#probably clumsily redacted as well

[sickly-kari]

Novemetober Rescheduled - Day 14: Can't Keep Anything Down @monthofsick, Prompt-List

Thinking of Their Daughter Summary: Some friendly family time between two parents and their sick daughter (Ao3-Link)

INCLUDES: vomiting, child sickie, original characters, comfy family time,

    He found his wife and daughter in the living room in an unusual constellation. Their little girl was snuggled into the furthest corner of the couch, propped up on a big pillow. Only her red-nosed face poked out of the blankets, and, occasionally, a small hand would appear out of a fold to reach for the bowl of tangerine slices on the low table, that her mom was peeling for her. 

    She was sitting at a slight distance to her, carefully picking away the pith from another fruit while watching over the child, who likely did not want to cuddle while feeling sickly. A book was lying turned over on the table, they must have been reading a story. 

    “How have you been faring.” Ha sat down with them, snacking one of the more disformed tangerine slices that the girl had ignored. 

    “Well enough, we're just letting the evening go by slowly.” She gave him a welcoming smile and pushed her hair back, allowing him to give her a peck on the cheek. “I haven't put the soup into the fridge yet, you can have some as well.” 

    “Good idea.” He crouched down by the cupboard and turned on some soft music, before leaving for the kitchen. 

    It was pretty large pot, considering she must have prepared the meal on short notice. Placing his portion in a bowl into the microwave, he also poured the rest into a small container so that he could already put the pot and lid into the dishwasher. He drank some water and waited for the timer to finish, when he heard some coughing from the living room. 

    A quick glance through the door showed him his little girl bent over one of the rounded, plastic drawers from their bedroom, strings of spit hanging from her face until a larger gush of watery vomit poured into the container. The pained expression on her face made his own stomach twist in sympathy. 

    “Shh, shh, it's alright”, his wife was holding the tub under her chin and wiping the tears from her rosy cheeks. It seemed she already had a small stash of tissues prepared, so he only brought over a glass of water for each of them. 

    The little child clumsily spat out more saliva to get the string hanging from her lips to finally let go, but a quick wipe from her mom helped with that. 

    “I'll clean that out”, he offered to take the drawer from her hands, and she nodded while easing their daughter back into the pillow. 

    When he returned from the bathroom with the clean drawer, the microwave was also done and his meal had even cooled down to a pleasant temperature already. One in each hand he returned to the living room and sat down next to the two angels. 

    His daughter had closed her eyes while suckling on another fruit - it probably helped to get rid of the taste - while his love just returned from throwing out some of the tissues. 

    “I saw some weird dark stuff in the tub? Do you think she ate anything bad?” It did not seem to be blood but looked concerningly out of place among the soft yellow pulp. 

    “It's chocolate. Valentine's after all”, she calmed him down. 

    “They're already exchanging chocolate in second grade?” That was just confusing, he thought while sitting down and stirring his soup. "But I don't think there is anything wrong with chocolate while sick." 

    She relaxed her shoulders with a coy smile. “No, I got some from [redacted], and she spotted it when I came back. She complained about the taste but somehow still ate the entire bar.” A glance over at the sick bundle in the corner showed that the girl seemed to be resting fine for now. "She had been crying and vomiting so much today. Almost everything she eats comes back up, so I was just glad she wanted to snack on something." 

    “Yeah, better than nothing. And that means that the competition has already been defeated by default.” He asked her to wait a moment and hurried to grab the little package from his coat. “Here, for you”, he slid back onto the couch next to her with a grin, "for my dear valentine." 

    With a blush on her face, she wrapped her hands around his and slowly removed his fingers from the present with the red bow. “Thank you.” 

    “I'm sorry that we couldn't go-” They had made plans for the evening, which had been cancelled, because their daughter got sick; he wanted to apologize for it. 

    But she put a finger on his lips. “Shh. Don't want her to feel guilty about anything”, she whispered with a smile. They looked at each other for a moment and silently reached an agreement that spending the evening looking after each other easily beat anything else. They allowed themselves one more kiss. 

    It only lasted until their little one weakly burped up some air. When they turned their heads, they saw her hastily reaching for the tub and swiftly moved over to help her out. 

[cherrymoonvol6]

hmmm i’ve been Thinking about deltarune chapter 2

at this point is it like... too obvious?? that the intention is for the player to connect the dots and conclude that kris is the knight who keeps opening the portals. here are sum hints i’ve gathered:

queen points this out on her monologue right before fighting you on her Huge robot form, but who amongst the lighterns is capable of having enough determination to open a fountain?

also, kris is the ONLY human in the entire town. if deltarune works with similar rules to undertale (the mention of determination by the end of chapter two really bring the theme [back] home) then kris is the only one with enough determination to open these fountains. if not kris... the knight is then most likely to be human, and not at ALL a monster.

again, in queen’s monologue she mentions the knight opens the fountains with its knife, which we see kris doing at the end of chapter two.

all the fountains seem to spawn in places conveniently close to kris and co. first the school, then the library. why? why else would anyone care? why spawn two fountains in literally two consecutive days? i meannnnn

in particular the second fountain spawned the queen, a character that seems to irrationally care so much for noelle to the point of wanting to create a world that accommodates her. why would she even care? she’s a fucking robot. but then we have kris, who cares about noelle - they pretty much grew up together and kris knows things about her that no one else knows, as noelle herself points out during their adventure on the city. like, it kinda makes sense that kris is the one deeply concerned with a fountain that can adapt to her needs and help her feel safer and therefore be more herself, as well. (now did kris ever think that noelle would like, get over her scaredy traits during the adventure? probably not LOL)

based on the animation during the end of chapter two... i feel like kris gets some comfort on their soul from washing it on the fountains. kind of a temporary, extremely brief and extremely comforting pleasure for them. this would explain why they keep spawning. as well as, the entire commentary on chapter two about these fountains bringing happiness to all lighterns involved in the story. which is why i really like that the main characters are all teens: who else would feel powerless, misunderstood, in need of a place to truly fit in? and it’s SO on point with kris too. the game begins with them being lonely both at home and school (their brother is gone in college, none of their classmates would pair with them, they don’t have friends per se).

and i think that brings an interesting layer to the entire dynamic between the player and kris. why are we using kris as a vessel? why is their story important enough to play? seems like this is only a series of little spinoffs of kris having fun with their school friends. everything wounds up fine at the end, no matter what you choose to do. why is it important for US, the player? it’s an interesting question that i’m sure will see more protagonism as chapters go by.

there’s also another element of asriel really being into some sort of magical... irl rpg stuff. god i don’t know what the name is LMFAO but him and insert female character name did a lot of shenanigans about it together. asriel’s name also shows up at the queen’s castle for the personalized rooms: all the rooms are linked to asriel and asriel only. why not people close to susie? or berdly? it’s clear that this fountain in particular is entangled with kris personally. this might also explain why ralsei tells kris and not susie to bring in the cards from the unused classroom to the dark world. in some way, kris’ status as the weird kid in school might mean that they’re into this stuff, and is pretty imaginative and upon their brother’s absence this might work as some sort of escape for them. it’s clear that kris misses asriel deeply and that might be the reason why they would open the fountains, too.

(dialogue with the emo classmate at the end of chapter two also expands on this and supports the theory pretty well. kris is DEFINITELY familiar with this stuff.)

with this assumption in mind, however shady ralsei may appear begins to take more shape. like... it’s clear to me that kris and ralsei may have a closer, secretive connection that the player isn’t supposed to know about. here are some facts.

the prophecy to shut down the fountains calls for a human, a monster and a prince from the dark world. if kris is the knight who keeps opening them, then that’s one part of the prophecy that’s immediately fulfilled: moreover, there’s plenty of monsters in town, so kris can drag whoever they desire on their adventure. what’s lacking in the equation? a prince from the dark world. so ralsei just appears. therefore, this would assure that kris runs no greater risk by opening these fountains: once the adventure is over, they can just close it with the convenient help of an exposition machine- er, dark prince.

ralsei has... no life. no personality. no backstory. he has no parents, no king and queen who gives him a prince status. he’s a self proclaimed prince that works in the dark world and the prophecy anyways (the fountains do indeed close). why?

as pointed out, ralsei works with a lot of information that he probably shouldn’t know. he adjusts his knowledge in the transition from chapter one to chapter two, conveniently explaining to the player what’s different about the storage and recruit mechanics. again, it’s something that we can choose to skip whenever we want, so it’s clearly something that is meant to be communicated to the player, and not kris - otherwise, ralsei would just talk to them. he also happens to know the layout of the school, and he shows up at the new fountain in chapter two because he “sensed danger” or some bullshit. like, it’s CLEAR that ralsei is pretty shady overall lol.

i think a lot of chapter two gives away all this. like... the fact that ralsei knows the layout of the school. ralsei brushing off the fight with spamtom and its implications for kris. ralsei making sure that the kids stay in line with the rules of the dark world. ralsei being brushed off by most other characters for having no personality/no real presence (the fight with Huge queen, ralsei tea, etc).

it’s OBVIOUSLY not a coincidence that ralsei’s name can be rearranged to spell “asriel”. in a lot of ways, i think kris projected a lot of asriel’s traits into the token dark prince. from what we know in town, asriel is a beloved guy amongst everyone and he seems to be extremely nice and well-behaved (the green lizard story, asriel “confessing” for his and his sibling’s sins, etc). and i think a lot of that goes into ralsei: he’s pretty much an empty shell whose first instinct is to approach things nicely, but also makes sure that the rules of the world are always followed and respected. it’s no coincidence he snaps when people threaten those rules, anyways.

which is also why i believe that any attempt to link ralsei and kris romantically will always be a flop because at this point i’m positive that kris acknowledges the influence that asriel has on what ralsei is on their little adventures. like, ralsei looks pretty much exactly like asriel physically. of course they react hesitantly when the player chooses “ralsei” as a romantic companion upon susie’s question in the last bit of the second chapter. (which i’m very sad about!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

this raises the question of, well, how much power does kris have over the dark world? like, taking into account all these things... doesn’t it mean that kris took a major part in SUMMONING the very existence of ralsei? so what else are they responsible of? if they can create multiple of other fountains, how much power do they have over the main dark world that ralsei leads? is the dark world a genuine thing or just an incredibly well-thought, well-planned thing that kris brought into existence just because they had the determination to do so? is that even possible?

