#no desmond didn’t split

[teecupangel]

Weird suggestion: thought of your Yew Branches where Desmond is reborn as Elijah and also the ask you did where Altaïr is reborn as a mongoose. What if Desmond is reborn as a mongoose back in time with another Desmond. So Desmond now has a pet Mongoose!Desmond? Kinda confusing but I think it’d be funny.

The Yew Branch oneshot where Desmond is reborn as Elijah and the Altaïr is reborn as a Mongoose and becomes Desmond’s unofficial roommate.

To make this less confusing, Mongoose Desmond will be named Mongoose. If this was an actual fic, his name will probably be Des to differentiate him with human Desmond.

What would be funny is that Desmond found his Mongoose self by accident. Mongoose Desmond just wanted to get to his ancestor’s place and figure things out as he goes so he’s now having an identity crisis because he saw Desmond. Desmond just think of him as an animal who wanted to stay with him and he liked the company.

Mongoose believes this Desmond is an imposter.

Desmond just thinks he got an animal companion.

When they reached their ancestor, things slow down a bit and one might stay it turns into more like a slice of life setup but with Assassins and Templars involved.

Mongoose makes it clear that his favorite is the ancestor.

Desmond just shrugs it off, it’s not really all that surprising considering who his ancestor is.

It’s actually the ancestor who is getting this ‘vibe’ that there is something ‘strange’ going on.

He didn’t understand what the feeling was until he started seeing the same habits and mannerisms Desmond and the Mongoose has.

At first, he could excuse it as the pet adopting his master’s habits and mannerisms. But it was too much.

It was too similar.

And Mongoose was simply too intelligent to simply be just a normal animal.

Was it possible…

No.

That was impossible.

Then again…

Desmond did say he had come from the future.

Would it really be strange if Desmond didn’t realize that he…

… had split into two and his other half was turned into a mongoose?

…

…

…

Yes.

Yes, this was crazy talk.

[dark-elf-writes]

Demond: The continents were once together in one land mass. If you check the rocks will be the same and you might even find a split up dinosaur on different coast lines.

The church: I think the fuck not

———

Historian: HOW DID HE KNOW??? HOW THE FUCK DID HE KNOW?

Historian 2: that mf don’t miss

Historian: no he’s fucking good

Historian 2: that mf DONT miss, man

Historian: he’s good

Historian 3: in the heat of Battle he don’t miss

Historian 2: in the heat of controversy he don’t miss

Desmond: The Earth goes around the sun

Leonardo: I FUCKING TOLD ALL OF YOU

The church: I think the fuck not 2: electric boogaloo.

—

Historian: how does he know. He has no evidence behind what he says. There’s an account of him shrugging and saying “look at it” how could he possibly know

Shaun: I have been asking myself that question for years and I can’t decide if he didn’t know or if he did and he spent decades fixing with everyone

[oceanic316]

A very short analysis of all* the dads and daddy issues on lost

*Considering every character that was a main character

Daniel

Charles widmore- complete sociopath in many ways, only met Daniel when he was an adult to manipulate him into going to the island on which he would be killed by his mother which Charles witnessed

Boone

Split up with his mother at some point, was clearly left with a nanny frequently enough to kill her, definitely has unresolved issues with his dead stepfather as he fell in love with the stepsister

Miles,

Very obvious dad issues from being raised without him present. Did get to meet him but he was a bit of a dick tbh. I guess he did love him but too little too late

Michael

Little known about his dad but only his mum was looking after Walt off island. His role as a dad could be interpreted as daddy issues

Ana Lucia

Deffo has mommy issues but the lack of clear father figure points to possible daddy issues as does her time with Christian

Charlotte

Goes to shithole island to try to discover her father who was never there. Clearly has daddy issues regardless of her fathers (unknown) quality.

Frank

Has issues but there’s every chance they are NOT daddy issues. Good for him

Shannon

He’s dead and his widow is a terrible stepmother. Daddy issues up to here-may have contributed to her sleeping with her brother

Desmond

He had to raise his siblings so this points again to an absent (at the very least emotionally) father. Daddy issues

Eko

Had to raise his brother suggesting a largely absent father who wasn’t around much

Kate

Blew up her real father due to his general terribleness, her stepfather was in the army so probably has issues over him not being around all that much even though he seems like an alright guy

Jack

Jacks daddy issues regarding Christian are basically a main plot point of the show and even made it into the finale. Points to Christian for feeding into a lot of the characters daddy issues

Sawyer

Dear Mr Sawyer… probably the nastiest daddy issues, doesn’t really get much worse than murder suicide with your kid under the bed. All of sawyers bad bits are due to his daddy issues. Also has daddy issue ties to Christian and Anthony

Locke

Attempted murder was a pretty bad look from Anthony as was the kidney theft. Anthony traveled across the world giving kids daddy issues left right and centre, despite only Locke being shown as his biological kid

Ben

Skeletor was not a great dad and is a key reason captain bunny killer is so messed up. Also bens habit of adopting children (Ethan, Alex) is likely linked to his own crappy upbringing

Sayid

His dad the war hero gave him some toxic masculinity problems, sayid not killing a chicken is our only main clue but it was pretty dark

Libby

Like everything involving Libby’s past, her parents are a big mystery. She does have dead husband issues?

Sun

Mr Paik for sure messed Sun up. His treatment of Jin and his general murdery tendency affected sun not only as a child but also screwed up her marriage

Jin

Jins dad is the nicest guy on the list, but jin had intense daddy issues due to his shame and being raised by a single father.

Claire

Christian really putting it out of the park here! Being the result of an affair involving an American doctor cannot have been fun and his absence in her life probably didn’t help with her wanting to give Aaron up. Also may have contributed to her not trusting Charlie that much

Hurley

David Reyes is an asshole, but he’s a pretty run of the mill, leave my family and don’t come back til there’s money, but he made the most effort to fix things. Hugo has big daddy issues tho

Juliet

Pretty standard daddy issues but her parents divorce clearly stayed with her and led her into some pretty unhealthy relationships later on in life

Charlie

Charlie’s dad seems like quite a nice guy if I’m honest but his older brother messed him up enough I’m happy to say Charlie has something very close emotionally to daddy issues

Richard

Too much of an enigma for a strong analysis but imma go out on a limb and say yes

Bernard

I don’t think so?

Rose

She seems pretty well adjusted so I think no

Vincent

Everyone on the island has been his dad at some point- probably missed Walt his original dad a lot

[the-wolf-who-writes]

Zorua!Desmond AU Part 2

The first thing that told Clay something was wrong with the “timeline”, as he called it, was when his Porygon-Z glitched.

It did that occasionally for no reason at all. After it evolved when Clay was taken from Animus Island to “monitor the Tree”, Clay noticed some odd behaviors in his Pokémon partner. Such as it would glitch or even vanish for a few seconds before reappearing completely normal.

His companion wasn’t like any other Porygon-Z’s Clay had studied back in school. It had golden circuitry running around its body that Clay privately guessed had something to do with the Isu. Maybe it had been an experiment or something? Clay could only guess.

But he often attributed the weirdness down to “Isu bullshit” and left it at that. He had to watch a bunch of possible timelines end in catastrophe anyways, why would he have to spend more computer-brain power on weird shit his Pokémon did?

Not that he didn’t care for his Pokémon partner. He did. He was just a busy computer man trapped in a gray room for the rest of his existence.

Trainer Clay, I believe there is a glitch in the current timeline that might have something to do with Subject 17, Desmond Miles.

Clay’s head turned so quickly he would have gotten whiplash if he were still in his human body. His Porygon-Z talking in his head wasn’t a new thing. The mention of Seventeen though…

“Copy-paste and upload it through the Isu database to the Tree. Scan it for Desmond’s location.” Clay ordered, reaching out and placing his palm on the Tree’s trunk to quickly access the information.

Affirmative. Upload complete.

December 21st, Desmond Miles sacrificed himself to use the Eye to prevent the solar flare from frying Earth. A split second before he should have died, a glitch happened and the Eye responded to-

“This can’t be right.” Clay muttered. “It says the code was rewritten with a new program.”

New program accessed:

DO NOT LET DESMOND BE ALONE

connected to

AUDITORE FAMILY LINE

EZIO AUDITORE: linked to

PETRUCCO AUDITORE

Program applied:

2012 ERROR

1473 ACCEPTED

Eye activated

Program accepted

Rerouting power into TIME TRAVEL MODE

Combining human-Isu-Pokémon DNA

Combination successful

Program complete

Thank you for using Isu Interfaces

The information overload passed in a blink. Clay staggered back, gripping his head. “How the fuck did that give me a headache?”

Clay’s partner gave its best impression of a shrug. Clay just shook his head. Isu tech was an anomaly and every time he thought he finally understood it…

It did something weird like turn Seventeen into a Pokémon and throw him back in time. Well at least he was with the Auditore family. It could be worse.

Clay quickly located the branch of the timeline Desmond had been thrown into. He watched Ezio find a… bunch of static? Clay squinted and tried to go back farther in the timeline. He found he couldn’t go earlier then Ezio approaching a closed-off alleyway in Firenze and scooping a bunch of static into his arms, talking softly to it.

1473, only three years before the betrayal of the Auditore men. Clay’s gaze darkened as he watched Ezio bring the static to his little brother and flashes of the months ahead popped into his mind.

Petrucco hauled away with Federico and Giovanni, the static hidden inside of a false passageway that led from Petrucco’s room to Maria Auditore’s gardens. Maria and Claudia were also taken by the guards because they had gone out to buy some berries for the static.

“Hey Malware, are you able to make out the identity of that static?” Clay croaked. His non-existent heart pounded in his chest.

