girl,” Turaco opened the cell door and picked up Hazel. “If you keep talking back to me there will be dire consequences. You may as well say goodbye to your little cousin now, understood?” Hazel nodded, pure terror in her eyes. Turaco laughed and tossed her back on the ground. 

“Good. You will do what I ask as I ask or else. Now come along, you’ve got work to do,” Turaco left the cell. 

“Haze, are you okay?” Lucy asked. Hazel grumbled and nodded. 

“We should go. C’mon, hold my hand,” she said as she stood. Lucy bobbed her head and held her cousin’s hand tightly. 

“I don’t like the scary lady,” Lucy stated. 

“Me neither... but we have to do what she says so we can go home, okay?” Hazel asked. 

“Okay,” Lucy nodded. She paused a moment before saying, “I wanna go home.”

“I know... me too,” Hazel squeezed her hand and Lucy squeezed back. 

“Ah here we are. The kitchen. Get to work on making us something good,” Turaco ordered. 

“I-i don’t know how to-”

“That wasn’t a question. Now get in there,” She grabbed Lucy by the collar of her dress and tossed her to the floor. Hazel ran to her but Turaco snapped her fingers. 

“You and I are going elsewhere, remember? Hurry along now,” She glared before beginning to walk away again. 

“I’m sorry Lucy. I’ll see you later; hang in there,” Hazel said before running off to catch up with Turaco. 

“And this is where you’ll be,” Turaco opened a door and a gush of wind came in, causing Hazel to shudder. 

“I-it’s fr-fr-freezing,” She rubbed her arms. 

“Good thing you’re wearing a sweater. Get to work,” she pushed Hazel outside and stationed a robot guard at the door. 

“Well... let’s just hope this doesn’t go horribly for both of us...” 

.o0o.

For hours, Hazel worked away at chopping wood. She had terrible aim and the arm strength of a limp noodle. By the end, she gained very sore arms, and blisters covering her hands, but eventually, she considered her work done and was let back inside to the cell. She waited there for what felt like hours that she tried to sleep through before she heard the cell door open and Lucy crying. Hazel immediately sat up and saw that Lucy was holding a burnt and bloodied hand that had been struck by a ruler. 

“Lucy, what happened?” Hazel opened her arms and Lucy ran into her arms. 

I-i w-was trying t-t-to coo-cook l-like she sa-said,” she hiccuped, “b-but I-i burned m-m-my ha-han-hand a-and i-i couldn’t st-stop crying a-and the food went b-black a-and sh-she g-got mad a-and-and got a ruler a-and now my ha-hand really hurts,” she sobbed. Hazel squeezed her cousin tightly, trying to pour as much comfort as she could into it.  

“Well if you keep it up, there’ll only be more where that came from,” Turaco had suddenly appeared in the room. Hazel glared at her. “My my, such a feisty one,” She shook her head. “I suppose it runs in the family.” Hazel had to raise an eyebrow at that. She definitely wasn’t as mad as her Uncle Donald. 

“She’s only six. Punish me next time,” Hazel said. 

“While that does sound fun because you are pretty weak for your age, I’ll have to decline. She messes up, she’ll get the punishment. Just like her father,” She grinned. 

“What do you mean ‘just like her father’?” Hazel pressed. 

“Oh? Did he really not tell you about me?” she seemed almost offended. “I’m the one who kidnapped and nearly killed him all those years ago. My... I think it was a little more than a year before you were born,” she said.

“h-how would you know that?” Hazel asked. 

“Oh, FOWL knows a lot of things, especially about your family,” she flashed a grin that sent another shiver down Hazel’s spine. “Your father was quite a thorn in our side when he was not much younger than you are now,” she said. 

“I-is that why I’m here?” she asked a lot more quietly. 

“The collection of Hubert Duck and Webbigail Vanderquack would very much benefit our causes so I suppose... yes. That’s exactly why you’re here. You’re fish bait that your oh so doting parents won’t even hesitate to fall for,” she smiled. Hazel wished she could’ve argued that, but it was true. They wouldn’t hesitate a moment to go try to rescue them. 

Oh god, she wasn’t going to be the reason her father died too, was she??? Her mind quickly spiraled. 

“However, they likely won’t be here until tomorrow, maybe even the day after, so here we are. Waiting while I struggle to find some use for you two,” she sighed. “Children are such pains, but it’ll all be worth it soon. I’ll have your daddies heads on a platter, as well as Webbigail too. Oh! And if we’re lucky we might even get Scrooge McDuck! Isn’t this exciting?!” She clapped her hands, but Hazel looked at her terrified, clinging onto her cousin even more than before. 

“It isn’t true Lucy, everything is gonna be okay,” she said. Lucy shook her head and continued to cry. 

“Awww, is the little one scared?” Turaco’s sarcasm oozed. “Well at least that means she’s got some brains in her. Now, don’t get some rest. We have a ransom video to record later.” With that, Turaco cackled and left the room, leaving Hazel feeling so many emotions all at once she couldn’t tell what was strongest. 

“I-i want m-my d-d-daddy,” Lucy sobbed. 

“I know Lucy, it’ll be okay,” Hazel stroked her hair. 

“I-i don’t wa-want them to g-get hu-hurt,” she looked up to her cousin. Hazel looked away in a failed attempt to hold back tears of her own. 

“i-i know... I want my dad too...” her voice cracked and she found herself unable to speak. She just hugged Lucy tighter and together they just cried with all their might in the small cold and damp cell, somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. 

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

[peterthepark]

born to die

pairing: billy hargrove x reader

summary: sometimes, it’s better to leave something broken than to fix it. after a two-year old breakup, billy finds her waiting tables, yet still as gorgeous as ever. he can only hope that the timing was never right for them, & that they can show each other how to live again. but hope... it’s a dangerous thing, especially for a man like billy.

warnings: angst, SADNESS, heartbreak, smoking, alcohol, instances of a toxic relationship, strong language, bad shit in the workplace, sensitive topics

A/N: based off of the song happiness is a butterfly by lana del rey & of course, born to die by her as well! this is a continuation to die for you. pls read that before you read this for the whole angsty experience, thanks! be aware this contains sensitive topics and i do not intend to glorify them.