(i think at this point the game makes it seem like the dark world is just a thing that exists, parallel to kris. but there are still a lot of questions about their involvement with this and how in-sync these fountains/worlds seem to be with the rules of the dark world. how the fuck does kris even know about them, anyway?)

moreover, it’s sort of a dynamic between kris and ralsei where i’m pretty sure kris already knows the rules of this world - and therefore has given ralsei all this knowledge as well. the only person who doesn’t know about them are, well, the player themself. hence why there are multiple chances to learn the rules from this place, being from ralsei or other npcs in the dark world. this would also explain why ralsei often forces/baits the player into going over to susie’s POV, so they can leave time for kris and ralsei to discuss stuff with no witnesses around. presumably, stuff about the dark world/fountains and its dynamics: how to direct the player from that point onwards.

i also think that, with all this knowledge STILL, it’s farfetched to claim that ralsei is ill-intentioned. i think the fact that he has no real experience in this world (”lonely prince”, no parents/backstory/personality, firmly believes serving lighterns is the best thing that can happen to a darkner because that’s the entire reason of his existence) besides the knowledge (kris’ knowledge) of the rules of the dark world contradict this statement. but i think the best proof is that, even if ralsei “spawned” thanks to kris as a convenient exposition machine and the ally to complete the prophecy, he seems to develop his own dilemmas outside of his determined role. like, the cutscene of the acid pool where he wonders what being “ralsei-like” even means speaks of a real feeling of anxiety upon being this competent born-yesterday creature who exists with the sole purpose of serving kris on their adventures. there’s also multiple hints that he’s developed a romantic interest for kris, that doesn’t seem planned (why would kris ever want this, again?)

which leads to a lot of interesting questions as well. does ralsei know that kris is being “controlled” by the player? (based on his reaction after the spamtom fight... yes he does lol. but what does he think about it?) how much does ralsei know about kris’ involvement with the dark world? he must not be aware of the fact that kris keeps creating fountains to keep the adventures going - otherwise this would antagonize them, which kris wouldn’t want because it’s inconvenient. and what could happen with this inevitable reveal, then? it all hinders again on kris’ influence over the dark world, which is another can of worms, oh boy.

ohhhhh speaking of spamtom. that’s fucked UP. like why would kris’ fountain spawn a being that’s pretty much a mirror of their own situation, only for him to be a warning of what will happen to kris if they attempt to break free from the player’s control? i think a quick answer is that these underlying anxieties are present at the moment that kris chooses to open a fountain - despite their planned world-building, these fears take the form of a secret boss that can be easily ignored, and only sought by the player if they want a taste of that side adventure. it’s kind of poetic, ya know, the fact that kris can complete their adventure without any of that knowledge but the only way this can happen is if the player decides that they want to go through that route. like, OOF. as the player, you don’t know what it’s going to happen, but when that ending is triggered, and breaking spamtom free of his strings results in his demise... it’s a cruel warning that kris doesn’t need to be reminded of.

also... why the mettaton neo and dummy motifs? can’t really understand the link there. well, if mettaton and dummy are connected in any way... both are ghosts inhabiting a vessel that allows them more mobility/actions than their usual form. but like... how does that exactly relate to spamtom? or kris, even? while mettaton seemes to be pretty okay with the vessel he currently occupies, dummy does want frisk’s soul for further purposes, sort of how spamtom does. but who even controls him, then? another thing that i can come up with is the fact that, in kris’ town, dummy and mettaton habit the same house. so like, is that simply a reveal of how spamtom will relate to kris’ real world in further chapters? so why use the mettaton (and mettaton NEO, in particular) and dummy motifs, then? wasn’t there another way of indicating this connection that didn’t use elements from the original game to do so? from what i can remember, the only other time an undertale motif shows up is at the beginning of the game, with “once upon a time” when toriel drives kris to school. like, meh. maybe i’ll have to think about it more lol. still... sorta thought provoking and quite fucked up.

lastly... because this is very long and i am Sorry... i am very happy of the direction toby chose when adapting the meta aspect of the player presence in the game. like, when i finished undertale for the first time i was really unsatisfied with the fact that frisk has NO personality at all. the bait of frisk being the first fallen human kinda makes you forget about it while you play, but when the twist is revealed i was just thinking, oh. so frisk is a literal no one. no personality. no backstory. no NOTHING, besides a name. upon replays of the game, i got to kinda understand why that decision was made, and why we as the played really shouldn’t feel like frisk is anything other than an empty vessel for us to play. as sans says on the dinner scene: why would frisk ever wanna leave? they have all they require in the underground, and more. the only reason we would ever take the choice of going to the core is because then the game will progress: we’ll face greater challenges and keep being entertained. and that’s MERELY because WE, the player, want to be entertained, and progressing the game is the only way to do so. for all its worth, frisk has no real reason to leave. but what’s most important is that they have no desire for it, either. it comes to a point where frisk (more like we, the player) can choose to live with toriel in the outer world and no one bats an eye. wouldn’t frisk have a parent, or a guardian looking for them? of course not: frisk’s life begins when they’re laying on a bed of flowers in the underground, and ends up with the monsters as they all first meet the surface. later, you understand that the game wants you to have that meta connection with flowey, a character with personality and backstory. but it’s an aspect that feels missed when asriel asks frisk at the end of the pacifist run, if chara ended up in this world because they hated humanity, what was your reason? we don’t know that and we never will - and the game tells us over and over that it’s not important.

but here, we KNOW about kris’ personality. their world. their possible motivations for how they behave when not being a vessel for us, terrible terrible players. and what’s most compelling of it all: much like flowey, kris fights back against the determination that overrides theirs: they actively reject the soul, even though that inflicts them incredible amounts of pain. AAAAAAAAAA like it comes to a point that, because kris no longer has a soul, they end up with this lack of morale and humanity that we saw in flowey during undertale, but STILL they fight back against it by focusing this soulless homicidal rage on damaging objects and not people (kris slaughtering toriel’s pie, then slashing the car’s tires, presumably doing something of the sort when they leave the house at the end of chapter two and not harming either toriel or susie). and i love how we see slices of their personality in the actions kris does that we have no chance to interject in (kris accepting susie as their friend, as they themself refer to susie as such in front of toriel, and defending her after the fight with the king in the first chapter) or their delivery on certain choices we, the player, take for them (unconvincingly replying with “ralsei” when asked by susie at the end of chapter two). or stuff like their blank side of the room compared to asriel, to the surprise that we get of a “personalized” kris room due to their internet searches. like, we would’ve NEVER gotten anything like that with frisk. i find that stuff really compelling and, much like how flowey was really important in the meta aspect of undertale, having a protagonist that acts like such is a take i’m incredibly happy and satisfied with. can’t wait to learn more about kris while i keep tormenting them with my dumb, selfish decisions, yaaaaay.

(i also want to point out that... the aspect of kris hating the player isn’t new? both flowey and sans dislike you for replaying the game over and over. flowey tells you he isn’t capable of going through all the pacifist run development again, and only allows you to do it again if you erase his memories, and sans tells you on his boss fight that even if you only did pacifists runs it wouldn’t matter because you would reset their lives to the underground either way, instead of letting them live. in that way, the game punishes you for loving these characters and their stories, and i think that’s tremendously fucked up - but also, really refreshing and interesting.)

[sollucets]

five favorite fics

i.... do not love complimenting myself. but for you @calicostorms i will try. it’s probably good for me. another thing i’m bad at doing is tagging people; please feel free to if you see this

mind in the moment

this was the first redacted fic i posted & i still think it’s my best one. there are some things i would edit in there now if i could but i think it hits the Correct Emotional Beats. i made it because i so badly wanted sam catharsis after inversion; i just wanted to tell him to take a break, to let him be vulnerable & slow down, and it worked! so that’s nice. also important to me because posting it multiple times and reading people’s comments gave me the courage to post my backlog & publish more when i fully Never Have before. it was the beginning of these wild few months, and now i’m, [waves arms wildly] here! so. that’s my paragraph about that. the other entries will be shorter

refractions

very self-indulgent content that other people liked too, which is always good. i love Yearning, and i love monterey, and i love gavin/freelancer. i think there are some clumsily phrased bits of this, but i like it (’:

synesthete

i had a lot of fun trying to tactile-ly describe emotions and i will force my “cay-cay” agenda if it’s the last thing i do

bring me a dream

yes i know this is my newest one but it’s... nice. i posted a lot about this today already, so i’m gonna shut up

painkiller

this is my most kudos-ed fic on ao3, which was really surprising to me. it was very easy to write (only took like two days versus my usual output); i love writing geordi hehe. i’m very glad the formatting went over well! also one of my fic pleasures is to take a problem i have and fix it with magic, and when u can do it with a forehead kiss,,, simply why not

also....

i understand this tag was meant to be about my fics but i would like to add that my actual five favorite redacted fics are ej’s fuck up the friendship, domini’s why the duck, evilbunny’s old number seven, my friend misuaki’s “won’t let you out of my sight (even when you’re sleeping)”, and sealy’s “commit it to memory”

[pixelwisp-archive]

Itadakimasu!! | Part 2: Try harder, Paradis (Written Portion Included)

 Your brows furrowed - a small, nearly unnoticeable pout settled on your face as your index finger hovered over the reply button. You were hunched over the counter as your fingers danced across the keyboard, various snarky responses fluttering onto the screen only to be immediately redacted, another comment snippier than the last taking its place. At one point you got fed up and decidedly wrote ‘Fuck you Miya’, and to your horror almost clicked ‘reply’ before your reflexes caught you and quickly tapped on the ‘cancel’ button instead. A familiar ring sounded through the bakery at the arrival of a new patron, tearing your eyes away from the current dilemma as you shoved the phone into your back pocket, a smile as bright as sunshine replacing your recently sour features. It was decided then that you would deal with it later, maybe with some of Tendou’s or Lev’s help. They were good at being bitchy when they needed to.