Running diagnostics.

The Anomaly in the Timeline is none other than Desmond Sneak, subject 17-B. Variant: Zorua, Hisuian. Dual type: Normal-Ghost. Current moveset-

“Stop.”

Clay watched as Desmond emerged from the hidden passageway and sniffed the air. The human-turned-Pokémon jumped onto Petrucco’s bed and let out a cry. He circled on the bed and laid down.

Clay cut the timeline connection to let Desmond mourn in peace.

[richincolor]

Book Review: Better Must Come

Title: Better Must Come

Author:  Desmond Hall

Genres:  Contemporary

Pages: 336

Publisher: Atheneum/Caitlyn Dlouhy Books

Review Copy: ARC by publisher

Availability: Available now

Summary: Deja is a “barrel girl”—one of the Jamaican kids who get barrels full of clothes, food, and treats shipped to them from parents who have moved to the US or Canada to make more money. Gabriel is caught up in a gang and desperate for a way out. When he meets Deja at a party, he starts looking for a way into her life and wonders if they could be a part of each other’s futures.

Then, one day while out fishing, Deja spies a go-fast boat stalled out by some rocks, smeared with blood. Inside, a badly wounded man thrusts a knapsack at her, begging her to deliver it to his original destination, and to not say a word. She binds his wounds, determines to send for help, and make good on her promise…not realizing that the bag is stuffed with $500,000 American. Not realizing that the posse Gabriel is in will stop at nothing to get their hands on this bag—or that Gabriel’s and her lives will intersect in ways neither ever imagined, as they both are forced to make split second choices to keep the ones they love most alive.

Review: Just by reading the synopsis I learned a bit more about Jamaican life so I was interested in the novel. I had never heard of the concept of the “barrel girl” before so learning that aspect about Deja intrigued me. And as I learned more about Deja and her point of view of being a “barrel girl” I was actually saddened by it. Deja’s mother had only recently left her and had only sent one barrel home so Deja was still learning how to be on her own. Deja as two younger siblings, so despite being a child herself still in school, Deja is also essentially a parent. She has to use the money her mom sends her to pay the bills, which unfortunately is often not enough, so she goes out fishing with her Uncle (and sometimes by herself) to make extra money. I hated this for her, but it did show how resilient Deja was so when the action of the story really begins, you know she will do what she can to succeed. 

Better Must Come starts off a bit slow as Desmond Hall is giving a bit of backstory to establish both Deja’s and Gabriel’s desires for their lives and to show their first meeting. This bit threw me as I had thought the two had already had a small romance going, when in fact it was the opposite, so to me, the “romance” angle feel a bit flat. They didn’t have enough time to really interact before the main action of the story so the supposed tension between the two didn’t come across on the page. Essentially, Deja is running from Gabriel throughout most of the novel. When they do eventually meet up, both are truthful about their intentions which was refreshing for a novel. The actually communicated with each other - granted they were both fighting for their lives at that point, but because they were so honest with each other they were able to team up together and “save the day.”

Overall I can’t say whether I loved the book or not. I just had this feeling of….melancholy (?) when I finished because even though the book ends on a good note, both Deja’s and Gabriel’s lives are completely upended and I felt so sorry for them. They “won”, so to speak, but it did come at a cost which made for a realistic ending and is probably why I feel the way I do about the book.  

[dirtyvulture]

😎 I will be honest Vulture…. I didn’t see your reply to the “ I am embarrassed” post where I was talking about me accidentally commandeering the name Kit , I was on the drive back home while I was writing my last post. But yes the “ Insert person here” was meant to be Kit if we are using the name still , I will be honest I really like it. So the Father of the Family ( the second one to R and both Kit and R called Pa) was Quincy Morris Sr and the Mother of the family ( who was R’s only mother / motherly figure to her that Kit and R called Ma ) ….. I didn’t come up with a name for her yet . Vulture if you want to take a crack at it then be my guest. Also I noticed rereading the post that I wrote last night at the end saying “Vulture if R had a crush on Kit she didn’t realize it because she was so”, the first so was supposed to be young. Meaning she was young at the time ( she was only 13 when her mutation hit) and she was three years younger than Kit so of course he would have that realization much sooner about his true feelings much quicker than R did and like I said last night, so much was going on at the same time it never really clicked in her head that was what she was truly feeling . She also wouldn’t really be able to look back on it as an adult and realize “ oh I had a crush on Kit as a kid” because of all the happened that the same time covering it up , but that is only if she had a crush on him . Either way she always had some type of love and affection towards Kit Morris.

I will also add that before R was really able to talk Kit didn’t go by Kit …… people and his parents called him ( and still did call him Junior throughout his childhood/ young adulthood but mostly only when he was in trouble ) Junior but when R started to talk she couldn’t properly say Quincy so it came out as Kit. She was looking at Kit calling him that is that is when he got all wide eyed looking up at his parents saying that his name is now Kit. If anyone has seen Spy X Family and know about Damien Desmond and Anya Forger and how Damien acts towards Anya ( picking on her , calling her names etc ) but also so CLEARLY HAS A CRUSH ON HER and how Anya Forger acts towards him back ( she doesn’t take it laying down , she fires back insults and other such things. Anya straight up punches him on the first day of school) . That is exactly how a six year old Kit Morris and three year old R was and how the love -“hate” relationship between them started and lasted for ten years … up until R’s mutation hit and she disappeared. Six year old Kit was picking on her pulling on her braids calling her “ little bird” and a three year old R was saying “ Stop it Kit , you big old meanie !!!!!” as seriously and (*) indignantly (*) as a three year old girl could be . Kit reply taunting “ Ohhh what is a little small thing like you going to do about it????” to that R straight up head butts his ass and causes a split lip ( one that would heal into a small scar on his lip) . That was when their height difference was the most noticeable , ten years later Sixteen year old Kit had a noticeable growth spurt and it would have been a noticeable height difference between him and a 13 year old R if they ever got to see the other face to face. A 13 year old R was also excited to tell Kit all about her “ adult” room ( back in the day kids would be in a “ nursery” until they were like 13 , as seen in Peter Pan with the Darling kids and the father at the beginning stating that he is moving Wendy out of the Nursery. In that movie / story Wendy is like 12 ) and when he inevitably sneaks up to her window she was going to show him her “ adult” room like Kit was excited to show off his (barely there)facial hair, they wanted to show the other that they weren’t so much a little kid anymore ( R wouldn’t have admitted it about of of course) .

I don’t know if Peter Pan is Wolvie’s favorite Disney movie / story but it’s certainly one of them ( plus there has been a lot of live action Peter Pan movies that shouldn’t affect Nat with the RR brainwashing …… one of which was actually starring Ever Anderson who was the girl that played young Natasha Romanoff in the Black Widow opening ) and I think …. there is a line that Wendy says about “ forever is a awfully long time” in reply to Peter saying that they would never ever grow up in Neverland and when she decided to go back home that really strikes R because she has lived that and learned just HOW LONG FOREVER REALLY IS . Also in the 2003 live action movie there is a scene where Wendy and her brothers are back home and Peter is getting ready to fly way and Wendy asks “ You won’t forget me, will you ?” Peter replies “ Me , forget? Never!”. That HITS R SO HIT because when she was getting some of her memories back and she got bits and pieces of Esther Hudson back she always believed that her bodies reaction to the story her love for that story was always tied to Esther … R’s WENDY ( think about it , She can’t age - from the small bits she remember and information gathered she was in love with or loved Esther in some way even if R wasn’t remember the extent of that love - she had aventures with this “ Wendy” but ultimately losing her to age - R knows logically that Esther is dead now but doesn’t remember her reaction to the news nor getting the text about it- and finally meeting “ Wendy’s” daughter “ Jane” , R knows from information gathered by professor X and Jean that Esther had children and there is evidence that R had met them but doesn’t remember anything about a relationship she had with the Hudsons after or how much they meant to R. ) but with all of these weird things happening ( sightings out the corner of her eye of a tall man but him always vanishing when she looks at him head on, R getting these strange desires to do all this juvenile stuff and then the desire to watch Peter Pan again) THAT is when it hits her crying at that scene . Nat asking what is wrong and R looks at her saying “ I had a Peter and I had forgotten them !!!!!!” R always thought she always was / would be a Peter forever losing a Wendy and never imagined she was once a Wendy having lost a Peter.

I also don’t that that R head butts Scott as much as I would LOVE her to because even forgetting the metal of her bones for a second , she could break his sunglasses and that could be VERY DANGEROUS for EVERYONE around and with her metal bones- skull she could possibly kill someone or very badly injured someone doing that . R isn’t the type to risk people’s safety like that and isn’t the type who would severely injure others or risk killing them over some pity ass annoyance or grudge. HOWEVER she would or could “ accidentally” bump into someone that she “ just so happens” to found annoying or “ just so happens to have a” tiny grudge against walking pass them . 