The restaurant bustles noisily with the clatter of plates and cutlery. The air is warm, and you can instantly feel the sweat build up on your brow from the cheap air conditioning. Your body, however, stands frozen in the walkway between the tables. The yellow notepad trembles in your hand, and you stumble over your own words as you muster up the stability to speak again.

Meeting his blue eyes, it made you feel as if you were nineteen again - the same nineteen year old teenager, whose mind was clouded with lust and the need to be loved. Billy Hargrove never did, in fact, love you. Maybe that’s why you still had that aching need buried at the bottom of your heart. No chain and ball could ever pull down that feeling.

His gaze drops from your face to your shoes, taking in your frazzled state. Compared to him, you surely looked like a mess. At least your makeup was decent, unlike the stains on your uniform and apron. Billy couldn’t make it anymore obvious with how shocked he was, yet, the faint smile on his face was a giveaway of his lack of malice towards you.

But the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

And maybe you did lie - about him not loving you.

Maybe it wasn’t love in the first place. Maybe it was more.

Because he was still wearing the gold necklace you had given him on his eighteenth birthday.

It’s been two years. Get a fucking grip.

“So, just the pasta?” You clear your throat, scribbling off all the errors you had made on the notepad whilst taking his order. Stuffing the papers into your apron, you collect his menu, nearly knocking over the glass of water in front of him. “Sorry. My fault. Is that all?”

“Yeah, thank you.” His expression is fond. The words seem bitter on his tongue, almost as if he shouldn’t be speaking to you after all that guilt and shame that was placed upon him once you had left. “Y/N?”

Your heart flutters ever-so delicately, and you turn on your heels to look at him. His eye twitches before he bites down harshly on his bottom lip. “It’s good to see you again.”

There’s a small hitch in his gruff voice, and you internally wince at it before you head into the kitchen to compose yourself. You brush past the busy cooks and stressed waiters, shutting yourself inside the stock room as you attempt to even out your breathing. Bracing your forearms against the shelf, you rest your head against the cool metal, closing your eyes tightly as you mutter curses to yourself.

The door creaks open, causing light to seep through the crack by the doorframe. You raise a hand up, eyes still shut as you press your lips together. “If you could just leave me be right now, that would be great.”

“Y/N.”

Fuck.

“Billy, I - you aren’t allowed to be back here.” You finally look up, hair sticking to your cheeks while you wipe away the oiliness on your neck. You’re sure that your eyeliner has smudged with how much you’ve been touching your face.

You must’ve looked far from beautiful.

But Billy thought otherwise. Seeing you look like a broken mess was nothing foreign to him.

In fact, he was ultimately drawn to broken things.

Maybe two broken people are meant to piece themselves into a whole.

“Look, I’m... Y/N, I wanna apologize.” He steps inside, letting the door swing shut behind him. The only light that fills the room is the swinging red lamp above you, illuminating Billy’s sorrowful features.

“We can’t do this right now.”

“You need to hear me out.”

“Not here, please.” Your eyes glance down at his outstretched fingers.

You almost want to grab them and place his palm against your heart, to show him how fast it beats right now.

To show him that he still has that effect on you. To show him that maybe you do miss him. To show him that he could get a second chance.

But you shouldn’t.

You’ve killed yourself for him too many times.

Yet, the sound of his voice and the blue in his eyes is enough to bring you back to life.

“Y/N, I know I’m the last person who - who you’d want to see here. It’s just I... I’ve thought about what I did to you, and what I could’ve done so that I wouldn’t have lost you.” His eyes are soft, and his eyebrows furrow with every word he says. “I just wanna talk.”

“What even is there left to talk about, Billy?” He sighs at the mention of his name, and he struggles to keep his head lifted at the sound of it. You place your hands on top of your shoulders, arms crossing over your sternum defensively as you stare at him with a open mouth.

“Do you still feel the same?” He whispers breathily. “Do you still love me?”

A shaky exhale escapes from your lips, before they part and purse together; the words in your head are hesitant to leave through your throat, and a weak scoff comes out instead. The door clicks open, and you freeze when your boss walks into the stock room. His eyes bounce from you to Billy, and you curl into yourself under his degrading glare.

“Everything good, Y/L/N?” Freddie asks, adjusting the collar of his button up as you tug at Billy’s shirt for him to leave.

“M’fine, sir.” You mumble, straightening out your uniform as you step towards him.

Billy walks out first, and to his dismay, he quickly sees the disheartening interaction between you and Freddie. He doesn’t miss the way Freddie snatches your wrist, pulling you towards him while you struggle in his grasp. Billy catches your eye in the doorway, and you avert your gaze before Freddie finally lets you go. You stumble out of the back room, bumping shoulders with Billy as you hastily return to your job.

The expression on your face saddens him. It’s as if you had died over and over again in the last two years, constantly being thrown in the line of fire - only to pick yourself up everytime. Since when was it possible for it to become this bad?

With short breaths, you place Billy’s dish on the table, already knowing that he didn’t want any Parmesan on his pasta and that he would want a Coca-Cola to go with it. His lips curl up into a small smile, and a quiet thank you slips out. You nod courteously, stuffing your hands in your pockets while you ask him if he needs anything else.

“Can I see you after this?” Billy says as he twists his fork into his noodles.

You huff with a weak shrug. “I don’t - I don’t have time. Really.” He nods respectfully, and suddenly you feel a wave of regret wash over you. You pat the table with your hand, before you stride off to help your other customers. “Enjoy your meal, Hargrove.”

Closure.