Try harder, Paradis.

The comment burned itself into the back of your memory the rest of the day as you sat on how best to reply, and truthfully, you still had no idea. In reality, you knew next to nothing about this business. You were aware that they were located in Osaka, thanks to their twitter profile. You also knew that it was run by Atsumu Miya’s brother, who’s name escaped your memory and you’re far too petty lazy to bother googling it - and that for some reason, they’ve decided that Paradis would be their target practice for their criticism and holier than thou attitude. It was easy to assume the attention came from Atsumu Miya’s shout out after their visit a couple days ago, but why they’ve taken it so personally, you probably would never know.

Regardless, you couldn’t deny that the attention you’ve gotten from your little spats between the two business was nice - you and Tendou had been talking about wanting to expand and open up more locations in other prefectures (Tendou grins as his hands gesture dramatically. “No no, Y/n, think bigger, like Paris”), but the process of saving up ended up being slower than you two had anticipated. It wasn’t like you guys weren’t making a profit or anything - you had quite a few regulars and had a growing list of clientele that chose your bakery as their supplier for their restaurants, events, etc. But living was expensive; between the business expenses, rent, food, and bills, you had to admit less than you would have liked ended up taking residence in the cleaned out pickle jar that was tucked away under the kitchen sink - the one Tendou insisted on using because ‘with cash, it feels more real’, and had Tendou’s messy scrawl in bright fuchsia ink, ‘Paris’, across a crooked streak of duct tape that had been clumsily torn from the roll. A smile tugged at your lips at the thought of someday being able to take Satori to Paris like he’d always wanted. 

“Paradis, I’m home. You in?”

“In the living room,” you called back, looking back down at the tweet you had been once again staring at for too long a time.

“You would not believe what Ushiwaka texted me today, he- uh, you good?” 

You snapped your attention up at him and blinked at the defensive posture he held. “You look like you’re gonna set something on fire. I support you, of course, but I gotta hear the tea before we get the Kerosene.” A laugh emitted from you then, loud and boisterous, your head thrown back against the couch cushion. 

“Sorry, it’s this stupid Onigiri shop,” you explained as you showed him your phone with a sigh. Tendou squinted at the text, then leaned back with a grin. “ What’s wrong? I kinda like them, they’re snarky.” 

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t mind a little harmless twitter beef, but I almost feel like while I’m trying to keep it light and airy, this guy seems like he’s ready to go for the jugular.” The bitter taste left in your mouth at the mere mention of him made you scrunch your nose, lips puffed out slightly. Tendou must have taken note of the pout because he sighed and climbed onto the couch cushion you were leaning up against. Long, nimble fingers found their way into your hair as he hummed to himself. “Well,” he began, the mischievous lilt to his voice not going unnoticed by you.

“I have some news, but I don’t know how well you’re gonna take it.”

Prev | Masterlist | Next

Fun Facts - 

Whenever Kita tweets from the account, he uses the little Onigiri emoji to finish off all his tweets. He’s cute like that.

While Osamu does use emoji’s from time to time, he is partial to the :) because it just exudes bitch energy and he’s into that.

While Atsumu’s “pull your head outta your ass” might not have seemed very friendly - he knows its what Osamu needs, and frankly, wants to hear. Twin thing, you know?

You and Tendo live together, have since you were 17. You guys are platonic soulmates

One of your core memories with Ten was when you were both drunk in your apartment, and Tendou had insisted on a French accent for the better part of two hours because it was always a fool proof way to make you laugh, especially when you’re borderline shitfaced. When you were in the kitchen opening up another bottle of wine, you heard Tendou summon you in a sing song, slurred voice “Oh Paradis~” and for some reason, it stuck and suddenly Tendou calling you Paradis was second nature to you guys. So when you guys had finally made enough to open up your own store and had to come up with a name, Paradis just felt right.

A/n: Another chapter done!! I went back and forth between whether I wanted to add a written portion to this chapter or not, and ultimately settled on the little snippet above - I really just wanted to open the door back over to Paradis so we can get a little more of my favorite little bakery, as well as dive into Y/n and Tendou’s relationship! As always, I hope you guys enjoy, and feel free to reach out if you’d like to be added to the taglist!

Taglist -

@larkspyrr @oikawaandkuroostan @fucktheworlddude @doctorspencereid​ @keiarma @cherriechurros

[carewyncromwell]

“I finished crying in the instant that you left, And I can't remember where or when or how, And I banished every memory you and I had ever made! But when you touch me like this, and you hold me like that, I just have to admit that it's all coming back to me... When I touch you like this, and I hold you like that, It's so hard to believe, but it's all coming back to me... It's all coming back -- it's all coming back to me now... There were moments of gold And there were flashes of light -- There were things I'd never do again, But then they'd always seemed right...”

~“It’s All Coming Back to Me,” by Celine Dion

x~x~x~x

AUGH, my heart! I blame this 100% on @mira-shard sending me that ship ask for my book-smart, people-dumb spaceman Jacob Cromwell and his boy best friend Duncan and reminding me how friggin’ much I adore these two. They hurt my heart so much and yet I love them with all of my heart and soul. ;~;

This is set toward the end of Carewyn’s sixth year, right after that certain Redacted event. This is also the first time these two have seen each other since Duncan died...and yeah, as you can expect, their reunion was pretty damn feelsy.

Jacob Cromwell had been working hard on his own almost all of that school year to reach the Sunken Vault before Rakepick, but after finding out that R was still actively targeting Carewyn by sending members like the Wizard in White after her, he became all the more determined to try to force them away from the Hogwarts grounds. Unfortunately for Jacob, R was one step ahead of him. Using the blood they’d managed to collect after badly injuring Jacob the previous year, they had Blaise Cromwell use Polyjuice Potion to masquerade as his nephew and sneak into the school so as to have access to his niece Carewyn, who R’s leader (Jacob and Carewyn’s cold-hearted maternal grandfather Charles Cromwell) ultimately wanted among their ranks as well.

While masquerading as Jacob, Blaise learned Carewyn was still planning on chasing after the Vaults, with the blessing of Mad-Eye Moody, who was currently investigating R himself, and after putting on a weak act of discouraging her, he “accepted her help” and subtly encouraged her to not tell her friends anything else about the Vaults, supposedly for “their safety,” but truthfully because Blaise didn’t want Carewyn to have ties anywhere outside of their family and organization. Blaise did suss out, however, that there were a few people in Carewyn’s circle of associates who were reluctant to leave the Cursed Vaults alone and “stay out of R’s business,” including Ben Copper, who Blaise in particular felt a searing distaste for, given that he was not only a “filthy Mudblood,” but he also was one of Carewyn’s first friends who was incredibly overprotective of her. After Blaise discussed the matter with his father Charles, it was decided that R should “deal” with Ben Copper the same way R had dealt with Duncan Ashe -- namely, to make an example out of him, which would not only scare Carewyn into line, but also take out a potential threat to their overall plan to isolate their target so they’d have no one else to fall back on.

Just as they had whenever Blaise infiltrated the school, R purposefully led Jacob away from the grounds, this time with the Wizard in White as a decoy. Since the Wizard had recently threatened Carewyn’s life, Jacob immediately charged after him with a vengeance, determined to hunt him down and kill him so that he’d never touch “his Pip” again. Unfortunately after several weeks of doggedly pursuing the Wizard in White all across London, he escaped, and Jacob in utter frustration was forced to return to Hogwarts and continue trying to access the Sunken Vault, even if he knew no way to do so without both of the Coral Keys that unlocked the outer and inner doors. It was only when Jacob returned to Scotland that he learned Rakepick had returned to Hogwarts the day he first left and had killed someone in the Forbidden Forest -- and it was a few days later, late at night, that Jacob was confronted by a familiar voice in the Lakehouse that was his hiding place. 

“So you are here, then.”

Jacob’s heart stopped. Whipping out his white Aspen wand, the ex-Ravenclaw whirled around so violently that he nearly knocked over the overturned boat on the floor behind him.

Hovering over him was a translucent shape of a seventeen-year old wizard. He wore Hogwarts robes, but due to the bluish-gray tint of his form, the uniform’s house colors weren’t identifiable. Not that Jacob would’ve needed to try to guess what house he’d been in -- he already knew the young man was in Slytherin. Jacob had gone to talk to him in their very first year all because he was a Slytherin and could answer that random question Jacob had had about the Slytherin commonroom...