I had just gotten a thought about R and a movie that could be triggering for R and She just CANNOT WATCH without a VISCERAL REACTION or at all like with Nat and her brainwashing from the RR. But this is dependent on and tied to Victoria Creed ( aka Sabertooth) and how R knows her and what the background of both of them exactly is . That movie would be “The Greatest Show Man” as it has showing of the start of the circus and having “ Freak” shows in the 19th century. It brings back so much of the memories of a time R DESPERATELY tries to suppress or not have those memories come back. This time and her time in the weapon X program are tied together with memories R WISHES NEVER CAME BACK or wishes she can “ dunk her brain into bleach to forget” ( a line from the Darkest Knight) . What is dependent on the background with Victoria and R is are they like the comic book version of Wolverine and Sabertooth ( Sabertooth hating Wolverine for killing Sabers brother, a man that captured Wolverine and HELD HIM AGAINST HIS WILL for a 19th century freak show for a circus. Wolverine only killed that man to free himself from captivity) or movie version of those two. If it’s the comic version then as R sees or watched the movie she can’t stop the vivid flashbacks of her being chained down and gawked at by people for her mutation as she was held in captivity against her will in a Freak Show circus in the 1890s , she was known as “ The Wild Woman” ( Wolverine was known as “ The Wild Man” in the comic) and her long hair was a tangled up mess / her clothes …..were all ripped up. She truly looked wild ,savage ….. a beastly beauty. That was the most savage and wild R has ever been ( past or present) at this time and R remembers seeing a woman ( this is Victoria and I don’t know what she would look like or how to describe her at this point) all prim and proper, the perfect image of a civilized woman whom was the ( sister or lover, you get to choose Vulture) of the sick son of a bicth that had done this to R . R is having a full blown panic attack in the bathroom while she is shaking and throwing up in the toilet as she remembers her escape…. Killing the ring master ( the man who has held R against her will) and possibly a few others , something that she isn’t proud of but she …. JUST NEEDED A WAY OUT !!!!!! R knows that the ( sister or lover ) of the ring master lost her goddamn mind, the woman was always been mutant but she became the beastly woman hell bent on destroying and ripping R apart ( including anything or one that R loves) that is now known as Sabertooth. A reflection of sorts to R and everything that R doesn’t want to be . The real kicker is that Sabertooth has the same or similar mutation as R and is able to heal and have a long life like R . They are two immoral beings locked into a cat and mouse game Destined to fight , destroy, tear and rip each other apart for all eternity. 

Ohhhhh what if in the SB universe SB R had a version of Kit Morris like DK R did . But SB was the one whom was the one that was three years older. But SB and their version of Kit Morris didn’t have that same love - “ hate” relationship because SB is too much of a golden retriever to be a mean to anybody and SB is too sweet for their Kit to be mean to them. Their Version of Kit Morris is a girl and both of the Beef Siblings were close with this “ Kit” girl . Sb was the one that had that crush on her and told her that one day they would marry them and she would always tell SB with a roll of her eyes “ When you tower over me in height and you are as strong as a Ox” . At some point during their childhood the girl and her family moved away but they ( the siblings and the girl ) always kept in touch but never saw each other again until adulthood. I will expand on this later …. possibly but imagine sergeant Romanoff finding out about this and especially about that crush and marriage line …. because SB is obviously strong as a ox and is now towering this girl . Especially when they ( SB and Nat ) are in a secret relationship and so when SB is confronted with their “ Kit” about who Nat is they say “ This is ( insert Nat’s specific rank of  sergeant ) Sergeant Romanoff and she is my (they want to say significant other but actually say ) superior officer in the Army.

You can pick out the name of the SB AUs version of Kit Morris’ name . And if she had a crush on SB as kids ( Slim Jim! sergeant beef then ) or not …. and if she does now as an adult 👀👀👀.

* indignantly meaning : in a matter indicating anger or annoyance at something perceived as unfair. *

What do you think R’s last memory of Kit was in person at that Christmas party when Kit was 15 vulture( or if anyone else wanted to take a swing at it) ? Or do you want me to come up with something for it at a different time? And lastly how do you think Nat would react to Wolverine’s reaction/ panic attack at watching “ The Greatest Showman” or learning or seeing something historical about the “ wild woman” of the freak show of the 1890s ? How do Jean or anyone else would react ( maybe her daughter Rogue finds out) ? I don’t believe R would have been forthcoming with that part of her life and didn’t even tell Esther , Her old friend or any Hudson ( whether or not they found out on their own is up for debate).

Kit is in then!

Aw, I really like how R was the one who gave Kit his nickname. It's reassuring to know that as hard of a childhood as R had, she had a few really great friends (even if she doesn't remember them much anymore).

Hmm, that's a good point about Scott. Plus, Jean would be very angry with R and R knows for sure that she is never winning Jean back again. 😂

I really love "The Greatest Showman" lmao (but that is because I am a sucker and love anything and everything that Hugh Jackman is in), so I will not choose that one, but you reminded me of another very old movie (I believe it came out in 1932, so R would've been 100 years old at the time lol) but it was just called "Freaks" and considered to be one of the most notorious and controversial movies ever made. I haven't seen it personally but I looked it up, and it's basically a story about a sideshow circus, but many of the characters were portrayed by actual people who had disabilities (such as conjoined twins, dwarves, a man who was born without legs, etc.). But just like you mentioned, these performers were usually mistreated and abused because they looked different, which would remind R of the time she was treated like a circus animal herself. :( I'm not familiar with that comic, but it sounds like a really interesting one!

I love your headcanons about the slim jim!Sergeant Beef lol. It's just such a wholesome thought that this powerful sergeant once started out as a quiet and shy weakling. Perhaps we can name SB's version of Kit..."Luna."

Going off on a limb here...maybe R's last memory of Kit was her first kiss ever? 👀 I think R would be very secretive about the Wild Woman incident, perhaps because she is very embarrassed and ashamed of what she ended up doing to the ring master (and maybe even some other innocent performers who were in the wrong place at the wrong time). I feel like Nat would not be judgmental of what R did, but the fact that R tries to hide it, because Nat believes that acceptance is a way of coping and moving on, but R is very stubborn and needs some work there.

[appleciders]

when the company did prove kind

Summary: Eva, Grace, Bibi, and Ursula are out carousing. Relationships: the sisters (minus becka sorry babe <3) Characters: Eva, Grace, Bibi and Becka Word Count: 967 A/N: trying out these girls’ voices! written for the prompt “klutzy.” set 15/16 years pre-series. if you want to send me another prompt, hmu! title from “rambling rover” by the dubliners

read here on ao3

“Oh-!” Grace stumbles, grabbing for Eva’s hand. She misses, but Bibi catches her arm, just enough that she can turn her weight to sit rather heavily down on the steps instead of going for a tumble.

“Oop, there we go,” Bibi says.

Ursula laughs. She leans her back against the wall.

Eva raises a hand to her mouth. “You okay, honey?”

“Yeah,” Grace says, blithe and smiling. “Fantastic, actually. Only, one second the floor was there, and the next, it wasn’t.” She looks into Bibi’s eyes. “That’s pretty crazy, isn’t it?”

Bibi grins. “How many did you say you’d had, Gracie?”

“Mm. I didn’t.” She lifts her hand and pats Bibi’s cheek. “It’s none of your business.”

“You tell her.”

Bibi flips Ursula off without looking at her. She rolls her eyes, but her affectionate smile stays put.

“I think you,” Eva drops down beside Grace on the rough stone steps, “have the right idea. Oh, shit, this is hard.”

“It’s stone.”

“Yeah, well, it’s hard!”

They’re all laughing then, peals echoing off the walls of the dark, empty street. Lampposts, tall honey-dippers, drizzle light over the sidewalk. Grace goes red in the face from wheezing, tears on her cheeks, rocking back and forth.

“It wasn’t that funny,” Bibi says, once she’s regained her breath. She sits on the step below Grace now, leaning into her knees, hands pillowed in the flowing fabric of her dress.

“Fuck you,” Eva says, nudging her with no malice. “I’m hilarious.”

“No,” Grace says, “it’s–“ She brings her hands to her forehead. Her shoulders hitch.

Bibi and Ursula, now on Grace’s other side, look at each other.

“It’s hard,” Grace tries, helplessly. “It’s–” She dissolves.

“That’s what she said?” guesses Ursula.

“It’s hard…on Eva’s arse?” adds Bibi.

Grace nods, unable to lift her head. “And– Like–”

Eva shakes her head at the other two over Grace’s bent form, mouth open wonderingly.

“Like a statue!” Grace manages.

Ursula chokes.

“A statue?” Bibi frowns.

“Oh, you perv,” Eva protests, laughing again. “That’s what I would say if I were getting it from behind from a statue, is that it?”

Grace nods.

“Oh my god.”

“Grace!”

“Sorry,” she offers, bright eyes liquid in the dim light, mouth split in a cheek-aching smile.

“Oh, sure you are, you cow.”

Grace sighs, gusty, pleased with herself. She leans into Eva’s side.

“Aw.” Eva rests her cheek on her messy blonde curls.

“It’s beautiful tonight, isn’t it?”

Ursula looks around. The clouds has been stripped from the sky like a blanket from a bed—stars are out, streaky pinpricks against the lavender-charcoal sky. The trees shift, black, in a light breeze. With the alcohol pounding through them and the coats thrown over their clothes, it’s practically warm. “Yeah.”

“Let’s sleep here, then,” Bibi decides.

“Are you mad?”

“Here, on the statue-dick steps?”

“I’m comfortable.”

“Loony,” Grace musses her hair.

“Sorry, no.” Ursula shifts her weight. “I’m going back to a mattress. I think that was a pretty good invention, personally.”

Eva snorts. “Sorry, Bibi, I’m with Urs on this one.”

“Alright, alright.”

“You are sweet, though.”

“What you mean?”

“You can’t hide it. You wanted to stay with us out here.”

“Awwww,” Ursula jeers.

“No. Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, you do." She makes knowing eye-contact with Grace. "Softie.”

“Can’t hear ya.” Bibi lifts her hands, plugs her ears with her palms.

Ursula tugs them away. “There are sober men aplenty–”

“Not that song, no!”

“And drunkards barely twenty!” Eva and Grace join in, pointing at Bibi.

Bibi can’t stop from laughing.

“There are men of over ninety who have never yet kissed a girl.”

“Uncle Desmond, alright.”

“Bibi!”

“What, have you smelt his breath?”