It’s what you needed, right? Surely, closure would help mend the agonizing wound inside your chest. But maybe, the wound had gotten worse now that you’ve seen Billy once again - infected even.

Was it worth it?

Billy runs a limp hand down his face when another waitress hands him his check. He sorts through the receipts, digging out crumpled dollar bills from his wallet to pay off his food. His eyes skim over the numbers, until they land on a familiar set of blue handwritten words on the corner of his receipt.

We can meet at the motel down a few blocks. (The one where we stayed when your car broke down? Do you remember that?) Anyways, I‘m taking up room 20. Shift ends at 5.

He cranes his neck to look for you in the midst of the restaurant, but he doesn’t. Disappointed yet also relieved at your change of heart, he folds the note into his jacket, setting aside a generous twenty dollar-bill as his tip. With shaky legs, he stands, suddenly nervous at the thought of you confronting him about all that had happened - but he didn’t care anymore.

At least you’d be speaking to him.

Staring at the evergreen car freshener that hung from the mirror above the dashboard, Billy could feel his chest constrict as he thought of the things you’d say to him.

How pathetic he made you feel?

How he wasted your time?

How he struggled to show how much he truly loved you?

Billy plants his feet on the murky welcome mat in front of your room. Rapping his fist against the door, he bites down on the inside of his mouth as he listens to the lock click open. Your sunken face peers through the crack, and you slowly pull the door further to allow Billy into your room. He shuffles inside with heavy footsteps. The leather jacket rests heavy on his arms so he shrugs it off and hangs it on the wooden chair in the makeshift kitchen.

His eyes take in the state of your motel room. Clothes are scattered on the floor of the bathroom, while two suitcases hide behind the curtain of the closet. There’s an ashtray on the television stand, and a pack of unopened Marlboro cigarettes beside. The bedsheets of your queen mattress are messily pulled back, and it seems as if you had lacked the energy to clean up after yourself. After what seemed like forever, Billy finally pans over to you, eyebrows already furrowed with questions and mouth drawn in a straight line.

“Are you okay, Y/N?”

The question is enough to cause you to take a seat, otherwise, you’re sure that you wouldn’t have the strength to carry on. Not in a couple months has asked you that question. And in the two years you had gone without seeing Billy, you least expected him to be the first person who’d ask.

Visually, the answer is clear: you aren’t okay. But internally, inside your mind, beneath the mentality of pretending to be alright, you weren’t sure if there was anything left - besides the occasional pang of sadness or frustration, it felt as if your whole world had shifted into black and white.

It’s like the universe had died with you.

And so, you reply with the phrase that you’ve repeatedly rehearsed inside your head. “I’m not okay,” You swallow audibly, feeling your throat tighten. “But I will be.”

Billy, though sympathetic, is almost in worse shape as you are. However, he doesn’t let it show, not on the outside at least. Yet, he knows that you can tell something is wrong with him. There’s a slight frown on your face as you rest your arm on the back of the chair you‘re sitting on.

You raise your head to look up at him, “Are you okay?”

“I will be.” He smiles sadly, twisting the ring around his finger. His eyebrows knit together as he glances at you. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I should’ve been better.”

“I know, I know.” Strands of hair from your loose ponytail frame your face, and you stressfully push them away from your view with a sigh. “We both could’ve done better.”

“Fuck, Y/N.” He kicks his heel against the refrigerator with disgruntlement, tugging on his curly hair. “I’ll never find anyone like you. I fucked it up. I’m sorry. I fucked everything up.” He begins to pace around the room, footsteps heavy on the dark carpet.

“Billy...”

“Y/N, I still love you. And I know - I know that what I did was... unspeakable. I messed with your head, I made you think twice, I made you doubtful and insecure and I - I understand no one would ever want that. But Y/N... I was seventeen when we first got together, I was nineteen when we broke up. And now, I’m twenty, and I still miss you.”

“Billy, as much as I... I would like to go back to being seventeen again, and hope that we would last then... it’s impossible.” You play with coaster on the table, twisting it between your fingers as a method of distracting yourself. Billy forces himself to sit, letting himself slide down the cool surface of the fridge with ease. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “But... there are some days where I can’t stop thinking about you.” When you look at him, he meets your gaze through his lashes. “And other days, I wonder why I’m wasting my fucking time, B.”

B.

He thinks that’s your way of telling him that you still love him.

Is it though?

“Do you want me or do you not?” Billy questions you. His eyes are narrowed. The hurt is finally visible, and you shrivel under his hopeful stare with clammy palms.

“You were supposed to be my once in a lifetime.” You clench your jaw, pressing your tongue to the roof of your mouth. “I don’t know if I can handle a second chance.”

The air smells of death.

You shouldn’t have done it. You shouldn’t have let him reach out. You shouldn’t have let this happen.

Your body shifts into instinct, and your feet scuffle against the ground as you stand up. Your shadow falls against Billy’s face as you step closer towards him. His eyes follow you as you sit down onto your thighs in front of him. The skirt of your uniform rides up, baring the skin beneath it.

“But what’s the worst that could happen to someone who’s already hurt?” You whisper, breath fanning over your lips.

His face is inches away from yours, and his attention falls onto your smudged lipstick, hesitant to reach out and touch you. Sitting between his legs, the tip of your nose grazes against his, then your mouths hover over one another - so close yet so far. Momentarily, he locks eyes with you. And you see nineteen-year old Billy again. You hold back a sob as you let your forehead rest again his. Gently, your fingers come to toy with his necklace, engraved onto it is a butterfly, and you smile through tears.

“I love you, Y/N.” Billy swipes his thumb under your eye, catching your teardrop. “I love you.”

His lips slowly connect to yours, capturing you into a desperate and longing kiss. His hands become grabby, clutching at the fabric of your top and nape of your neck. When he pulls away, you both are gasping for air.

Kissing him had revived you.

But kissing him was also the thing killing you.