Jacob’s almond-shaped blue eyes went very wide, losing almost all of their light, as his face blanched.

“...Ashe...?”

His voice left his lips in such a hushed whisper, it was like the breath had passed his lips without any diction whatsoever.

Duncan crossed his arms moodily. “Long time no see, Jacob. I’m curious -- did your sister just not tell you I was still around, or did you actively decide I wasn’t worth a visit?”

Jacob’s blue eyes flooded with pain as he shakily lowered his wand arm.

“Ashe...” he whispered again feebly.

The facial reaction didn’t move Duncan -- instead he plowed on.

“I mean, Hell, apparently Madame Pince even managed to catch sight of you before I did. Suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, though...you always did run to books for all your answers, rather than use any common sense -- ”

Jacob did not know what Duncan was talking about, but in that moment, he had trouble articulating that on top of everything else he was feeling. It felt like his heart had swollen up in his chest and was slamming up against his ribs, throbbing with pulsing pain as he clumsily tucked his wand back into his robes.

“Ashe...” he tried again, but it was no use. His throat was so tight, it was like it was being squeezed...

“Then again,” laughed Duncan humorlessly, “‘common sense’ was never exactly common for you, was it? Nor was tact, patience, humility, sensitivity, or even a shred of self-control -- ”

“Ashe -- ”

“I mean, if I’d abandoned the precious little sister who I’d never bloody shut up about for seven years,” said Duncan in a very harsh, cutting voice, “I probably wouldn’t have immediately abandoned her again and only bothered checking in with her after finding out that someone might want to kill her because of me! You kept saying to me, ‘I gotta protect Pip,’ ‘I’ve gotta take care of Carewyn’ -- well, where the Hell were you, Jacob? Where were you this last month!? Where were you after she broke you out of that Vault!? Where were you, when I had to pick up your slack?! Just like I always do -- just like I’ve always done, ever since you waltzed your way into my -- !?”

“Ashe!”

The surname came out oddly choked. Duncan looked Jacob in the face fully for the first time, and immediately faltered.

The ex-Ravenclaw had hunched in on himself in the face of Duncan’s tirade. His hollowed-out blue eyes were very weak and rippling with moisture that he fiercely fought back. Although his shoulders hadn’t crumpled, they were shaking, as were his hands as they clutched at the sleeves of his elegant scarlet dress robes. His...very familiar scarlet dress robes...

Something twitched in Duncan’s expression.

“Ashe...you...” Jacob gave a very painful-looking swallow. “...You’re here.”

Duncan tried to glower at him. “Well spotted.”

He hated how much Jacob was shaking, and how it looked like he was fighting back tears. Jacob didn’t respond to Duncan’s sarcasm -- he appeared unable to.

“You’ve...been here all this time...all these years...you stayed behind?”

His voice was very quiet. He clutched at the sleeves of his dress robes.

“I thought you’d gone on!” Jacob burst out, his voice very strained. “I thought -- you’d left...”

“Well, clearly I didn’t!” Duncan shot back, more defensively that he’d intended. He didn’t like seeing Jacob like this -- didn’t like seeing him so upset -- didn’t like how...his voice echoed with something like remorse...longing...

Jacob’s hands shook more as he squeezed his arms in a vice grip, staring at Duncan as if he were a faded photograph he hadn’t seen in years and wished to carve into his memory before it became too damaged to salvage.

“When I was in the Portrait, I spent days and weeks wishing I could have just one more minute with you -- maybe fifteen, or thirty, just -- enough time to tell you every little thing I never did before...”

Jacob seemed unable to finish. He broke off, his head falling so that his eyes fell into shadow.

“...But -- but knowing you are here -- that you’re here like this...after I couldn’t save you, after R targeted us -- ”

Duncan flinched. The pain and self-hatred in Jacob’s eyes -- it looked just like the kind he’d seen in another pair of blue almond-shaped eyes not too long ago, in response to her having lost her best friend. At the time Duncan had briefly wondered if Jacob had reacted as badly to his death as Carewyn did Rowan Khanna’s, but had pushed off the thought. It was something he couldn’t believe -- didn’t want to believe.

“Ashe...” Jacob murmured. His voice had become rather level and absent, as it always was when he was thinking, even though the clenched hands on his arms were still shaking terribly, “Ashe, I’ve been such a fool...I don’t know how I never saw it before...how much I cared, how much I wanted you -- wanted us to...be an ‘us’...to swoop in and just...take you home to Pip and Mum, and...be a family together -- to break curses and travel the world and get into fights and then kiss and make up and get into trouble and then out of it again and laugh a lot and do stupid stuff and change the world and...maybe, I dunno, adopt some kids down the road or something -- I’d probably be a pretty lousy father, and we could’ve completely fallen apart, and the whole thing could’ve ended up being a mistake, but...thinking on it, all those years...all I could come back to over and over again was hating not knowing -- not knowing if we could’ve been happy together, if...well, even if we were a disaster, at least we still could’ve been something -- had something -- ”

Duncan felt a familiar burning sensation in the back of eyes, and it made him lash out.

“GET BENT, JACOB CROMWELL!”

Jacob’s head shot up, taken aback. Duncan held up a clenched fist as if he longed to punch Jacob right in the face.

“I’m mad at you!” shouted Duncan. “I’m allowed to be mad at you! After every mistake you made, for every bloody mistake you’re still making and will no doubt make for the rest of your sodding life, I should be mad at you! You never bloody learn and you always dash headlong into situations without using that brilliant brain of yours to think twice! And yet you...”

Duncan’s eyes were filling up with tears.

“You...you’re making it bloody impossible! I want to yell at you! I want to hate you! I want to know you never cared and I was a fool for ever wasting my time on you, because otherwise my whole reason for staying behind -- ”

The thought hurt Duncan too much, and he furiously shoved the end of that sentence away.

“I want to resent you for the rest of my undead days, and yet there you go, looking like that and rambling on like an idiot and...and...”

A tear leaked out the side of his eye. Despite the anger in his expression, Duncan was shaking too now. His other hand tentatively rose, hovering just shy of Jacob’s pale face as if he longed to touch it.

“...and...making me fall for you all over again,” choked Duncan, his voice very low and muffled in the back of his throat.

Jacob looked like he too was fighting back the urge to try to touch Duncan as he stared up into his light-less eyes. Like the rest of him, there was a tint of ghostly blueish-gray to them, even though they’d been such a warm, bright brown in life.

“Ashe...”

“Jacob, for the love of -- stop saying my name like that! I told you I’m mad at you!”

Even as he said it, Duncan’s transparent fingers grazed Jacob’s face, making Jacob shiver slightly at the cold as it passed through his skin.

“...Why?” said Duncan softly.

“What?”

“My robes,” Duncan clarified. “You kept them.”

Jacob’s eyes pulsed with emotion, both pained and almost offended.

“Well, of course I kept them,” he retorted hotly. “You gave them to me. Did you assume I’d just stick them in the back of my closet?”

“Sort of,” said Duncan a bit awkwardly.

Jacob’s face actually flickered with some righteous anger. “Because you wanted to believe I didn’t care?”

“Don’t turn this around on me!” Duncan shot back defensively. “What was I supposed to think, after you disappeared without a trace -- after all of the things I heard about you doing R’s dirty work -- ?”

“You KNEW R forced me to join them!” shouted Jacob. “You KNEW what they had over me -- what they almost did to Pip! You KNEW I would never, ever abandon Pip and Mum by my own choice -- ”

“I KNOW!” Duncan said fiercely.

The transparent hand that had been beside Jacob’s face clasped weakly at the air beside his hair, as if he longed to grab hold of it.

“...I know...” he said in a more hushed, strained voice.

Jacob’s blue eyes were still blazing with mild frustration.

“Ashe, I wore these robes for you, the night I went to the Portrait Vault,” he said lowly.

Duncan was startled.

“I wanted you with me, when I broke the last two Vaults’ curses -- when I saved Olivia...”

Jacob’s gaze betrayed a strange, almost beastly glint -- like vengeance, but much darker and more hostile.

“I wanted you with me when I demolished R and everything they’ve ever wanted and chased after. I still do. I want to make every last one of them pay for everything they took from me -- everyone they took from me.”

Duncan stared at Jacob, his expression strained with disbelief and something oddly touched.

“Jacob...”

He once again looked like he wanted to touch Jacob’s face, to trail his fingers through his dark curls. His light-less eyes fell away from Jacob’s and came down to rest on his lips instead.

“...You know I can’t help you do much of anything, like this.”

Jacob’s expression turned a bit more serious. “There is one thing you can do for me -- make sure Pip doesn’t leave the castle again. I heard Rakepick killed someone in the Forbidden Forest -- I can’t let her do the same to -- ”

“You can’t shield Carewyn from R, Jacob,” said Duncan very sharply.

“I can and I will,” spat Jacob fiercely.

Duncan’s lips came together very tightly.

“Do you know who that person was?” the ghost said very lowly. “The one Rakepick killed?”

Jacob’s expression lost some of its anger, seeing how oddly grave Duncan’s expression had become.

“Her name was Rowan Khanna,” said Duncan. “Sixth year Slytherin, supposedly in the running to be Hogwarts Head Girl. ...She’s also your sister’s best friend.”

Jacob’s eyes went very, very wide in horror.

“...No...”

His head fell. His eyes stared down at the floor, but didn’t seem to see it -- his mind was racing, unable to keep up with the horror of this news.