Ursula wrinkles her nose. “She’s right.”

“We’ll rove the country over–” Grace has kept singing, in her sweet, wine-warbled way. She pauses now, looks intentionally at all of them. She starts again, “We’ll rove the country over-“

All of them, even Bibi, join in: “ And together we’ll face the world!”

“Whoo!” they holler, clapping and pounding at their thighs.

“Encore!” Eva shouts.

“Absolutely no encore!”

“Shut up!” shouts a new voice, deeper and far more vehement than Bibi’s, from a surrounding house.

Their heads whip around to stare at each other. They freeze. Then they collapse into each other, cackling.

“I suppose we should go back,” Eva says eventually, with regret. She wipes a sobering hand across her eyes.

“Why?” Ursula says.

“Well, Becka–”

“Becka’s at Nicola Ferris’s. She’s probably getting as shit-faced as we are.”

“She is not!”

“She’s twelve, Bibi.”

“She’s nearly fourteen, are you serious?”

The other two look at Ursula, who frowns. “When did she turn thirteen?”

“Last year!”

“Jesus Christ. She just has so many of them. The birthdays.”

“One a year, I’d say.”

Ursula makes a face at Bibi, but neither of them hold enough tension for barbs. They grin.

“Anyway, you’re right, Becka’s looked after. Though in my head, she’s just playing some innocent spin the bottle and that’s it.”

“Sure.”

“Oh, in that case, could we stay a little longer?” Grace looks at Eva with big eyes. “We hardly get to see this one anymore.” She reaches out and pulls Ursula to her.

"Oh, yes, with her sexy paramedic.”

Ursula scoffs. She points at Grace. “And how about her? Last time I had to hear so much about Johns and Pauls was in catechism.”

“You’re all disgusting. Don’t look at me like that, Eva, you’re the same about bloody Ciaran.”

“How awful of us, to be happy and in love.”

“Exactly.” Bibi mimes throwing up.

The others grin.

“I suppose we can stay longer,” Eva says.

“Yay.” Grace beams.

“Provided that guy,” she gestures in the direction, “doesn’t try to come over here and properly evict us.”

“Ah,” Bibi says. She leans back on her hands. “We could take him.”

[breesays]

Tempering

Tim is moving out at the end of the week. 20 minutes away, via surface streets. It's the first time he'll have his completely own place, so he is very excited about it. I definitely understand, but I was worried about all the conversations Desmond was overhearing before Tim had an actual talk with him about what was happening. The advice I was given was to tell him what to physically expect - divorce, marriage, change in love are big concepts to introduce to a preschooler. So we told him about Dada moving to a new place. He handled it well, but I think the real-time implications will be a tad different, because some mornings he wakes me up by yelling WHERE'S DADA in my face - even though Dada wakes and goes to the gym before the sun has crested any nearby mountains. 

I don't know that it changes much for me - his work schedule is unpredictable, he was traveling for weeks at a time - I got used to being the alpha parent. I harbor a secret hope that moving into his own place helps him realize how much "invisible" house work I was doing - but he won't have 2 cats 100% of the time and only have a toddler 30% of the time so who knows if that really translates.

I guess I'm waiting to be more vocal and active about being ace, because I know the implications and how that COULD hurt him. And I don't honestly know if my wanting to move on to NO ONE is more painful than needing to move on to someone else. I can see both sides.

Desmond has been sleeping in our bed for... almost a year now and I pretty much love it. When he was a room away my sleep was scattered, my senses heightened. Tim says things like, "Mama is going to want her bed back" but when I hear that I think, "Will I?" I read to Des and then I turn out the light and read on my Kindle until my eyelids are heavy. It's an ideal situation. It's a goddamn dream.

Labels don't matter, but I've been contemplating if I'm AroAce. My love language is simply showing up. I'm here, doesn't that mean everything?

I didn't have any romantic relationships in high school or college. I was 25 before I had a serious, committed relationship and even then a point of contention was that I wouldn't buy furniture with him. How are we going to split a couch when we break up? I feel a little like I had committed relationships as a shield. I don't want that to diminish the quality of the relationships, because I CHOSE these people, pursued them even - I liked their faces, loved the way they made me laugh.  I loved Jeff, loved Ben, love Tim. I just never loved them the way they needed me to. 

None of this could have happened any other way, I don't think. If I didn't have Desmond, I wouldn't have wanted to stop drinking so much and be more present. He wasn't an accident - I may not have felt sexual attraction toward Tim and I know this sounds cold and stupid but I wanted to work on a project with him, create something with him - and we did. We are.

  I wish I had examples to point to - it's like this, like them, it's legit! But I think I have to BE the example. The ace getting so faded to see if we can contort into the cookie cutter shape that's available. Loving someone so so much and still not being able to be more than a drop in their bucket. Loving someone and letting go. 

I realize that is a bit of a braindump - I was sick, was busy, was distracted. I was watching my baby puff nighttime breaths and talk in his sleep.

  We are exactly where we are supposed to be, it's just daunting because we don't know where to go next.

[morrigan-urie]

Soul for a Soul || Self-Para

The grip on the back of her neck was bruising, so much so that she feared any more pressure would snap her spine. Her hair tangled under her father’s fingertips, pinching pain scattering across her scalp, but she dared not cry out – crying out would only cause more pain to follow, and she was almost positive she may not survive the encounter.

Morrigan knew where Douglas was dragging her despite Desmond’s strict rules for her to not go past a certain point. Curiosity killed the cat and all, but she was able to steel herself a little more that the unknown was known instead of letting the uncertainty eat away at her. She was headed towards the direction of the dungeon, as her and Chandler liked to call it.

A cold and empty, most of the time, basement. Drain in the middle of the floor, bare necessities for more… long term occupants and a locked closet with implements that were only in her wildest nightmares. A rather mafia-esque room that only stone cold killers would shove someone. A killer like her father if the murderous glares he was sending her was any indicator.

She’d been in her room studying for class when he bust in like a hurricane of fury. Morrigan couldn’t help shrinking away from the imposing aura– Douglas never came to her room, never deigned himself low enough to visit someone like her. A useless woman when there wasn’t money involved.

“You fucking whore,” he bellowed, his voice echoing so much so that she knew Chandler would hear from down the hall, “I let you go to school, give you freedom, and you find a boy and fuck him.” Her stomach fell, a pit of anxiety forming large enough to make her nauseous. He knew. She still had to try to deflect; anything to hide Julian.

Morri scrambled to her feet and backed away, “I’ve done no such thing, father, I swear.” Her voice was pleading but nothing could stop the bulldozer of a man charging at her; hand reared back and smacking her with such force that she lost her footing, falling back into her bed. She immediately tasted the tang of blood from a split lip– a hand shakily wiping away the crimson that had appeared.

“You dare lie?” Douglas seethed, gripping her throat and lifting her so they were nose to nose; her feet dangling in the air since her father was taller than her by good foot and change. Morrigan couldn’t even speak, choking around her father’s grip as her hands tried to find purchase on his forearm– her attempt to leverage space so she could breathe met with increasing pressure. Her vision swam and darkened around the edges, and she felt like she was floating until reality came crashing back down; her father having thrown her to the ground.

Morri struggled to breathe past the lump in her throat, fingers scratching against the carpet of her bedroom to alleviate the pain. Air wheezed into her lungs, her father having come so close to crushing her larynx completely. Any reprieve she was wishing to get wasn’t coming when Douglas took a fistful of her hair, craning her head at an awkward angle. “An associate of mine saw the two of you together, you thought you were so clever,” he hissed, punctuating his words by ramming her head into the floor. However plush her carpeting was, it didn’t diminish the impact; pain skittering in her skull.

“Father, please,” she begged, “it’s not what you think. Nothing happened.”

Begging was the wrong decision, she knew that when a swift kick was delivered to her stomach, a choking noise bouncing off the walls of her room. “Give me his name, whore,” Douglas’ question punctuated as he kicked, “give it to me and I’ll let you off easy.”

Tears fell from her cheeks as she shook her head. She couldn’t– wouldn’t– subject Julian to the same torture as her or death. Not when she made the conscience decision to pursue what was between them, especially when she knew that waited for her at the end of the line. Morrigan Urie was never a free girl, she was living on borrowed time until she was sold. It was all her fault.

That was the thought that lingered in her head as she was drug to the basement and thrown unceremoniously onto the floor– the force of the impact gouging through her leggings, causing her knees and her palms to bleed. “I’ll give you some time alone to think carefully on the next thing that comes out of your mouth,” Douglas said coolly before closing the reinforced door, the latches and deadbolts leaving a sickening feeling in her stomach.

Morrigan wiped her hands against the fabric of her leggings, wincing against the sharp needles of pain, but so far this wasn’t something she couldn’t handle. She slowly pressed her fingertips into the injured parts of her body, assessing the damage. It was easier to list off what wasn’t hurt, but nothing was permanent that she could tell.

She rose onto shaky feet, arms wrapping around her middle as she shivered. There wasn’t much to protect her from the cold of the basement when she only wore a t-shirt and now leggings with holes in them. Morrigan chanced a look around the bleak room, surely to be her doom as many others who were brought down here– only those that had committed heinous crimes against the family came down here… she could only guess that was especially true for her.

Morrigan’s eyes met the camera in the corner of the ceiling, staring back at her with a blinking red light. She was being watched, so she dared not utter a word– even though she probably couldn’t from the trauma on her neck currently. She wandered to the cabinet of curiosities, noticing the large padlock on the handles. Smart, she thought. Keeps death out of the hands of the prisoners.