How can you stay away from something that you were once so addicted to?

-

“So what happened?” Billy pipes up in a raspy voice. He rubs your arm, drawing butterfly-like shapes with his pointer finger as you rest your head on his bare chest.

Ever since he had sat down and talked to you, he’d visit you every few weekends, trying his best to prove himself to you again.

To gain back your trust.

It was almost too easy.

“I, uh, moved out of home last year for college. Remember Chicago? Yeah, couldn’t afford that shit so I was forced to drop out. Then, my parents got on my ass about it and I feel too - too ashamed to even ask for their help. Which is how I got to waiting tables at Rascal’s.” You scoff, “It doesn’t pay much, but its enough for two nights at a motel and some grocery.”

Billy shakes his head. “Jesus Christ, Y/N.”

“But I’ve saved up enough money... to leave.” You reluctantly glance up at Billy, burying your head against his collarbone. “You know?”

“Leave?”

“I’m going to California in a few weeks. That was my plan: to get up and go without telling anyone. Just - just disappear off the face of the earth. But now, you’re here. I’m here. And yet, I still want to leave this shithole.”

Billy looks over at the suitcases in the closet.

You were going to California.

What if he went too? After all, he’d die for you, right?.

You move to lean against the headboard, blinking at him expectantly.

Raising an eyebrow at him, you listen as he begins to ramble on. “Let me go with you to California.” Your jaw drops, and you start to shake your head while he frantically continues. “Y/N, there’s nothing for me here. This - I don’t have anyone or anything in this shithole.”

“You have Max.”

“She has her friends.”

“Billy,” You place your hand on his cheek, pulling him into your arms when he leans into your warm touch. “Wouldn’t that be a little too selfish?”

“Sweetheart,” He presses a kiss to your forearm and squeezes your hand. His eyes flicker up to you, and you blush deeply under his intense stare. “I’m always a little too selfish when it comes to you.”

The fact that he’d die for you was enough, right?

“So you’re coming with?” You chew on your bottom lip, tracing his tattoo with uncertainty.

“I’ll go anywhere you want me to go.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure, Y/N.”

Walking through the city streets

Is it by mistake or design?

I feel so alone on a Friday night

Can you make it feel like home if I tell you you're mine?

In a matter of weeks, Billy shows up to your motel room with two luggages in each hand. His hair is pulled back into a low curly ponytail, and he flashes you a charming smile as lightening booms in the sky behind him.

“When I said that we should runaway together at some point in our life...” You joke, hopping into the passenger seat of his Camaro with ease. Billy comes around to the driver’s seat after loading the trunk. “I didn’t think we’d be serious about it.”

“Well, there’s no backing out now, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Keep making me laugh

Let's go get high

The road is long, we carry on

Try to have fun in the meantime

“Can we stopover? Please? I gotta piss.” Billy complains, scratching his head dramatically as he fidgets in the seat. You drum your fingers against the steering wheel, finding amusement that he can’t stand the fact that you’re driving. “Y/N, I’m begging you.”

“The next stopover isn’t for like another hour. You’re an idiot. Should’ve went at the last one.”

“I di-“

“Fine! Fine. Alright, well, the closest thing to us is some random bar.” You chuckle, changing lanes. You turn up the stereo, tuning out Billy’s whining with Elvis instead.

Come take a walk on the wild side

Let me kiss you hard in the pouring rain

You like your girls insane

The mattress is soft beneath you. Billy’s arm rests over your stomach, trapping you against his chest. The lamp beside you buzzes softly, and you take in the state of the apartment that Billy had managed to rent out within the month you had arrived in San Francisco.

Leaving Hawkins had left an unknown scar in your heart. You wanted this - California, having a life with Billy, a second chance at that. You felt euphoria once you had moved in with him; the feeling was fulfilling, and it made you feel complete.

Was there anything better than loving someone in a city far from home?

You blink sleepily as Billy stirs awake. He yawns into your shoulder, trailing kisses up your neck with exaggerated noises.

“Morning.”

“Hi.” You flip onto your other side to face him. The blanket tickles your nose as you cuddle into its warmth, locking eyes with Billy. The dark blue turquoise swirls with adoration and momentarily, you feel something.

He looked at you like you were his whole world.

You must be feeling love - love felt like this, right? It had to. What other feeling could it be?

Or are you just trying to convince yourself as you look into the eyes of the boy who had stabbed you in the heart too many times?

You wanted this, Y/N.

You wanted California.

But did you ever want Billy?

“Are you leaving for work soon?” He asks, rolling out of the bed. He slips on his sweatpants from last night, tying the drawstrings together.

“Yeah, I have about twenty to spare though.”

“Oh.” He huffs, arms limp by his side. “Well, you should’ve told me. Put on pants for nothing.”

You laugh heartily. But the grin fades instantly when he dips down to press a suggestive kiss to your lips.

Was it love? Will it ever be love?

Lost but now I am found

I can see but once I was blind

I was so confused as a little child

“Y/N, you want me to take table six?” Alex asks, holding a stack of menus in his hand. You push your hair back, nodding with a gracious gaze.

“Please? Thank you. You’re an angel.” You move to brush past him, but simultaneously, he tries to move past you as well. His taller frame hovers over you, and you unexpectedly blush when he touches your arm to scoot past the granite counter.

“Sorry ‘bout that.” He chuckles shyly, scratching his head. A black curl of hair falls against his forehead, and you look at him fondly before he finally moves to accommodate the customers.

You catch the second glance he gives you.

And your belly bubbles with a cozy sensation.

It’s been forever since you’ve felt like this.

Tried to take what I could get

Scared that I couldn't find

All the answers, honey

“Okay, so you’re from Indiana? Tell me how it feels to grow up in a place like that.” Alex points at you with his spoon, chewing softly on his cereal. He glances up at you as he takes another spoonful of Cheerios. You shake your head in disagreement, staring down at your coffee bashfully. “No? So you’re from Illinois? Wait, Michigan?”