“Carewyn was lured out to the Forest after finding a Quill addressed to you in your old room,” Duncan told him sharply. “Three of her friends followed her and tried to protect her when Rakepick confronted her there.” Duncan’s voice lowered significantly as he added, “....She’d been sent with orders from R to kill one of your sister’s friends -- to send a message.”

Jacob once again clutched at his own arms, his flurry of thoughts darting across his eyes as he stared at the floor.

“They played me,” he whispered. “They knew I wanted to protect Pip -- so they sent the Wizard in White to attack her at the Lakeshore, so I’d fear him going after her...so I’d chase after him to try to stop him, even if it meant leaving Pip alone...”

His head shot up, and his eyes were narrowed in urgency and confusion.

“You said there was a message for me, in my room? Pip found my room?”

“A few years ago, I believe,” said Duncan. “I reckon it would’ve been a logical place to look, if she wanted to figure out what the hell you were up to, before you vanished...if she could even have found anything, in that absolute mess you always worked out of -- ”

“But why would there have been a message for me there?” said Jacob, his eyebrows knitting together. “I haven’t gone in there since I was expelled...”

Duncan frowned. “Well, R might’ve heard about you going into the Library...”

“But that’s just it!” said Jacob. “I didn’t! I haven’t entered the school since I left! It’s not exactly easy to break into Hogwarts -- and if I did and got caught, then where would I be, in protecting Pip and stopping R? I can’t let them get into the Sunken Vault first!”

Duncan suddenly looked almost as troubled as Jacob.

“...So...you haven’t entered Hogwarts at all? But...then why did Pince and Filch see you inside?”

A thought struck his mind.

“...Jacob...when was the last time you spoke to your sister? Not just saw her, I mean, really spoke to her.”

Jacob frowned deeply. “Last year, in Knockturn Alley. Though we didn’t really have much time to talk then, either...”

Duncan’s eyes narrowed in anxiety. “Jacob...Carewyn told her friends that you ‘don’t tell her much, whenever you meet.’ That doesn’t sound like something that someone would say after only seeing her brother once in an entire school year. It sounds like someone who’s been meeting him regularly.”

Jacob stiffened visibly. His eyebrows furrowed over his eyes as they wandered over the walls and floor.

“Something’s not right,” he said lowly.

He turned on his heel, whipping out his white wand as he went.

“I need to find out what’s going on. Ashe...while I’m gone, please -- ”

“Jacob, stop.”

Duncan swept right through Jacob, making the smaller man shudder. The ghost hovered over Jacob, his translucent robes flapping silently on either side of him.

“Before you go running off  without thinking again,” said Duncan sardonically, “talk to your sister.”

Jacob looked hesitant and slightly ashamed.

“I need to protect her -- ”

“No, you need to be there for her,” Duncan cut him off fiercely. “She’s just lost the first real friend she ever made in her life -- someone she cares about like few others. There’s only one person in this entire world who might know what that’s like...”

Duncan swallowed back the lump in his throat.

“...If you...truly cared, when I died, Jacob...then you’re the only person who might know what she needs, right now.”

Jacob closed his eyes and turned away, unable to reply. His fist clenched over the Aspen wand at his side.

“...Does she hate me?” he asked at last, very lowly. “Does she blame me...for what happened?”

Duncan’s eyes softened slightly. “You know she doesn’t.”

This didn’t seem to comfort Jacob, though. If anything, it made him more upset -- like he thought she should blame him.

Duncan exhaled heavily. “Jacob, please -- I know you want to protect Carewyn, and I know there’s not much time to stop R from reaching the Sunken Vault...but...”

A strange wry smile pricked at the corner of his lips.

“...if there’s one thing your sister has taught me...it’s how much knowing that someone cares -- that you’re not alone -- can mean.”

Jacob’s posture straightened slightly.

“She’s shouldered a lot by herself since you left, Jacob,” said Duncan. “Her friends are trying to help her with it now...but I think the help she really needs is yours.”

Jacob was silent for another long moment. Then he turned just enough to look at Duncan over his shoulder -- his lips had curled up in a crooked, sad smile.

“...You really did look after my Pip for me.”

Duncan gave a loud huff and crossed his arms. “It’s not like I could’ve not picked up your slack.”

His expression betrayed a bit more seriousness as he added, “...She’s a fine lass, Jacob.”

Jacob’s eyes squinted almost fondly. “She is.”

The smile then slid off his face.

“If Pip wants to see me, just...tell her to go out toward the Lake after dark and shoot up red sparks. I’ll come running right out to her. ...Will you tell her that, for me?”

Duncan nodded. “Of course.”

“Thank you. And Ashe?”

“Yeah?”

Jacob swallowed.

“You know how I feel about you...right?”

Duncan’s expression turned rather snarky. “Of course I do. You kept me around so you’d have someone to show off to.”

Jacob immediately looked irritated, and Duncan quickly added in exasperation, “Oh, come on, you know I know! Just...”

His transparent cheeks darkened with a dark blue flush as he glanced away out the side of his eye.

“Just...say it anyway.”

Jacob’s expression cleared, slowly breaking out into a bright grin that made him look years younger.

“...I love you.”

Duncan closed his eyes, inhaling and exhaling slowly through his nose.

“I have for a while,” Jacob pressed on, “dunno really how long, but...”

“All right, that’ll do,” Duncan said under his breath brusquely, despite the dark flush still clinging to his face. “I love you too -- so don’t go off and get yourself killed too, all right?”

With this, Duncan swept right past Jacob, brushing through his hair as he disappeared through the Lakehouse’s wall and back toward the school.

[regrettablewritings]

Preference: What Strange Being Are They? II

Characters: Victor Stone, Harley Quinn, Erik the Phantom, Nevada Ramirez, **Surprise Character**

Victor Stone - Simulacrum

The proper term, as he saw it, was simulacrum: An image or representation of someone or something. That was the more proper term. But in Victor’s mind, ordealed and pulled every which way but up, it meant something just as contorted as his form had become: An imitation of something else that may or may not have ever even existed. A collection of broken pieces, cobbled together to look like something familiar, all the while lacking in its qualities enough to make it abundantly clear that no, this was no longer what someone knew. Or maybe they never knew him to begin with.

In layman’s terms, Frankenstein’s monster.

Then again, he supposed the term “cyborg” was not entirely incorrect. There were, after all, traces of his organic self still present, albeit restricted to the face. But there was almost a sense of struggle in that title to him. A sense of denial. Simulacrum might have hurt, but at least, to him, it was honest.

But Silas Stone preferred to call him his son. And Victor called that ignorantly optimistic. After all: What sort of father drags his son back from the cusp of a peaceful passing, utilizing otherworldly means to reassemble him nerve by metallic nerve until he no longer resembled the boy he remembered himself being? A father too driven, Victor decided. One whose own dreams and memories had become a simulacra in and of themselves: They became so distorted, that they no longer resembled reason or reality.

And as far as Victor was concerned, he’d paid the price.

He kept to himself, reserving night time as the only time he could wander the streets of Gotham to himself — but just barely. There was only so much hiding a flimsy hoodie from his time at Gotham U could provide. But still: Technically speaking, he was safe. Monstrous, perhaps, but safe. Safe from wandering eyes, safe from judgement over what he’d lost and since become, safe from . . . Well, life. He was perfectly content living a simulation of life, in fact.

But what he wasn’t prepared or safe from was that fateful night he met you, unafraid and completely real. Well, if anything, you were real curious . . .

Harley Quinn - Succubus

Nobody talks about what happens when you starve a succubus. Mainly because the belief is that the only way to starve a succubus is to deny her, ahem, intimacy. And while this certainly wasn’t an untruth in most cases, the case that was Harley Quinn was a rather . . . unconventional one. Well, as unconventional as anything concerning a succubus could be.

For one, she had adapted her needs to better suit her environment. She had to: If she relied solely on just physical intimacy alone, she would have died long, long ago. After all, The One That Shan’t Be Named seemed to make it a point of starving her of all the resources she could possibly siphon energy from. Eventually, it came to a point where she simply had to learn how to consume energy from other means: Attention; the glances of lustful men and women; affections. Little, teeny, tiny sources that paled in comparison to the full-course meal she might’ve gotten before. But it was better than starving, and she needed to get by in this world however she could.

Not only because she quite liked some bits and pieces of this side of the veil, but also because in the end, she simply wasn’t as powerful as she once was. She still carried some of her paranormal traits with her (minor dream-walking, enhanced agility, etc), but it definitely wasn’t enough to drag her back to whence she came. Not that she wanted to.

She’d become rather fond of the den of sin that was Gotham City. And, to her own surprise, she had become rather fond of you, the poor newbie that foolishly agreed to her Craigslist ad for a new roommate. But then again, she was far more than old enough to know better; why be shocked? After all, you were so, so warm when compared to every other person she’d endured in such close proximity in the past. Much sweeter, much more . . . Deliciously innocent . . .

Erik the Phantom - Fossegrim

Fossegrims are, at least when compared to most other water spirits, rather on the benevolent side. They weren’t like sirens, using their musical gifts to lure people in to a watery grave -- at least, not normally. It was that they much preferred to enchant without malicious intent, plucking at their harp strings or sliding bows across their fiddles to produce ensorcelling sounds of the wind in the forest, the chorus of rushing water resonating in every note. It was just simply not in their nature to be especially malevolent.

At their worst, they were very particular: Even at their most agreeable, there was always a caveat of sorts.

If a fossegrim were to agree to live with a human partner, for example, he needed to have free and regular contact with a water source, lest he grow dire. And if a fossegrim were to offer his tutelage for the fiddle to someone, they would need to participate in a very particular ritual that included stolen mutton, a white he-goat, and a lot of Thursdays.