She felt weary, exhaustion setting into her bones even though she could only have been locked in the basement for mere minutes. Morrigan pushed herself onto the bed, avoiding the strange stains on both the flooring and the bare mattress with her uncovered feet; shrinking into a ball as if to protect herself. That was the only time she allowed herself to think of him, in her dreams where she saw his smile, his dimples– heard his intoxicating laugh.

Morrigan no longer knew how long she was locked into the room the next time her father visited, it could have been hours or days– nothing but the fluorescent lights that never turned off and the dripping of a leaking pipe to keep her company. She only knew it must have been a significant chunk of time for how grimy she felt, her hair starting to get greasy at the scalp. She was snapped out of a dozing slumber when the door banged open; her father’s imposing stance filling the doorframe.

In an instant she was on her feet, not willing to meet his gaze sitting down and vulnerable; though there wasn’t really any stance she could take that would make her ever feel like anything more than a mouse in his presence. “Name,” he demanded. She’d have to be an idiot not to know what he was asking for, yet she only shook her head in response. Morri met Douglas’ hard gaze with her own, lifting her chin in silent defiance.

His ice blue gaze flicked to the cabinet and she knew that spelled the start of the physical torture phase. She flinched as Douglas unlocked it, the padlock falling to the ground with a loud bang. “Kneel,” the order fell from her father’s lips and she obeyed, keeping a wince to herself as she knelt on her bruised and scraped knees; knowing that wasn’t the worst she was going to feel. She heard it then, the snap of leather in her father’s hands, nausea rolled her stomach and bile rose in her throat.

Douglas wasted no breath asking his question again, knowing that he wasn’t going to pry it out of her until he was done. Morrigan only heard the whistle before the impact of the whip sliced against her back– she understood why her father didn’t request that she removed her shirt; it offered little to no barrier against the barrages. She was successful in keeping her pain to herself, but after the fifth or sixth strike, when he changed where he aimed so that the whip was now impacting pre-existing wounds.

She couldn’t help her screams then, the force of the screams squeezing around the knot in her throat; her wails bouncing off the walls and coming back at her amplified, so it sounded as though there were ten of her screaming. Morrigan could feel the blood coming out of her wounds in torrents, her father not even bothering to pull his strikes. She lost count until eventually Douglas was done, though she was numb to more pain– her entire back feeling like a wildfire of pain. Morri only registered that there were no more whippings when he knelt in front of her, her eyes moving from where she fell into a fetal position to take in the blood that splattered his arms and shirt, her blood, to meet his face.

His face was as cold and indifferent as she always saw him when he looked at her, except this time he was painted with streaks of her blood. The sight of it almost made her retch. “Name,” he spat out. Morrigan responded with a weak shake, her body falling into shock as the cold of the concrete floor seeped into her skin– perhaps she would die there? Then he’d be safe, save her brothers didn’t rat Julian out. Desmond and Chandler wouldn’t, though. Not if she wouldn’t. Morrigan bit down on her tongue to keep his name from spilling from her lips until she tasted the iron of her own blood.

Her father tsked, letting the bloodied whip fall to the ground in front of her. “That was the easiest punishment I had in store. Trust me, you will tell me eventually,” he muttered in almost cold indifference, like the whole ordeal was a boring chore to him. Anger simmered in her body though she had no energy to move from the floor, so she did what she could and glared at the man. The most brazen look she’d ever given him, but he didn’t care to look as his retreating through the door. A shuttered breath that broke into a sob sounded the moment she heard the door bolt shut. Even if she had an audience looking at her through the camera, she cried.

Her tears dried eventually as she fell in and out of consciousness, the pain in her back severe enough that she dared not move. She embraced the cold and dingy floor– faintly making the realization that her blood stains now collected and was drying onto the floor, becoming part of the gruesome tapestry that the next inhabitant would have to look at. The thought made her laugh, giggle almost… no one was safe in the basement dungeon if Douglas Urie’s own fucking daughter was there. Still she dreamed of him.

She jolted awake at hearing the door unlatch, steeling herself for another attack, but relief washed through her blood at the sight of her brother though she didn’t dare let it show on her face. Morrigan took in her brother’s appearance. Blonde hair disheveled and sporting black eyes from a broken nose. His punishment. She watched him but made no movement as he bent down and grabbed the whip– she realized what the display was for then… his punishment, to see her in that state and clean up after their father like the dutiful soldier he was. Desmond lingered though, her eyes moving from the whip in his hand to his face, fear washing through her. Perhaps she had miscalculated and she was about to be beaten again at the hand of her brother, but it was shoved to the back of her mind when he gave her an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

Relief washed through her– they hadn’t said anything. They hadn’t broken yet; they were still holding strong. Julian was safe still. She could have sobbed with happiness if she had any more energy and tears left in her. Desmond set upon his task of cleaning and putting everything away, not daring to say another word. For a second she felt safe in his presence and his news was a safety blanket on her, a small reprieve from the pain she felt. She heard a distant clatter, out of the corner of her eyes she saw that an ugly looking knife had fallen onto the floor. She had expected Dezzie to bend over and retrieve it, however she noticed that his foot moved slightly to edge it under the table out of view from anyone that was standing and the camera.

An angel in disguise, ever her protector even when they were both in the midst of their own hell with their father. Desmond locked up the cabinet again, retreating to the door again; not sparing her another glance in fear of more retaliation. Then it was back to the game of ‘how long has it been’.

Drip, drip, drip of the pipes and the flicker of the lights kept her company.

Eventually Morri gained the strength to slowly sit up, every inch moved pure agony– her groans of discomfort quickly morphing into sobs of pain. She could only sit there and regain her composure slowly through measured breaths. Time was inconsequential, but she knew deep in her bones and that of her flayed back that not enough time had passed between her whipping to endure another torture when the door flew open again.

Her father advanced and tossed an object at her, the clack of it skittering to a halt pool of her blood. Her burner phone. He must have torn her room apart, searching for answers that she didn’t dare to give– it was hidden under a loose board in her wall. Morrigan glanced up at the man that she never regarded as her father, but no longer regarded as a man but a monster. Pure evil. Her hands shook as she grabbed the phone risking a glance at the message that displayed on the screen knowing that it would most likely be the last time she ever saw anything he said.

B.E.: What have you been up to? B.E.: You alright? I can grab your homework if you need it. B.E.: Where are you? B.E.: …? B.E.: I love you

She could only sob as she stared at the words, glancing back up at her father; pressing the phone into her chest like it would keep Julian safe and sound. Sheltered from the wrath of her father. There wasn’t much left in her to keep him hidden– now that there was physical truth of betrayal in her father’s eyes, there wasn’t anything that would stop him from prying Julian’s name from her lips. It was then that she remembered the small sliver of hope her brother had provided her. Either to use on their father… or herself. It was up to her.

She lunged for the knife, her body and muscles screaming at the sudden movement, scraping desperately across the floor for the knife that was hidden; a creeping desperation clawing at her spine as she felt the rumblings of her father advancing on her. She was screaming, she realized, the hoarse noise piercing against the blood rushing in her veins as she grabbed the hilt of the knife– drawing it towards her with such ferocity only for it to stop before piercing too deeply. Her father’s hand around her hand. “Not so fast, you bitch,” he roared, snapping her wrist; the blade falling to the floor silently as she screamed. “You think you could get off that easy? I tell you when you die, your life is mine,” he yelled even louder, his fists raining down relentlessly– hitting anything and everything.

“Name, now,” Douglas punctuated with a shake. Morrigan couldn’t even see his wrath anymore, her eyes having swollen shut several punches ago. At least in the darkness, she could envision him. Julian’s curly hair, the softness of his lips on hers, the sound of her name on his lips. She wasn’t stupid enough to use his real initials, Desmond and them all made code names for each other, she gave Julian ‘Blue Eyes’… one of her favorite features about him. So… she lied. She was a terrible liar, but she had hoped with every fiber of her being that her father bought it.

“B-B…rian Edwards,” she croaked out, tears leaking out through the slits of her swollen eyelids.

God, forgive her for condemning another so Julian may live.

She felt the impact of the floor hit her body as her father dropped her like yesterday’s trash, his cold voice the only thing she could register, “You just had to make it so hard. For that, I’m going to make his death even more painful than anything you’ve experienced.” Morrigan shivered, at his words until the darkness blessedly claimed her.

Morri mind floated along, blissfully unawares and free from her torn and battered body until something was tugging at her mind. Talking… hushed whispers more like, it was bringing her to the surface and the surface hurt. She gasped as pain flooded her system, choking as her throat was too dry to withstand the rapid intake of breath. Morrigan could hear the rapid beeping of a monitor next to her as it signified her raising anxiety and desperation– her eyes were glued shut, her arms shooting to the side to grasp something, anything, to protect herself until she felt the prick in her arm and darkness claimed her once again.

The next time she came to, Morrigan was able to open her eyes… well one of them. The sunlight hurt… everything hurt. She realized she was in her room, in her own bed– glancing around, there wasn’t any sign that her room had been destroyed like she thought. A movement caught her eye, a nurse entered her room, someone she wasn’t familiar with. She could have laughed at the situation. On the outside it appeared as though her father was a caring man, keeping his injured daughter safe in the confines of their home and providing around the clock care when in reality he didn’t want her to be seen as damaged as she was. Morrigan was still goods, as damaged as she was, and her father would rather meet an early grave than let his goods be seen as anything less than extraordinary.

“Oh, dear, you’re awake,” the elderly nurse said as she approached, kindness etched on her face, “you’re at home. Whoever had kidnapped you did a real number on you… you’ve been in an induced coma for a week now.” The woman pushed the chair closer to the bed and sat in it. She almost snorted at the obvious lie her father had told the woman and most likely officials that came knocking on the door, though no one would dare question Douglas Urie. Morri turned her head to face her, as agonizing as it was, to utter a simple word. “Brian?” The woman cocked her head in confusion before a lightbulb went off, “Oh… your father thought you’d ask so he wanted me to read an article to you once you woke up.”