“No, no, I grew up here, silly. But... moved to Indiana for family reasons.” You shrug.

“Oh, alright, I see it now. You’re definitely a California girl.”

“What makes you say that?” He pauses, taking a couple minutes to study your face.

“You’re too beautiful for a small town, Y/N.”

You didn’t know that your own name could make you feel such emotions.

Don't make me sad, don't make me cry

Sometimes love is not enough

And the road gets tough, I don't know why

“Where have you been?” Billy rushes towards you, reeking of a bar.

You exhale sharply, tossing your bag onto the stool by the front door. “Working. Why?”

You take off the cardigan of your uniform and hang it on the coat rack. Walking past a concerned Billy, you head straight into the bedroom, too exhausted and too conflicted to even acknowledge him following you. He leans against the wall, eyes wide with disbelief as you start to undress.

“Working? Y/N, it’s been hours since your shift ended!” He shouts, gesturing at the clock on the nightstand.

You gape at him, slipping into an old shirt. “Billy, I’m home. That’s all that matters.” You start to raise your voice in irritation. “Why are you being such an ass about it?”

“Because - because...”

Happiness is a butterfly

Try to catch it like every night

It escapes from my hands into moonlight

“Because you don’t trust me? Is that what this is?” Scoffing at him with narrowed eyes, you dump your waitress uniform into the laundry basket, disregarding how piled up it is.

“You’re putting words into my mouth.” He paces around the room, while you sit calmly on the edge of the bed.

“You’re making assumptions.”

“Then tell me where you’ve been all day!” He explodes, tugging at his hair.

“With Alex.” You answer truthfully, finding no harm no the words you had uttered.

“Alex?”

“Just a guy from the café.”

Billy’s face hardens. “You’ve been at this job for how long? Three months?”

“B, just drop it. I’m tired.” You bury your head into your hands.

“Three months and you haven’t told me a single thing about this - this Alex.” His voice falters, and for a second, you think that’s he done being an asshole - but the anger and jealousy in his eyes tell you the opposite. “You like spending time with Alex? Huh? You’ve been gone for five hours, is that how much you like being around Alex? I barely get to see you anymore, Y/N. What the fuck is this?”

“Alex is a friend!” You stand up abruptly, fed up with Billy’s behavior. “I can’t be friends with other guys? You’re fucking crazy.”

“We move back to California and suddenly you’re a whore again.”

You realize that he’s been slurring this whole time - his words still hurt, though, and the intent behind them are enough to sting.

But drunk people often tell the truth. You weren’t a stranger to that.

If he's a serial killer, then what's the worst

That could happen to a girl who's already hurt?

I'm already hurt

Your frustration shifts into shock, then pain as you process what he had said to you in a matter of seconds. The tears don’t hold back this time, and immediately, your vision is blurry as the room around you spins.

Billy wobbles on his feet as the shame comes over him. He mutters your name when he sees your watery eyes and your quivering lip. You make a beeline for the door, but you’re pulled back when your hand comes in contact with the knob. Billy tightly wraps his arms around your waist, resting his head against your back as he whimpers an apology. The cracks in his throat don’t faze you. The dampness of your shift doesn’t faze you. The sound of him whispering your name doesn’t faze you.

This isn’t love.

Your love died when you had died for him.

If he's as bad as they say, then I guess I'm cursed

Looking into his eyes, I think he's already hurt

He's already hurt

“I don’t want this.” You say, shuddering as a sob racks through your body. “I don’t want you if you’re going to be like this.”

“Stay. Stay.” He cries. This is too familiar. This already happened. You can’t handle a second time. Not again. “I’ll change. I’m drunk. I’m drunk - just - this isn’t me, Y/N. You know me. This isn’t me.”

“I’m so fucking stupid.” You tremble, placing your hands on the door to hold yourself up as Billy embraces you even tighter.

You can’t breathe. He’s suffocating you.

“Y/N, I love you.”

“I’m sorry, B. I can’t.”

This isn’t love. No...

This is what it looks like when you’re lonely.

You pry his cold hands off of you, not once looking back as you slam the bedroom door behind you.

Billy doesn’t chase after you this time. He lets the tears roll down his cheeks. And he lets the emptiness eat him alive.

After all, people don’t come back from death.

I said, "Don't be a jerk, don't call me a taxi.”

Sitting in your sweatshirt, crying in the backseat

“I’m sorry, I don’t have anywhere else to go.” You sniffle, wiping away your runny nose with the sleeve of Billy’s crewneck. It hangs just above your knees, and you realize how disheveled you look.

Alex ushers you inside, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as you take a seat on his futon. The throw pillows smell of roses.

A funeral.

He doesn’t say a word. Rather, he sits beside you, rubbing your back comfortingly as your breathing becomes ragged. You try to speak, but all that comes out is a weak, pained moan.

I just wanna hold you tight down the avenue

I just wanna dance with you

I just wanna dance with you

Alex pulls you up from the makeshift bed on his couch, shushing you as you start to worriedly ask questions. The record player by his dining table sings airily, and you feel light as Alex begins to waltz with you around the living room.

“I’m not in the mood for this...” You mumble grumpily. Alex blows air into your face, and you flinch from the sudden action. “Ow, what is wrong with you?”

“Just trying to dry your tears. If you keep crying, I’ll run out of oxygen soon from trying to keep you dry.” He quirks a brow at you, laughing as you accidentally step on his bare feet. “And maybe I have to teach you to dance better. I won’t have any feet after that either, considering you keep fucking stepping on them.”

You shake your head at him with a small smile.

The cozy feeling from before fills the dark pit in your stomach.