(And even if one were to succeed at this, they would be faced with a most . . . unorthodox means of being “trained”. Once again, nothing done in malice, but surely there had to be a cleaner way.)

Erik personally did not stick as strictly to these circumstances as others of his kind might -- really, he saw little point in it. After all: Who would come wandering in a watery cavern, and searching for a fossegrim’s teachings, no less! No, he had grown used to his solitude, if bitterly so. He told himself that he was more than happy to live out his naturally long life, secluded, playing beautiful pieces that would remain suffocated beneath whatever structure had gone up above his cove. He almost dared to think it a pity . . . Until one day, a visitor arrived.

And you came bearing a gift: Not a he-goat, nor stolen mutton. You hadn’t come bearing meat of any kind at all! All you carried with you as you clumsily paddled your small boat was a ring: An heirloom, old and dingy, but precious nonetheless. It was all you could offer him that equated to your desire to learn by his hand.

It perplexed the fossegrim. But it also filled him with something . . . warm. Bright, even. Pride. After all, who was he to disappoint such a humble, obedient student. . .?

Nevada Ramirez - Vampire

Vampires: Creatures of fear and woe. They lurked in the shadows, the particulars of their lore transforming about as much as they themselves could. Feeding off the fears of the common folk, draining their energy while all the while enticing their prey closer and closer still.

The transformation fit Nevada like a glove.

And, like a fashionable, leather glove befitting as his aesthetic, he wore it all with style. And perhaps a bit too much glee. Vampires, as it turned out, weren’t just day-dwelling bloodsuckers after all: The great thing about living in a city so varied as New York was that it allowed for evolution and strange mixes to occur. Nevada lucked out: He’d been vampirically sired by a strain that could eat human food, go out in daylight, weren’t effected by crucifixes, and didn’t require an invitation to enter a goddamn building.

The catches, unfortunately, were as followed: Food no longer tasted as vibrant; he could go about his day but with powers limited so drastically that he may as well have been another lowly-ass mortal; bullets were still a big no-no (unless he was the one shooting ‘em); and whether he liked it or not, he still required blood to properly get by. And as disappointed by the food situation as he was, he considered that of the blood a proportionate gain: Blood, Nevada found out, was far more varied when spiced with hormones.

His club made for a perfect den, a place where prey of all sorts could walk in, gyrate themselves into a frenzy, then come crawling over to him (the most minimum of efforts on the part of his pheromones) and offer to him their bodies without even knowing the true nature of what he wanted of them. And for a while, it worked like a charm.

Until Nevada realized he’d never quite had a taste of you, yet. You, with your wide and innocent eyes, cheeks burning whenever you saw him staring at you from the VIP section.

Sure, excitement from arousal was tasty. But the undead gang leader couldn’t help but wonder what the taste of excitement from nervousness tasted like . . .

Lucifer Morningstar - Human

They are without particularly long lives. They are born helpless and remain so much longer than most creatures on Earth do. And yet, it is amazing and strange how much humans can pack into their lives.

Take, for example, one Lucifer Morningstar: He’d changed his name from [Redacted] to better suit the image he wanted, which was that of a walking spectacle. And if his name weren’t enough, everything else he did surely was: The wealth he accrued through mysterious means; the successful nightclub on the LA strip that he owned; an immortal bed life; and a tapestry of connections he’d made by pulling favors. All topped with a devilishly handsome face to boot!

If Lucifer ever had a goal, it was to live it up and/or go to Hell in a hand basket trying.

Which was probably why he wasn’t one to shy away from hosting a little large get-together at Lux for Halloween. And by get-together, Lucifer clarified on social media: They would, in fact, be holding a seance and summoning. After all, what sexier way to embrace the taboo of darkness than to play around with the veil as though it were part of a dress-up game? It was too good an opportunity to miss out on, as any good attention-whore businessperson would tell you.

Unfortunately, for as lucky as Lucifer tended to be, he still bore upon his shoulders multiple flaws. Human flaws. Such as the flaw of not exactly doing research and providing a thorough vetting process when it came to hiring the “performer” who would be commencing the seance and summoning.

This was LA, after all: He probably could just pluck any rando off the street and get a good show out of it. He wasn’t even sure where he pulled this rando from (chances were, he was buzzed and/or high while doing so), but he couldn’t argue with the results of a crowd bewildered by the surprisingly realistic smoke effects and lights flickering. Though he had to admit: They could’ve put you in better demonic makeup for when the lights settled and you stood there, having suddenly “appeared” in the previously-drawn pentagram.

Still, you were cute enough: He supposed if he played his cards right, flirted with you in the usual Lucifer way, then perhaps his Halloween night might be filled with many tricks and treats yet! So he found himself perplexed when you continued to act confused and thrown off, even after the “performer” had finished their routine and left.

Wait, weren’t you supposed to be with them? How did you even get in here? Why do you keep asking how you got here, or if you got stuck in another person’s Hell, or -- . . . Oh. Oh, shit.

As a human, Lucifer was intent on filling his life to the brim with as much story and experiences as possible. But sometimes, there are just some things humans -- even ones like Lucifer -- shouldn’t dabble with . . .

[penaltybox14]

Decofiremen: The leaving, and a return

Or: feelings are hard.  In which Josiah travels to the city to see Silky, ill with pneumonia, for the first time since [redacted].

@zeitheist @darknight-brightstar @squad51goals

The leaving aches more than the journey, even as every jolt of the train coach mule-kicks his leg, even as there are hours yet to go.  It scours him to think on it, how he had promised Davey, how Davey had hovered as he packed a change or two of clothes, his shaving kit, spare bolts and straps to his brace.  Davey had seemed to be holding his breath, there in the doorway - blinking and wary, as he had back in autumn at the County.  Questions caught up in his teeth like a slow, warm wind across dried leaves.  If he were a better man, perhaps, a more tender man like Eddy or a wiser man as Lufty, he might have known the things to say. 

A pad of paper and a half-book of stamps, into the case, then.  As the boy watched.

He'd looked for Davey that morning, early, when the youngest of them should still have been rousting himself with the rest, splashing water on his face and shining his boots (as he did) for morning bell.  Jules said he didn't know where the boy was, and Bertram said he was down by the pond, and Jules had given Bertram a look for that. 

But the pond - cupped gently in a curve of the land, and down a narrow, winding path - was where the boy went when he wanted to be alone, wanted his thoughts to float out serenely on the calm face of the water (still dense with ice) and not out into the sear-shot of others.  Josiah could've gone down.  He could've - but there was a train to catch.  And he wouldn't have known what to said except his helpless promise that he'd come back. 

At a stop in a little town called Selkirk, he'd gotten up to try and stretch his legs.  He was not used to travel, now, and no longer curled up like a beetle in his quarters while the rest of Wynantskill went about its day, and he did ache.  Standing up in the train compartment, he'd nearly fallen from the sand in one leg and the charley horse in the other, and he'd knocked his case off the rack shouting and clutching for balance.  The case had popped a latch, and, catching his breath and biting his curses, he paused to snap it shut again.  It was heavier than he had recollected packing, and when he looked again, there in the middle of his things was a small book and a blue pocketknife, tied up in twine.

That was Davey's knife, deep blue bakelite with stainless trim, a gift from Antoine before he'd graduated.  A pride of a knife, well-oiled, a keen balance, two blades, an awl, and a can opener.  The book is Whitman - Leaves of Grass.  Davey had dredged up recitations in him long left over from Hudson Classical, pushed him to read choice stanzas over and over.  A page was dog-eared: a bad habit of his that Davey had clumsily scolded him over, playing at being grown.  It didn't need to be - the book fell open, loose from many readings.  Josiah paused over the poem there, thoughtful.  Shut the book and returned it to the case. 

Many hours yet to the city, where he had arranged a room near the hospital.   From Selkirk south to Ravena, to Coxsackie, Catskill and Saguerties, down through the Hudson Valley, until the very edges of the city unraveled themselves toward the oncoming train, and he saw bridges and skylines and viaducts and things he remembered, stout five-story walkups like blunt teeth, the dull rust of railyards, at last into the belly of Manhattan. 

>>

He is so pale.

Silks was always fair, even in summer, when his skin would tighten and brighten like a lobster fresh from the pot, and the sun splashed copper on his auburn hair.  Fair, and strong-boned, his Jesuit manners a soft varnish over his city-boy laugh. 

But now he seems to disappear almost into the linens, nothing but soft twilight shadows, his veins trailing over his thin body like spidery blue cataracts.  Shadow, and breath, ragged breath that slows, then catches, into a dry cough that mule-kicks him half off the bed.

There are only a hand of men in the long white ward.  A police officer sits murmuring softly by another man's bedside.  A fellow with a busted arm reads a colorful magazine.  A few are asleep.  One, like Silks, has a needle in his arm and a bottle hung up by the bedside.  Josiah remembers that dreadful morphine sleep, the way it dragged him as if it had teeth or hooks, how his dreams caught on the secrets and the spirits of the city.  The days cracked like the spine of a dusty tome, and the centuries split like soft, fine vellum, breathless and translucent.  His breath and his blood blood flowed into the streets and her smoke and iron filled up his bones and every time a fellow came to see him he tumbled headlong into his shy or sorrowed heart. 

He would take the pain any rank and reeking day, over the poppy fields and the black smoke.

Silks, four beds in, across from a window where the evening light is just cresting the white-enameled iron of his bedstead, coughs again, and hard.  Struggles to catch his wind.