There was a shuffling of paper before the woman spoke again, “okay… he said it was on the third page…” More rifling before a hushed ‘oh dear’ and the woman cleared her throat. Morrigan couldn’t face the woman and watch her face morph with whatever she had spot read in the newspaper, so she opted to stare at the ceiling. “Brian Edwards, found in the port canal early Tuesday morning by officials– mutilated almost past recognition. Suspected gang crime.” The woman couldn’t stomach whatever the article wrote, and Morrigan couldn’t blame the woman.

“Did you know him, dear?” She asked.

Morrigan nodded, “I loved him and now I can never see him again.”

It was only she that knew who she was talking about. It wasn’t Brian Edwards, and as long as her father lived and breathed… she could never see Julian again.

[always-together]

“It’s nice to formally meet you, Kal-li. I’ll definitely be asking you to make that call later.”

Garnet stared blankly ahead, blinking once or twice, as Desmond reacted to the news in a manner that could be described as “saw it coming”, and, now knowing about Kal-li’s existence, she definitely knew why. Of course it could scan her and see she seemed hollow on the inside. Despite being confused about his willingness to accept the truth, she was also quite grateful. It saved her from having to explain about the Gem War and Pink Diamond, which was a whole other can of worms.

“…Is that so? Well, I’m not someone’s creation, so you can trust that I’m definitely on your side. Some of us look more human like than others. Like me for example…minus the three eyes.” She quickly put her shades back on. “You might see me split into two small Gems? I’m a fusion. Although that’s not likely to happen: Our bond is strong.”

That was putting it lightly, and she smirked at the thought. Only to grow more serious again when Desmond offered to help her tell everyone else.

“…That’s the problem. I’d rather if you didn’t tell anybody else, unless the situation calls for it. You and your family have a lot to worry about, and an alien being in your midst shouldn’t be part of that,” she explained, adjusting her glasses.

“As for why I told you so early…you’re a good kid, Des. You remind me of Steven, a boy back home I helped raise. Kind, strong, full of heart. Keeping up my facade and lying to you would be like lying to him. I couldn’t bear it.”

“I’ve been gone for days at a time before. But when I fail to return after those days, people will definitely be worried.” She smirked a little. “Perhaps there is a phone I can use when we settle down?”

Garnet grew hesitant upon the mention of dogs; she was much more comfortable around cats. Still, she did her best to be friendly and personable around the dogs as they ran out and sniffed her; they wouldn’t smell anything, considering she was made of light. Her head cocked to the side with curiosity upon them displaying their electrical powers, and she even tried to pet Lily before she was smothered by her tongue. She was like a bigger, tougher looking Lion, in some ways.

“…So that is the Kal-li you keep speaking of,” she managed, trying to discreetly wipe her face off from the slobber. “An artificial assistant. There’s not many things like that back home…how interesting.”

She would wake until Lily and her pups were corralled-she ended up successfully petting her in the process-before working up the strength to tell Desmond what he needed to hear. Before any of this could continue, he needed to know exactly who he was dealing with.

“…What a lovely house you’ve got here. Pets, an assistant…I’m surprised there aren’t more people here,” she started, before quickly moving on to what she wanted to say. “Desmond…if we’re going to be living together until this situation gets sorted out, you’ll need to know something. And you have to keep it a secret. I don’t want your friends and family to worry.

“I won’t need any food or minimal drinks while I’m here. Or sleep, for that matter. The reason I was so confused about what ‘quirks’ and ‘heroes’ is because…” She took off her glasses, revealing her three eyes.

“I’m not human. But I swear to you I mean no harm. I’m what’s called a Gem.”

[teecupangel]

Why not just Desmond being an angel.

And it freaks everybody out and everybody thinks he's holy or something and he's just like "all right okay why not"

It had happened by accident.

It had to be an accident, right?

Altaïr had been thrown out of the room and the Templars had unsheathed their weapons. Malik had been focused on protecting his brother, shouting at him to run as he tried to keep all of the Templars busy.

Robert de Sablé didn’t even look back when he walked away after ordering their death.

Malik didn’t know what happened.

He saw Kadar freeze when he neared the scaffolding that would lead to the treasure and Malik swore his eyes glowed gold for the briefest of moments.

Before one of the Templars charged at him.

Kadar snapped out of it and tried to block, his stance unstable enough that he slipped backwards.

Into the scaffolding…

Taking the Templar with him.

The Templar’s sword struck one of the wooden pillars keeping the scaffolding stable and…

Malik didn’t have any explanation for it.

It shouldn’t have happened.

The scaffolding started to crumble, making Kadar and the Templar run away from it as fast as they could.

And then…

The wall next to the scaffolding began to break apart, golden light coming from the cracks before the entire thing fell down.

Together with the treasure and the ark where it had been resting.

The ark broke in half, splitting in the middle to reveal an egg shaped thing made of stone that was around the height of perhaps Malik when he was sitting on the floor.

The treasure fell on top of it, shattering like it was made of glass.

Where the shards fell on the stone, the stone changed and spread.

Until…

What had been stone had changed to seemingly three pairs of wings with white feathers that seemed to shine gold all curled together.

The wings twitched…

Before slowly opening, stretching to its full size.

Revealing a young man seemingly sleeping, the three pairs of wings attached to his back. His head was resting on his propped up knees.

No one could speak.

No one could move.

Until…

“Altaïr?” Kadar whispered hesitantly and Malik could see why he would call out that fool’s name.

The man looked too much like Altaïr for it to be a coincidence.

Almost as if hearing the name, the man…

No.

The divine being in front of them opened his eyes.

Instead of Altaïr’s golden eyes, his eyes were light brown with specks of gold in them.

And Malik wondered how he could see them from where he was standing, a few meters away from the winged being.

The divine being looked around and blinked.

His eyes met Malik and his lips parted.

“It’s an angel!”

Before he could speak, the Templars all knelt and began to pray.

The Templar who had attacked Kadar took off his helmet and…

It was a woman.

A woman who was praying fervently at the divine being who…

… looked at Malik with wide confused eyes.

Unorganized Notes… I mean… sorta notes?:

Desmond is surprised for a few seconds then he goes “Be not afraid” and tried to sound super impressive “Ye are in the presence of…………… the will of God.” and he’s just bullshiting his way to uuhhh. He has no plans.

He glanced at Malik and Kadar and oh yeah, alright.

“Ye shall not harm these… men of justice for they are… under my protection…?”

At that point, Desmond knows he is ffuuuccckkeedd. Malik is obviously onto him. Kadar is super confused and just keeps staring at his face. Then…

Maria, of all people, agree and even goes as pledge her sword to him which is super weird and Desmond’s just “???”

In the end, Desmond accidentally takes the Templars about to kill Malik and Kadar with him as he leaves the temple with Malik and Kadar. It’s a very awkward journey and Desmond has no idea what else to do other than…

Oh wait… there were other Templars stationed nearby and they all saw him leave with his ‘entourage’.

Before he could try to say anything, Maria speaks for him, calling the messenger of God and that he had been sleeping in the Ark of the Covenant which sounded like a super big deal (and he can’t even whisper to Malik to ask what the hell she was talking about because the Farm was never religious and the only time Desmond even heard of the Ark of the Covenant was from Indiana Jones) and…

… why does it feel like Maria was converting people into becoming his personal army???

Oh god… Was this…

Was he going to take his own army to Masyaf???

[happy-chappy-miniatures]

A Doomed Pretenders Project: An Introduction

Hi!

I've always been slightly hesitant with starting a directly War of the Roses project (despite the excellent ranges of miniatures and example projects to draw inspiration from), partly because I'm never quite sure where to begin with one, and what to use as a 'hook'! I tend to get a bit indecisive over which factions, liveries and time periods to choose. I kept finding myself gravitating towards the pretenders and rebellions in the early Tudor period instead. The potential narrative tropes that can be applied there, like hidden princes and secret conspiracies which lend themselves really well to alternate-history scenarios and definitely captured the imagination!

Using that premise as a base, I've decided to (mostly) split this into three different periods (to correspond to three different pretenders):

- Lambert Simnel, as Edward VI, with the Stoke Field rebellion in 1487

- Perkin Warbeck as Richard IV with his assorted attempts on the throne through the 1490s

- Richard de La Pole, also as Richard IV, with his planned invasions of England under Louis XII and Francis I

This would let me have a fairly wide set of options for figures and conversions to cover the early Tudor period, and a range of different factions I could use to represent the actual (or hypothetical in alternate history scenarios) support given to each of the pretenders over the roughly 40 year period until Pavia!

For a start, I decided to refurb the miniature I painted up to represent Perkin Warbeck, the middlest pretender, back in 2019 as part of my Burgundian project on the Lead Adventure Forum. I wasn't too happy with his old head, so I swapped that out for a new one for the new project!

I've based Perkin Warbeck on this (near) contemporary sketch of him (which happens to look like that one Handsome Superman image), combined with the portraits we have of Edward IV, Richard III and Henry VII:

I added little white rose patterns onto his outfit to imply his Yorkist claims, where I thought that if Warbeck was insecure about people believing his claimed identity he would try to compensate by putting Yorkist symbolism all over himself to help convince people. Another part of starting this project was to have an excuse to paint up some of the Perry WotR Irish range! I really like the figures but didn't really have anywhere to slot them in before, so this seemed like a nice justification! All three pretenders had at least some connection to the Fitzgeralds of either Kildare or Desmond, and even if only Lambert Simnel had any substantial support, it's not too outlandish for either Perkin Warbeck or the de la Pole brothers to field an Irish contingent in an alternate history scenario!