“Is the California girl smiling?” Alex pulls back to look at you properly, scrunching his nose up when he sees you smile even wider. “Would you look at that.” His eyes drop down to your lips, and you don’t miss the way that his tongue slips out to wet his own. Clearing his throat, he speaks up again. “I got you a little gift. Just - just to cheer you up. Uh, hopefully. I don’t know if you’ll like it, but...” He steps away, digging through his bookshelf. When he turns to you, he holds out a minuscule box.

You hesitantly take it into your hands, popping the lid open.

A necklace.

A butterfly necklace.

The same one as Billy’s.

What a tragedy, to want to forget someone, only for them to flutter into your life undecidedly, especially when you don’t want them anymore.

But people don’t get to decide when the Reaper comes to sow.

And death - death is inevitable.

You were born to die from the beginning.

[gumnut-logic]

Johnny Snapshots

@onereyofstarlight​  Okay, let’s face it, I live in the land of the Virg and John is one of the hardest for me to tackle (the other being Alan who I do a disservice to on a regular basis). So I don’t read much John focussed fic. Not that I don’t love the boi, it’s just...oooh, look a bright shiny Virg! :D

So in order to get Johnny fluff for you, I only really have my pile of Virg-focussed fic to play with, though I can recommend reading stuff from @the-lady-razorsharp​ and @willow-salix​ cos they claim Johnny as their boi and write lots of stuff focussed on their space noodle :D

While looking for my previous post in my archives, I came across a snippet of John from one of my fics and got the idea of little Johnny Snapshots. So, here from amongst all my Virg fic, have a little Johnny Nutty-style.

Note: Snapshots from all sorts of fic, looking for fluff, spoilers for everything, several AUs, several ships, pretty much potluck and lots of description of the Johnny :D And while I’ve included links to the fics, the fics themselves are likely Virgil focussed and there may not be much more of John in them than is already here. You’ve probably read some of these before, too.

I hope you enjoy anyway :D

-o-o-o-

A ghost drifted on the breeze.

White as an angel, pale as the moonlight sculpting his form, his next youngest brother rode the air currents above the island.

The only word to describe John was elegant. Airborne porcelain, he circled. Midnight starlight cascaded through Virgil’s mind. Expressions of sorrow draped in calm, warmed by an amber light, the steady core of his star-loving brother.

Virgil watched mesmerised as his turns became tighter and tighter, closer to the ground. A great arch of white feathers and he landed gently, barely disturbing the sand beneath his bare feet.

He was gleaming in the moonlight from toe to hooded gaze. Ever so pale skin, free to be bare to the elements with the absence of the sun, his only clothing was a cut off pair of jeans so faded they were more white than blue.

Only his hair had colour, flame caught in just the right flash of light.

Decision

-o-o-o-

When he woke, the sun was making for the horizon, the whole island cast in gold.

“Hey, Virgil.”

The soft melodious voice of his space borne brother was lacking its usual transmission static and it was a pleasant surprise to roll over and find John sitting on a lounger beside him. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself. How are you feeling?”

First question of any brother to any injured brother, of course. “Good, actually.” And he was. Relaxed, pain at a minimum, a gorgeous sunset in preparation, and... “Great to see you down here.” Virgil didn’t admit it often, but he did miss his middle brother. Didn’t really like him so far out of reach. But John loved it, so it was what it was. Didn’t mean Virgil couldn’t be happy to see him when he could. “What brings you to this little planet?”

The sun was sculpting John’s pale features and white shirt in almost molten gold, merging his skin with his copper hair. The odd thought of some kind of Greek god fluttered through the back of Virgil’s mind. He shook himself mentally. What the hell?

V.T. Green

-o-o-o-

John appreciates a fine meal. Of the five brothers, he is the one who will know about the wine. He’ll know which region it came from, what it should be eaten with and which year grew the plant it was made from. This, of course, means he is the most likely culprit to steal Scott’s boutique beers out of the fridge…to the point that one of the first signs of the middle brother being back on Earth is the sudden missing bottles from said refrigerator.

Virgil thinks it is hilarious.

Scott’s worried his brother is a secret alcoholic and keeps monitoring his intake.

Alan keeps messing with Scott’s head by pinching extra bottles to ‘up John’s intake’.

Gordon messes with everyone by refilling the bottles with apple juice.

But yes, John is the one to appreciate a good meal, most likely because he has to eat all that space crap eighty percent of the time.

Food, Tracy style

-o-o-o-

A sigh. “Um....never have I ever...er...been arrested?” Surely, they hadn’t done that?

“Are you kidding me?” Gordon, glugged down some more drink. “That’s an easy one. Paris. The Louvre.”

What?

Scott raised his hand holding his glass. “Gordon.” As if that explained everything. He swallowed heavily.

Alan snorted, rolled and fell face first onto the carpet.

Gordon laughed. “Hey, bro. Time to take another drink. Remember the teddy bear at the fair?”

“Crap.” Alan grabbed his glass and toasted the air. “Gordon.” Apparently, it did explain everything.

“Gordon.” Kayo said it like a zombie and swallowed some more alcohol. Ridley just stared at her, but was distracted as apparently not-so-asleep John attempted to locate his glass by pawing blindly at the carpet with one hand. His mumbled “Gordon.” Was almost muffled as Ridley tried to grab his arm.

“Lawn flamingo.” Virgil attempted to bring the drink to his mouth, but missed and threw it over his shoulder instead. “Oops.”

Em blinked.

“Okay, that’s it. I’m calling this game. Off to bed with the lot of you. I have the strongest feeling that I should have taken Grandma’s advice and gone to bed early myself.”

There were many a muttered groan, mostly of ‘Awww’ and her name, but the brothers mostly stumbled to their feet. Kayo had to drag Virgil off of Em. The man was heavy.

Ridley smiled at her as she manhandled her space noodle off into their rooms. John was muttering something about ‘Gordon’s fault...didn’t want to do that in a book store.’ Penny helped Alan to his rooms, all the time shooting glares at Gordon.