(They were young men.  Smoke-eaters, the Times called them.  Silks caught him against his shoulder while he coughed up ash that tasted like beef-gristle and blood, and vomited in the street.  Silks caught him, and steadied him, away from the clamoring press.)

He can't do this.  He can't, not even lurking in the safety of his long coat, his hat low over his eyes, he can't.  Silks won't even recognize him, probably.  It's been so long.  Been too long.  They had not even spoken at the promotion, when he had stood stiff and sweating with the pain of his leg - how it sang, still, the nerves sheared like feathers from a buck-shot wing.  He had stood the whole long ceremony, for the higher your rank, the nearer to the end, and he was there to get his captain's coat and brass for all the good it did.  Right to the cab from there, to Grand Central and up to Troy, his neck still alight with misgiving eyes.

Josiah had felt him there, Silks, like the tumult of a fire's breath, a sudden draft, the snorting of a horse all lathered from its run up the grand boulevard.  Felt him there at his side, across the room, as surely as he'd been there every off-day he had right here in the casualty ward.  Birchy, he would say.  Birchy, wake up.  Have some water, Birch.  Gotta eat, Birchy, your leg'll never patch up with you starved. 

(and as he drove, gasping, through the poppy fields and the dark morphine sea, Silks bowed his head and prayed, and said that he was sorry.)

He can't do this.

(The first steps he took out of bed, he fell, and cussed the nurses and the nuns.)

He cannot.

(When they fitted him for the brace, he felt its sheen and its click and its creak like laughter.)

He cannot do this.

(It held him upright, but it would never hold him on the boards.)

He is walking, as steady as he can, down the aisle between the beds.  He thinks, it's not at all unlike the men's ward at the county, the empty beds, the empty eyes, the soft weeping that might just be the sear at the back of his mind.  He is walking with a limp, he is walking toward the last door, he is walking down a dark hallway, he is in the smoke, he is under the give of the ceiling and he doesn't know it. 

Each bed has to it one hard, high-backed chair, and he collapses down and bows his head, taking his hat off, smoothing his hair, looking everywhere but the bed. 

Silks is coughing again.  He sounds like the roar of a train in a tunnel just beyond the light's reach, the way the hot, rank air drafts back toward the engine.

He lays his hand on Silky's shoulder. 

"Silks - "

Just that cough.  That godawful cough. 

"Deep breath, Silks.  Hold on to it."

Like they were back in the smoke.  Back on the cobbles.

He feels Silky looking in his sear before he feels the eyes, and he can't bring himself to look.

"I'm dead, aren't I."  Silky wheezes.  "I'm dead, you can't be here."

The fever is palpable on him.  The sweat.  He is so, so pale. 

"God would send me you, I do suppose." Quick gasps between each word, he struggles, and his eyes are glassier than Josiah remembers. 

"Your god would send you better."

"No," Silks whispers, and Josiah catches his flailing hand.  "No, it is you, isn't it."

"Hastings sent a wire.  Eddy told me."

"Oh." Silks breathes deeply - a struggle deep in his chest.  "Oh."  Looks sharply at once: "Where's the young fella?"

Josiah balks.  "At home."

"What a fool you are, my Birchy." Silks pats his arm, weakly, softly.  The fever has cracked his lips, and Josiah brushes the damp hair off his brow. 

"I've heard that."

"You gone thinking I'd die?"

"I came to be sure you didn't."

"Fool, Birchy."

"I know, Silks.  I know.  And I'm sorry."

Silks shakes his head wearily.  "Don't. Don't be sorry.  Nothing - " that gasp again.  " - nothing sorry.  Just here.  You're here."

"Yeah, pal, I'm here."

"That's good, Birchy.  That's good." 

It aches to watch him breathe.  Josiah finds his body, unwitting, matching each struggling inhale, each slow and rattling exhale.  He sees the pulse beat rapidly in Silky's long, pale neck.  Feels it matched in his wrist.  "Take a rest, Silks," he says.  "I'm here."

Silky nods, distantly, his eyes soft and glassy.  Turns his face against the pillow, and shuts his eyes.  

[grody-cosplay-n-crap]

To wake is to die

A sequel to this  but it can be read separately. It is angst because I hate myself, just a warning 

on ao3

_____________________________________________________________

Richie Tozier basically had the perfect life. Okay, maybe some people might disagree but they were idiots. So a bunch of dude bros had redacted their idolization of him recently, they couldn’t have known how hollow the life of the Richie “Trashmouth” Tozier they though they knew and loved had really been.

Without actually opening his eyes he pats the side of the bed next to him clumsily. It’s empty but the sheets are still warm and he smiles into what he is pretty sure is his own drool spot. The need to find the source of the warmth finally forces his body out of bed, grabbing his glasses and all but stumbling into the living room and open kitchen area. Ah, there he was. In a pair of (probably moisture-wicking and antibacterial) boxers and an over sized shirt that had been given out for free at one of his fun runs (an oxymoron, there was nothing fun about running). He was making one of his super healthy smoothies that almost tasted good until he added yeast or seaweed or some shit and….was he humming a little? Holy shit that was cute. Richie quietly watched with appreciation for a few more moments before stepping forward and grabbing two big handfuls of ass.

“Jesus Christ!” Eddie screeched, dropping some kind of leafy green on the ground.

“I would say sorry to disappoint but I’m pretty sure you’d rather see me than Jesus any day.” Eddie turned around, scowling.

“You’re lucky we have  guest room or your ego and I wouldn’t both be able to live here.”

“Love it when you roast me babe.” Eddie’s mouth did that super cute thing where his lips got even thinner, pressing together with displeasure. He brandished a knife between them.

“ I could have cut off my fucking fingers off then gotten gangrene and died. Then only two people would have watched your Netflix premier instead of three.”

“Ouch, Eds gets another good one.” Richie says backing him closer to the counter in the cage he had made with his arms.

“No. Nope. I am not doing this fucking insult based foreplay first thing in the morning.” Eddie says slipping his way out like the tiny ninja he is. Richie watched appreciatively as he starts digging through the fridge.

“Are you sure the interview will be all wrapped up by 7?”

“You do know it’s not the 90’s anymore and we can watch things whenever we want,” A glare “But yeah for sure.” He tilts his head as Eddie bends all the way down to the vegetable crisper.

“Good. I’ll tell everyone to get here by then.”

“Everyone?” Richie raised an eyebrow. “Does Bill count as “everyone”?”

“No,” he replies sarcastically “Everyone is Bill, Bev and Ben.”

“Bev and-” Rich was actually slightly speechless “They flew out just for my….stupid Netflix special??”

“Well they have money to burn” Eddie says frowning at some kind of scary green juice “And it’s not stupid!” He turns looking at Richie seriously “It’s your first special for Netflix, and the first time you’ve had a set you wrote all by yourself since you were probably 25. Everyone needs to watch it and find out if you completely shit the bed or not.”

“You were at the filming-”

“Unimportant.” Eddie interrupts, finally choosing some bright orange juice to put in the smoothie. God damn it Richie was going to marry the shit out of him one day.

—————————————————————————————————

Richie was practically vibrating with excitement on the way back from the interview, like some damn kid going to a sleepover. Walking in there was a chorus of his name being yelled with various levels of volume and enthusiasm.

“You bastards start pre-gaming without me?” He laughed as Bev threw her arms around him.

“We have to be a little drunk yo deal with you Trashmouth!” More hugs were given around before they settled around his (definitely not too big) television.

“How did the interview go?” Ben asked kindly.

“Great, like they all do-”

“Were there a lot of…” Bill cut in “Uh…”

“Gay questions?” Richie laughed.

“Did you officially come out?” Bev asked, perking up.

“I mean the special is called “Gay Clown”-”

“You said that was just a joke title-!!”

“So I think some people might have figured it out.” “Your social media is also super gay.” Bev said matter-of-factly.

“It is.” Ben says, staring ahead of him blankly. “Hey Eddie?”

“Hm?” the man replied, still staring at the computer where he was trying to Skype Mike in.

“Your running shorts are too small.” Eddie’s head whipped around as he started sputtering indignant curses, everyone else roaring with laughter.

“Don’t listen babe,” Richie says once he can speak again. “Your shorts are perfect.”

“Fuck you.”

——————————————————————————————————-

When they finally reach Mike at whatever paradise he was currently in they que up the special.

“This better be good Rich, I could be on the beach right now.”

“No promises.”

It is in fact very enjoyable for all of them. Bill, Bev and Ben all crying with laughter at one point. He thought even Mike’s eyes looked at little damp. Richie gets to enjoy the warm satisfied feeling of making people laugh again, from his own jokes. Even better when it was people you knew and cared about. But what really made his heart flutter so hard he though he might need medication was Eddie. He would glance at the others when a punchline was coming up, smiling with what looked like pride when everyone would double over laughing. Richie was so fucking in love it hurt.

——————————————————————————————————-

After everyone had tipsily left in their ubers Eddie had come up and held him from behind uncharacteristically tenderly.

“I really am proud of you Rich.” He spoke into his back.

“Whoa,” Richie said, feeling a heat spreading out from his chest. “I don’t know how to handle this sweet Eddie.” He turned, reaching up to gently grasp the shorter man’s waist.

“Shut the fuck up.”

Richie did, but only because his mouth was very busy pressing to Eddie’s. After a moment and a hum the angle changed and Eddie’s ( unfairly ripped) arms came up around his neck and he could help but think he’d let him put him in a choke hold any day.

‘Get it together Tozier.” He chastised himself as he pressed their bodies tighter together.