[straight-into-the-animus]

fade(d) away

A commission piece from @benewhorian (thank you, leo!)

commission info/masterpost

tw: drug use, crackfic

12/11/2012

William didn’t know, and that was all that mattered. Of course, there was nothing that said he could stop them. Traditions that started in Italy couldn’t be broken in America. Or that was what Rebecca always said.

Either way, they made it last. And William didn’t leave the Temple that often anyway. So it was a joy each time.

“Is it possible to hotbox a cave.” It wasn’t a question, and Rebecca looked over at where Desmond was stretched out on the stone steps of the Temple.

“We don’t have that much, Dezzie. I don’t think you can hotbox a cave.”

“You never know. Maybe there’s a cave inside this cave that’s… car size. I dunno. It doesn’t look that big in here.” Desmond shrugged with one shoulder. “This isn’t hitting hard enough.”

“It’s Italian. It can do anything.” Rebecca toed at the floor to turn herself around in her chair and look at Desmond. “Trust the process.”

“Hey yo wait why did you call me Dezzie?”

“Who did?”

“You did. At the beginning.”

“I didn’t. You’re tripping. I told you this was good stuff!” Rebecca cheered, almost falling out of her computer chair. The echo made Shaun come through, nostrils flaring questioningly.

“What are you two doing?”

“Hey- Shaun, real quick.” Desmond rolled off the stairs and tried to stand up. He decided against it and gestured Shaun over. He army crawled the rest of the way and stared up at Shaun with wide, almost pleading eyes. “Are my eyes red? Like… do I look stoned?”

“No, not really.”

“Well, your breath stinks anyway.” Desmond sniffed, hurt by the dismissal of his physical state, and he army crawled back.

“Are you two really-?” Shaun started up, and Rebecca took an audible hit before thrusting it up at Shaun.

“We couldn’t find you to invite you. Sorry. You must have been taking a piss or something. You can have the rest of this one, if you want.” There was half a pinkie’s length left of the blunt, and he sat down to join. And that was the day Desmond found out that Shaun was the lightest weight ever.

21/11/2012

“Abstergo sends out those DNA kits now. Did you see?” Shaun asked, when they all snuck to the back of the cave to smoke after William had gone to sleep.

“No, Shaun, because we’ve been living under a literal rock for a month.”

Shaun must not have understood sarcasm, for once, because he eagerly continued.

“No, yeah, they do this thing now where you send in your spit and they analyse it. And they’ll give you a whole DNA portfolio. They can do the work without needed to capture anyone. At least… not right away.”

“So uncivilised.” Rebecca shook her head. “Spit. What have we come to?”

“I’d probably do it.”

“You sort of are their prime audience, Desmond.”

“Fuck you. But I got Syrian, Native, English, Italian. It’d be cool to see what else is swimming around in me from all my fucked up little Assassin ancestors. I’m like a whole Heinz 57 bottle.”

“Ketchup?”

“No, Becs. Like… a little bit of everything. Lou Bega style. Little bit of Italian in my life, little bit of-”

Shaun gave a sound between a wheeze and a gasp. He looked awe-inspired.

“Why don’t you sing more?”

Desmond bit his lip, examining for a long time if this was a safe place to express his shame. And he decided here, in a cold ancient precursor stone temple, 

“Because I didn’t make The Farm’s children’s audition for Into The Woods and I never sang again.”

“That’s fair.” Rebecca nodded sagely. “I’d give up singing forever too. How can you come back from that?”

“I know. I was eleven. Rejection changes you.”

“Cats is still better. You can’t mess with that.”

Rebecca groaned and threw her head back. “Enough of you and your furry-!”

Desmond hissed for them to be quiet, and they heard the sound of feet walking around. William’s grumbling came with it, and the speed at which the three of them split and hid could have broken some Olympic records. Not even a smoke trail was left.

10/12/2012

Rebecca’s stash was increased, which she was very happy about, after their excursion outside of the country. And she made sure to let them both know.

“I got it from Brazil.”

“You got it from Brazil?”

“Yeah. That’s why it’s in-ter-nation-al.” Rebecca emphasized.

“Ha! Shaun forgot how to speak American.” Desmond cuddled into a stone pillar. 

“You asshole.”

“You arse-ho.” Desmond said, and a pebble flew over his head. Shaun went back to his starfish position. He mumbled something under his breath that Desmond was sure was soap in the mouth worthy.

“How did you get marijuana from Brazil?” Shaun asked eventually, and turned his head to look at her for the story of how a master coder and hacker had pulled off the smuggle of the century. But she was concerned with watching herself in the black of her dead Motorola flip phone blow smoke out of her nostrils. 

“Guys, I’m totally a dragon right now.” She laughed, coughed, and laughed again. Rebecca stopped talking soon after that because her nose hurt.

14/12/2012

“Are beans on toast actually good?” Desmond asked. Grease would have been better, but the idea of gloop – in his mind, anyway, thats what it had to be – sounded good.

“I think that’s a little offensive. No, actually, more than a little offensive.”

“Oh nooooo, big bad Britain had half the world conquered but can’t take the heat.” Rebecca said, even as she took the blunt from Shaun.

“I never got to have any.” Desmond sighed a bit too hard considering how weightless the words were.

“Oi. When this is finished, I’ll make some, okay? If it’s that big a deal.” Shaun’s red-tinged eyes were serious and focused, and Desmond’s throat was tight.

“Yeah. That sounds good.”

Rebecca crawled over and shoved a tissue in his face. He blew his nose.

"I have to say something, though. Seriously." Both heads turned to look at him, and he swallowed. "I've been giving it a lot of thought these past few weeks..."

Rebecca nudged him on.

“That Captain America movie was bullshit,” Desmond said, eventually getting it out.

“They made one?”

“Yeah, last year. You weren’t paying attention?”

“Defend your thesis.” Shaun rolled over and propped himself up, vaguely taking on the posture of a basking seal.

“It was bullshit! Like… okay, he’s a big strong hero. Whatever. But he should’ve gotten together with Peggy.”

Rebecca snorted. “Peggy. No wonder he liked her.”

“Desmond, that’s the point. That’s what makes him a hero. Cause he did what was best and sacrificed himself.” Shaun gave him a look as if he had just attributed a Backstreet Boys song to N-Sync. The ‘DUH’ was silently fixed on here.

“And he had to do that to save the world? He should’ve gotten, like… all the women. And some actual thanks. Marvel was bullshit for that move.”

“Wow, Desmond, I didn’t realize you were so hardcore. And romantic.”

“I always knew he had it in him.” Shaun mused, and Desmond huffed, but fell back on his ass – more like rolled – when he tried to storm off.

“You guys hate me. I knew it.”

“If I hated you, I wouldn’t be sharing the last of my international weed with you.” Rebecca pointed out, stumbling over to sit next to him on the floor. Her head went to rest on his shoulder, which was bony and awkward despite the way he was so athletic now. But it was comfortable. “Get over yourself.”

Desmond almost replied, but a much heavier weight made itself known on his other shoulder, and he had to adjust. Shaun made himself known by stealing the small bit out of Desmond’s hand and smoking it.

“Don’t leave me out next time.”

“Sure, Shaun.” Desmond sighed, and his head hit the back of the smooth stone. The high was all around him. Aside from a few barely there inhales and exhales from the two on his side, it was silent. Even the always present hum of the sheer power the Temple held was silent. And then Shaun started humming something.

“Are you really doing ‘If I Were a Rich Man’?”

“Maybe.”

Shut up, Shaun. Desmond thought, but he sang along in his head and watched the stone above him.

[desmondellis]

He couldn’t believe some of the things he was hearing. Hardly an enigma and hardly a myriad, even before she’d finished speaking had he already begun to laugh. Maybe it was in the self-reflection of his own boring ways or just how much it was real between the sitting truths and lies that made it humorous to him. He was anything but interesting, with a rigid routine and a strict discipline that had done a good deal of showing its ass tonight. He gave himself little pleasure in life, little room for enjoyment and even if he could cook he didn’t build on it the way he used to.

What she was so impressed by was just a fabrication. A clear shell covering of this person that didn’t even really exist. He felt a flip in his gut at the thought of it, leaving an anxious aftertaste. On top of being disingenuous to the woman that saved him, he was actually the most he’d been with someone in a very long time. It was profound how quickly she undid the years of sacrifice for next to nothing. “Really?” He finally said after pulling himself out of his thoughts. “Why do I feel like I didn’t say anything at all..” He laughed and his eyes lingered on her own smile, which his face had been mimicking for a time. “Is it because I can cook?”

There was something so acutely frustrating about getting off the couch and the absence of the comfort. Of course he obliged almost as soon as she had asked, there was no good reason to keep her waiting and risking the chance of putting her back into helping him more. By all accounts, he would have slept there if it meant more time to talk to her, and something he would have offered if he’d even had the passing thought about sleeping in general. Sleep was a difficult relationship for him and one that seemed to be at ends with each other. It would take significant effort on his part, as most nights even when he was healthy it wasn’t enough. There was always the overhead fear and hyper vigilance, the same one tapering off and failing him now.

“No pain,” he chuckled again, this time amused by her need to help. “It may be a while before I fall asleep, I’m a very fussy baby.” It was endearing, and even if she had been strong or willing enough to barrel him back to safety he wasn’t going to let her do so again. He let her grip his waist and sling his arm over her shoulder, but when he stood he pushed whatever pain he carried in his back in different directions. Desmond shifted his weight to one leg in an effort to lean into her less, doing most of the work to slowly move them towards the room.