“What?” The aquanaut looked non-plussed. “What did I do?”

“Gordon, go look after your brother.” Scott’s voice was firm. He still hadn’t relaxed.

Em sighed, grabbed his arm and, activating her hoverjets, pulled him up. “C’mon, Commander, time for bed.”

“Em.” And suddenly she was in his arms.

“Flyboy, your blood alcohol content can be detected from space.”

“Space!” John’s voice echoed down the hallway.

“Not today, spaceman, you’d miss TB5 and end up on Mars.” Ridley was obviously being very patient.

“Not Mars. Wrong trejacktory.” A closing door shut off the rest of the mumbled maths that followed.

Never Have I Ever

-o-o-o-

John sighed, walked over to the bed and sat on the edge in echo of something he had done so many times as a boy. He used to come in here and talk Virgil’s ear off about space and stars and his latest science projects. Virgil, in turn, would nod, say the right things at the right time and generally be the good older brother. John suspected that Virgil hadn’t understood half of what he was saying, but the older boy had never said anything. Not that Virgil wasn’t smart, just his interests lay in different areas. 

They were both quiet by nature and Virgil’s patience drew John to him. Mostly because he would listen. One of the hardest things about being a far above average student with very specific interests was finding someone to talk to about them. John wasn’t a big talker outside the family, but that was because society in general was lost two words into any sentence he wanted to construct. John had no use for general gossip when he had spent the day discovering a new extra-solar object. Who cared who won the football when Neptune was aligning with Earth in a way that wouldn’t happen for another one hundred and sixty five years?

It was Virgil who stopped and listened as a young John Tracy babbled about his latest discoveries.

He was his big brother.

The House

-o-o-o-

Unfortunately, distracted, he didn’t see brother number three and collided with him, nearly sending both of them to the floor.

“Oh, god, sorry…J-“ His hands met soft silk and he looked up, this time truly focussing on his tall brother.

Oh my god.

He must truly have some kind of sibling radar because there was no way in hell he could have recognised his brother otherwise.

“John?”

“Hey, Virgil.”

And yes, that was a smirk on that face.

He eyed the man from bottom to top. High heeled boots in shiny black leather. Black tights! High cut, buttoned up, deep blue coat sequined in an elaborate filigree with almost ankle length tails. The ends of his sleeves flared out like flowers over leather gloves. And a white silk cravat wrapped his throat with about ten layers of frills.

But all that didn’t live up to the hair. Oh, god, the hair. Gone was the familiar red, replaced with a fountain of silver white, springing in strands from the top of his head like a spray of leafless weeping willow, long enough to reach his chest.

Virgil stared. “Are you wearing makeup?”

The smirk widened and, yes, there was some kind of lip gloss to go with the elaborate eyeshadow arching into his brows.

Blink. “Wh-who are you?”

“Why, my dear child,” and John tapped him on the head with his ornamental riding crop. “I’m the Goblin King.”

Another blink. “Who?” He couldn’t recall ever seeing a goblin who looked quite like that.

And the more familiar John rolled his eyes. “A friend of mine advised me that this would be easier if I made myself completely unrecognisable. She is a fan of old movies, so I picked one.”

Virgil narrowed his eyes. “She?”

“She.”

“Okay.” He eyed his brother again. “I’ll take your word for it.”

A Warm Rain Halloween (wip)

-o-o-o-

It had been three days. His brother was now hooked up to several IVs and other invasive support mechanisms, his unconscious body needing assistance to survive. The usually agile, calm and kind man now lay pale, his hair unkempt and limp, eyes bruised smudges on his lifeless face, hands wrapped in copious bandages.

Virgil reached over and ran his fingers through that blond and red hair, attempting to straighten it out, forcing the flick to behave itself.

“C’mon, John, speak to me.” Virgil’s voice was little above a whisper. “I can’t do this without you.” And the statement was suddenly true. Spoken without thought, Virgil realised that through everything that had happened to him in the last few months, John had been there, even when Virgil was too terrified to see him, John had stood strong while his brother dragged him through the mud. He had done everything in his power, everything, to support Virgil. “God, don’t let a faulty circuit be your epitaph, you are worth so much more than that. So much more.”

He needed his brother’s dry wit. He needed his calm voice. He needed him.

Virgil let his head drop to the bed.

Please.

Father

-o-o-o-

John hated crowds, especially those involving the press. Scott went out of his way to make sure he wasn’t exposed to them, but his brother wasn’t available right now.

Head down, no eye contact. “No comment.”

“No comment.”

They crowded in on him and he grit his teeth.

A sharp crack and a yelp. A squawk and the clattering of plastic on concrete. A scream and a flash of light. John looked up to find holocams falling like rain. One close to him simply stopped and dropped. Another sparked, spun and dove at the nearest reporter. She screamed and ran.

The holocam chased her.

Oh.

The crowd began to disperse in erratic squeals and yelps of fear. John took advantage and dashed through to the doors of the hospital. Behind him, the elevator fired its thrusters, adding to the confusion, and launched towards orbit.

“Eos, you are dangerous.”

“Yes, John, and don’t you forget it.” The amusement in her voice had him smiling.

“Thank you.”

“You are welcome.”

Dirt

-o-o-o-

The only one standing entirely upright was her middle grandson. He brought up the rear, his tall, lithe form fluid as he walked. As always, his red hair was startling against his golden baldric. His eyes tracked around the room, his expression cool and controlled, but as his grandmother, she could see the tells of worry and exhaustion.

The great silver form of Eos sat on his arm preening her feathers. Every so often, the hawk would pause and survey the room, just like her bearer, her startling red eyes catching everything. Sal would never understand that relationship, but it had saved her family more than once and she was grateful, if still wary.