“That’s probably best. I don’t want to bleed all over your sheets.” He sighed a bit as they trudged towards their destination, carrying his weight as they moved enough if it strained him. “You know tomorrow you’re gonna wake up feeling worse than me carrying me like this. I’m gonna split you in two, if you’re not careful.”

“It needed a couple more minutes.” He guessed, taking cues from how it looked as opposed to time. There were director’s edits of cuts so there was no way to be completely sure how much time had passed, but the golden bits on the top were indication enough. “It does, normally golden brown would be.” he assured her, looking her way as her head tilted ever so slightly in question. “But those bits that are sticking up, they need to be darker, crispier. That way the middle is just right.”

He chuckled at her observation, completely true in its assumption. “Honestly because he’s undercooking it.” He shook his head, almost as if in disappointment. “Some people when they get nervous, they have a hard time following through with things they’ve done loads of times. It’s such an easy mistake.“ This he’d seen in other times, where the fear and adrenaline shook your fingers in such a quake that the simplest mistake done millions of times correctly before was forgotten. It was human nature to crumble under pressure, but an unforgivable one for him, as it often between life or death. This was of course not the case for a badly cooked dish, but bits of his discipline leaked through.

He’d been sitting in thoughts for a second too long, not quick enough to catch her hands as they snatched his bowl to clean. Even if he did want to stop her, his legs would be too slow to protest and his mouth opened to complain to her face which looked almost expectant of it. Before he knew it, her hands were cupping another steaming cup of tea, passing it off to him as if he needed more liquid in his body. He accepted without a word, noting how the palms of her hand and the top felt as warm as the cup now in his own hands.

“No, not at all. I feel as good as I can, you’ve done enough.” He tried to remind her, even if it was falling on deaf ears. “Are you trying to send me to bed early?” He was surprised, smiling. “Now I think you don’t enjoy my company. Was it because I said I’d enjoy your food even if it was bog water, because I still would I just don’t think I should get sent to bed for it.”

[sparrow-in-boots]

i did a Desmond headcanons post a while ago, so it’s only fair i do one for my other All-Time Blorbo so,

Clay headcanons that only make sense to me:

- Clay was born and raised in suburban Chicago, and spent most of his life there, save for a few family roadtrips during vacations and then training with the Brotherhood. Infiltrating the Animus program was the first time he ever went abroad;

- He had a collection of space-related clippings, like NASA news, reports on coming eclipses, blurry pictures he took with his father’s borrowed camera, which eventually became clear pictures after he got a telescope for his twelth birthday. There was a leaflet and pictures from a space exploration museum exhibit he went with his school, a faded grinning moon keychain he got from an aunt, and his most prized possession, a picture of four-year-old him grinning and staring up at the sky when he saw the Halley comet;

- After getting severely stung as a kid, he became phobic of bees and hornets and gets very antsy around large flying insects. Ironically, he’s also one of those people who never seem to get stung by mosquitoes;

- He often watched anime movies at a friend’s place after school. First time he watched Akira on a bootleg VHS, he had nightmares for two days because of the body horror. Afterwards, he developed a fascination with cyberpunk and technology in general;

- His first gaming console was a second-hand Nintendo 64, but if you ask him it was a Playstation 2. He ran a bet with a friend of his that if he could fix it, he could have it, and said friend agreed since the neighborhood maintenance guy told him it was more worth it to get a new one than fix it. Clay pulled it off after pouring months on the thing, and many a Halo split screen nighst were had thanks to it;

- Clay went into a Mechanical Engineering major and a Computer Engineering minor for college, and he went through the oath cerimony and he had an engineer’s ring. He often tapped it on something when he was lost in thought;

- While canonically his therapist was a major ass, Clay did in fact have ADHD and OCD. He almost had to quit college several times because of his symptoms;

- He’s one of these people who hoard internet tabs on their browser, and god help whoever deletes even one of them.

- He’s also incredibly picky about his filing system, digital and physical, which has both been a hindrance and a boon for his programming classes;

- He played Dungeons and Dragons and other TTRPG during high school, and in college he was a bit of a forever DM in the nerd circles there, though because of how his campaigns constantly died because of scheduling issues, he stopped doing homebrew and stuck to adventure books instead;

- He was also positively insufferable when the Lord of the Rings trilogy came out in theaters, and he almost failed a college class because he was in line for premier tickets instead of taking an exam;

- Clay realized he wasn’t straight really young, but only figured out he was gay in his teens. Going to college helped him explore his sexuality more, but joining the Brotherhood made him more confident and comfortable in his own skin, and he went to his first pride before being inducted as a full-fledged assassin;

- He never came out to his father, uncomfortable with being this vulnerable with him, but coming out to his mother was a bit of a “oh I knew already, I was just waiting on you to tell me yourself” situation;

- After his mother left and went back to her parent’s home in Detroit, he kept in contact with her and often relied on her for support when he didn’t find it with his father;

- The divorce was a long process overall, what with his father in denial about it and then the whole arguing about splitting assets. His mother did remarry though, and he had two stepsiblings from it, a younger brother and a baby sister. It was rocky at first for him during visits on holidays, but eventually they worked things out;

- While he does drink on occasion, he refuses to touch stuff like spirits due to bad memories from his father’s alcoholism;

- He won’t admit it even at threat of death, but he hates deep dish pizza with a passion. It’s too much filling for too little crust, he’d rather eat a sweet traditional pie instead;

- Speaking of, he absolutely loves jams and jellies. He can’t explain why, he just does and he’ll take those over any other spreadable anyday;

- His favorite snacks are fried fish fingers with spicy ranch, and jelly donuts. He’ll kill several men for those and that’s a promise;

- Clay does have curly hair, but he has a hair brushing tic and it pretty much kills any curl definition he has and it looks vaguely wavy instead;

- While him and Rebecca collaborated on several projects together, they never met personally as they were rarely in the same team, and they only knew each other through codenames until the Animus infiltration mission;

- He went to the Farm for a portion of his novice training with Bill, though he didn’t spend much time there. Only a few of the other kids who grew up with Desmond had stayed there, and that was the first time Clay ever heard about him;

- Lucy had thought for a bit that Clay had a crush on her during his time in Abstergo, and he awkwardly reassured her he couldn’t even if he tried. It made for an oddly sweet conversation, and ended up cementing his trust on her beyond Bill vouching for her.

[spookywhumping]

Whumptober Day 3

No. 3 A HAIR’S BREADTH FROM DEATH | Gun to Temple

Just keep breathing. That’s all that was important. Just try to focus on breathing steadily, try to ignore everything else—

“Boo!” Something jumped in front of his vision, and Mocha bit back a cry. Just keep breathing. Just keep breathing. “Would you look at that? Not a flinch.”

The ‘something’ waved in front of him again, and he realized it was a hand. His eyes darted to the side, instinctively trying to look at the person standing behind him. But without moving his head. The last thing he wanted was for his sudden movements to startle the person pressing the gun to his head.

He shouldn’t even be here. Lysander had been very clear that he shouldn’t wander off while the two of them were in this house, but there were too many people, and Mocha had lost sight of him. He’d tried to find him again, of course. But next thing he knew someone came up behind him and he felt something cold and metallic against his temple. “Follow me,” the person had said. And he had to do just that.

“Okay, I need you to listen very carefully,” the person was saying now. “I need you to—gah!” They grabbed his shoulder suddenly. He tensed, but didn’t move beyond that. “You’re really calm for all this, aren’t you?”

Mocha didn’t say anything. He kept his eyes staring straight at the wall in front of him. There was a painting of some ballerinas hanging on the wall. It felt like they were staring at him...or at the gun barrel.

“Okay, for real this time,” the person said. “I need you to kneel down.”

That was not a good sign. Mocha vaguely recalled knowledge about people shooting other people in the head while they were kneeling. He wasn’t sure where he remembered that from, possibly a movie? Did that happen in real life? Was this person really about to shoot him? He hesitated for only a split second before doing what they said, and slowly lowering himself to his knees. After all, if they wanted to do that, they could do it at any time already.

“Wow.” The person sounded impressed. “You’re not even gonna say anything, are you? Not used to that. Okay, what if—”

There was the sound of a door opening. For a moment, Mocha waited, tense, not daring to turn to look towards the sound. Then a familiar voice said, “Jule, what the fuck are you doing?”

“Oh, hey, Ahearn,” the person with the gun said casually. “This one was wandering around the party, so I thought I’d check things out.”

“Okay. You’ve checked things out. Now stop doing that. Don’t you have your own?”

“It’ll be fiiine,” the person drawled. “But sure. If you’re gonna get all defensive, I’ll head out. I can read the room.” The pressure lifted from Mocha’s head, and he let out a breath he just now realized he was holding. “Not really my type, anyway. Too passive.”

“Great. Go find one that’ll react like you want.”

“I was gonna. Jesus. Don’t get your scarf in a twist.” Footsteps, walking behind him and too the side. “I’ll see you around.” Then the door opened again, and the footsteps faded away.

Mocha finally turned around to look at the newcomer: a tall man with auburn hair and brown eyes behind glasses. He watched the mystery person through the room’s now-open door, sighed, and turned back to look at Mocha. “Where’s Lysander?” Desmond asked.

“I-I—he��there were—I—” Mocha stammered. His heart still pounded in his chest, sending tense ice through his veins.

“God, he’s probably freaking out,” Desmond muttered. He checked a watch on his wrist. “Get up. We’ll go find him.”

Mocha scrambled to his feet and followed Desmond out of the room. He never thought he’d be glad to see Lysander’s brother, but at least he understood Desmond and what he wanted. And right now, that was much better than anything else.