The Prince Who Would Not be King

-o-o-o-

If the quiet lifestyle is more your thing, you may wish to upgrade to John Tracy. ‘Up’ is the keyword here as he resides twenty-two thousand miles up, in orbit, in fact. Yes, John is the original space Tracy. Fully adapted to the cold and dark beyond our atmosphere, he does indeed adore the quiet life.

However, before we tempt you any further, it should be noted that John is the only Tracy brother who is a parent. A single parent at that. Inadvertent though her existence is, Eos is recognised as John’s daughter and she presents a number of unique challenges, the least of which is what she will do to your bank accounts if you upset her. Yes, if you are looking for bankruptcy, offending Eos is a fantastic way to achieve your goal.

In summary, don’t piss off the kid.

Having said that, should she approve of your existence, Eos is quite capable of enhancing that existence should she so choose. In any case, John’s daughter is a great conversationalist, even if she has locked you in the bathroom.

John himself sports arguably the most stunning eyes of all the five brothers. Alan, please be quite and Scott, sit down.

A unique pair of turquoise irises that contrast exquisitely with his copper hair makes for a stunning date to have on your arm. The only downside is that arm may need to be handcuffed to yours if you intend on going anywhere involving more than six people at a time.

Our space Tracy is not a social being. Despite communication as a profession, John Tracy has been heard to wish to only speak to others from space. This may include you. Please keep your phone charged at all times.

It should also be noted that if your phone battery is dead and John wishes to contact you, he may hack an appliance as mundane as your toaster. Communicating via the temperature controls in the shower has been reported. Virgil was not impressed.

John is one of the taller Tracys. Unlike Scott, however, heels may not be needed as ninety-five percent of the time John is in space, so if you are planning to get to know him, you’re going to be in space too. Just float up to look him in those gorgeous eyes.

A fan of spaceball and Star Trek, John is your traditional loveable geek. Be aware that his neighbour knows this and you may want to lock all the airlocks in case she comes knocking for a cup of sugar.

John is definitely a good investment and comes with a space station to boot. You will be able to spend many hours stargazing both at the universe and those irises.

Plus One Tracy

-o-o-o-

 Oh, I do have a couple of John focussed fics. The fluffiest is Bagel.

[ofsupernovcs]

𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞  𝐮𝐩𝐨𝐧  𝐚  𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞  …  hephaethus  callis  was  known  as  the  diligent  & honest  smith/deity  with  a  reputation  for  being  a toni raekken/hsu thassabak doppelganger  .   but  now  ,  under  the  stress  of  the  war  on  the  horizon  ,  the  natural  born  hero  god  has  become  widely  known  for  being  rather cantakerous   &  withdrawn  .   let’s  see  how  long  the olympus native  will  last  during  this  war  .   after  all  they’re  only forty  /  unknown    +  he/him or  &  male  ,  greek mythology *kais mentor wanted connection

EXTRA INFORMATION

He is the god of  fire, metalworking, stone masonry, forges and the art of sculpture

Basically, the child of Zeus and Hera Was born not so good looking ad thrown off Olympus like a pair of last year Crocs

Learned his craft off Olympus on the island of Lemnos. Took on the name Callis in the name of his old mentors.

Has done the whole revenge on his mama and wifeu thing because hes PETTY tm, if it wasn’t for the few gods that liked him he wouldn’t have done it.

Hephaestus did what he does best and learned about all the technology in the other kingdoms.

Hephaestus considers the islands of Lemnos better home than his actual home Olympus

Has taken on an apprentice to help his mending heart

Olympus is a place he knows he has to return to even if it will mean facing his past 

Personality

Heph can come off as a harsh guy. He wants to be to the point with projects. But its also the need to make a good next generation of smithers in case something happens

But they’re also someone with some honor, he deeply regrets what he has done in his past. But nowadays due to his nature strives to be honorable

Self Conscious and Worries for his health, even though he’s immortal. This was before Apollo was born so no one really could fully explain his limp to this day

Tries to be social but can fail. Fortunately, most smithers/ people who need him find his awkwardness charming

He wants friends but he isn’t the most eloquent unless he's talking about mechanics and architectures

But Heph is actually really sweet once he’s comfortable with you

Like he can talk passionately about inventions and how everyone else seems so intelligent. Heph encourages all types of arts

He’s very observant too so ideal for a friend really. Also will come to your house at 12 am to fix that lamp even though he has a limp.

As for family he loves some of them dearly- hates some with a passion, and might almost think about one a little bit too much for his health

He looks like he can kill you but is literally a panda bear

Powers:

Flame Powers (very rare, will be plotted/ appropriate setting)

Metal Manipulation (will be plotted)

Sword Combat (Very basic but He is trying to defend himself because he knows he the weaker of the Gods)

Weaponry Knowledge 

Volcano Eruptions (Very rare and you have to really piss him off) 

Six Quirks:

Ambidextrous- Heph practices with both hands in fear one gets broken

Grunting- Heph’s way of say uh-uh, just also shows he's listening like say with Hera he doesn’t want to give her full sentences.  

Blushing- If he gets complimented he’ll turn redder then a tomato. Also happens when he sees a cutie 

Visionary- has plans for inventions and tools all over his workshop

Stamina- Great at doing tasks standing still but physical stuff such as running is difficult for him.

Kinesthetic Learner-while Heph could learn via lecture, he likes getting his hands dirty.  It’s also the way he teaches

Other Info:

He walks with a cane because of his weaker right leg. It can only walk short distances without it. Strike him in the back leg during a fight and he's fucked

He has a sweet tooth and loves spicy shit. Can do that fire noodle challenge and won't break a sweat

 He has very messy hair

Greek Mythology had an influence but I really also had some influence with  toph from atla and previous interpretation- because as someone with a disability we need more badass disabled people

Really see him with older middle child vibes. Like without him Olympus would look like a pigstye

The hero is used loosely here only because he refuses to call himself evil like his brother Ares and being neutral is the last thing he wants to be. Heph is way too opinionated on the daemon topic