“So is all your material going to be about being gay now?” Eddie pulled back and smirked.

“I had a public mental breakdown, went back to my hometown and came back gay with a hot ass twunk boyfriend.” Eddie mouthed 'twunk?’ “That’s a fucking great story, everyone should hear it at least twice.”

“Too bad you can’t tell them the best parts of the story.” His boyfriend said sarcastically.

“I went from Richie Tozier bro womanizer to Richie Tozier gay stud homewrecker in less than a week, that’s way fucking better than the fucking clown.”

“Again with the ego.”

“Hey you’re the one who got seduced away from your wife-”

“Beep beep.” Eddie interrupted, grabbing his face and bringing their lips back together. Richie nearly groaned out loud, casually sliding one of his legs between Eddie’s.

“Rich,” he breathed “I’m not sure-”

“Hey, we’re both not 21 anymore, I don’t think I can get a successful boner this buzzed either.” Richie smirked, that swimming feeling behind his eyes becoming more noticeable.

“You’re gross.” Eddie frowned, then more quietly, almost shyly “But you know we both have tomorrow completely open…”

“Well lets go the fuck to sleep right now then.” Richie said, trying to burn the soft blush over Eddie’s cheekbones into into his memory. He power walked towards the bedroom practically ripping his clothes off. Eddie leaned on the door frame watching softly.

“Rich,” he looked over, almost breathless at the sight “I love you.”

Oh fuck, he was so fucking gone. This was too much. “Eds” he said trying to keep his voice from breaking “I love-”

Richie woke up.

It was violent, his whole body jerking. He panicked staring into the blackness, not understanding for a moment why he couldn’t see. His arm shot out feeling the half of the bed next to him. It was cold.

'No.’ he thought 'No, that’s not fucking fair.’

He practically falls out of bed, dry heaving several times on the floor. A grief so strong it felt like he had been stabbed ripped through him. It took several minutes for his lungs to remember to work again, broken sobs ripping out of his body instead of breaths. He sounded inhuman, like a dying animal. He felt as if all warmth in the world had been snuffed out, he couldn’t remember what what warmth had even felt like.

It wasn’t. Fucking. Fair.

For a few agonizing heartbeats he waited to see if the memories would be ripped out of his mind again, when they stayed he grabbed wildly for his phone, stumbling out onto his balcony. The city was awake as always, he could hear a siren in the distance. His hands were shaking so hard he nearly dropped the phone repeatedly trying to scroll through his contacts. His vision was more blurred than usual from the endless tears. He finally spotted a name. Bev. Clumsily he slammed the call button. No one picked up. He called again. And again.

Finally a groggy “Hello?”

“Bev.” he croaked, knowing he must sound like a mad man.

“Hello? Who is-?”

“Richie.”

“Oh, well how can I help you Richie?”

He clenched his jaw so hard he thought his teeth would break. She had the fake voice of someone disgruntled by being woken by a stranger, but who was forcing themselves to stay polite. He felt sick.

“Did you see it? You said you saw all of us, so did you know??”

“Excuse me?”

“Did you know he was going to die in….in that fucking place!! Did you see- why didn’t you try to stop it?!” His voice was rising, becoming a yell. Some part of him knew that if she could Bev would have done anything to change their fates. But it was a small part of him, a dying part.

“I’m sorry-I don’t-” Richie could hear a male voice in the background now, low and concerned.

“Is that Ben?” He demanded, hearing a soft gasp “Tell him- you fucking tell him he should have fucking left me down there! He should have left me with him!!” His voice was still rising, becoming hysterical.

“Richie-” A little recognition now, a little panic.

“They fucking pulled me out, for what? To save my life??” He laughed bitterly. The tears wouldn’t stop, and he could feel his head begin to pound. “Easy for him-for you, both of you. It’s easy to keep going together isn’t it? You got your happy ending.” he spat. They didn’t deserve that. They were his friends, he loved them. It didn’t matter.

“I loved him-” he choked out “I loved him and you should have let me stay-” he broke off wheezing out sobs. There was a pause , then

“Eddie….”

“Y-yeah. Eddie. You fucking remember now?” Ben’s voice was louder now, more frantic.

“Was there and order Bev? Did you know he was next? After Stan?” Stan. His heart throbbed again and he felt like doubling over. “Did you know it would be me after that?” He continued very quietly.

“Richie-” it was Ben and Bev now, she had switched it to speaker phone. “Calm down honey, please-”

“We figured we killed it and saved ourselves, huh? Only lost two out of seven, that’s a pretty good percent. But-” He swallowed heavily, heaving out a shaky breath. “that fucking clown is going to get one more of us before it’s all over. Sorry to mess up the statistics.”

“Richie please stop- just listen, it’s going to be okay. I don’t know what happened but-I’ll call Bill-I think he can-just stay there okay Rich-” Bev’s voice rapidly faded as his phone slipped out of his hand and fell to the sidewalk stories below. He watched as it hit the ground and shattered.

________________________________________________________________

I’m a morbid fuck and I hate happiness but I really can’t see Richie’s storyline turning out fine, he really is the most tragic character in my opinion. Ending is purposefully vague don’t kill me. 

[sirius-archive]

Chaos Theory

Pairing: Cedric Diggory x Reader, Reader x [redacted], Reader x [redacted] ;)

Warnings: Swearing

Word count: 3350

A/N: Finally, it’s here. After much planning and many, many drafts, it’s here. I want to state for the record that this is going to be full blown fic, I’ve already got a heap of chapters planned and three have already been written. Also, things are not what they seem. There will be twists and turns and love interests pouring out from the earth because I’m That Bitch. I’m also a sucker for drama. Anyway, enjoy chapter one!!

Chapter One                                                              

Like most complicated things in life, this story starts with a boy, a secret and a smile.

Even in retrospect, they seem like they’ve been scribbled on a scrap piece of paper and blindly plucked from a nice, big bowl of what-else-can-the-universe-thrust-at-me for the sake of twisted arbitrary, but not everything is as it seems, and everything seems ridiculous and inconvenient. But, at the same time, maybe you should have seen this coming. Maybe you should have predicted the shit storm that was going to spin your life into vertigo, like the earth has been tipped off its axis, latitude and longitude slipping and colliding while the corners of the map fade to ash.

It happens, as you would later realize with an impending sense of doom, like this:

In the summer of 1994, you and your friends stumble through the forest, looking for an old boot.

The forest breathes a cool sigh of air against your cheeks as you wander past the trees, eyes glued to the ground for the boot. Every time your mind drifts to the Quidditch World Cup, the excitement begins to bubble up inside your stomach and you can’t fight back the smile that spreads across your face whenever you reflect on the past few days. Staying at the Burrow was always like an improved version of home, but this time, it's different somehow.

Perhaps it’s the freedom of staying somewhere that isn’t your home. Not that your place isn’t comfortable; you don’t think anyone could deem a Victorian mansion with sprawling, manicured lawns ‘uncomfortable’. But it’s starting to feel more like a sad skeleton with marble walls for skin instead of a home, especially with your father always working and your brother, Luke, staying with his Slytherin friends for the summer.

There’s something about the company, too, that makes this moment so special. Being reunited with the Weasley family and being welcomed into their home is always like visiting relatives. And there’s always something to catch up on with Hermione. Then there’s Harry…

You glance at Harry, who is sifting through the leaves beside you. He’s talking about…something…one hand jammed into the pocket of his jeans, the other swinging by his side, and it’s somewhat refreshing to see Harry so relaxed, so undeniably Harry. Warmth thrums through your veins like honey and you can’t help but smile as you regard him fondly in the late morning sun.

It’s been a while since you’ve shared a moment alone with your best friend. Usually, you’re joined by Ron and Hermione, but they’re currently preoccupied with a debate over…whatever they debate over. You can actually hear them bickering; Hermione’s voice tight and shrill and Ron’s sarcastic remarks muffled by the distance between you and them.

With the sound of their bickering in the background, and the warmth of Harry’s presence forming a bubble around you, the urge to chisel ‘I love my friends’ onto every single rib in your ribcage floods you like a wave of sunlight. It’s essentially how you feel when you’re not saving Hogwarts from corrupt teachers and giant basilisk or helping innocent fugitives escape the kiss of a Dementor. And moments like these remind you just how fortunate you are to have found your friends.

Harry’s gentle chuckle brings your wandering thoughts back into the moment as it fades into a gleeful smile.

“You should have seen the look on his face…” Harry smirks, though the context of the conversation is lost to you.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Now Dudley second guesses himself whenever he tries to bully me. He’s constantly looking over his shoulder because he’s expecting Sirius to jump out and turn him into – I don’t know¬– a dung beetle,” he pauses and then barks a laugh like he’s just remembered something, “Or a pig! Did I tell you about the time Hagrid gave Dudley a pigs tail?”  

“He didn’t…” you gasp, and Harry gives you an exaggerated, shit-eating grin, “Merlin, he actually did!”

“When he first told me that I was a wizard and delivered my letter to me…he used his umbrella and…” Harry mimics pointing an umbrella at a stone and pretends to cast the spell. You playfully punch his shoulder and Harry recoils with a yelp.

“That was for not telling me,” you scold, fighting back the smile that’s tickling the corners of your lips, “I thought we agreed to tell each other stupid stuff that happens to our relatives.”

Harry pouts an apology, “Can I make it up to you?”

“You can,” you smirk, “but are you prepared to pay the price?”

“Whatever it is, I’m sure I can handle it,” Harry grins.

There is a fleeting moment where the two of you stare at each other in silence, but the moment is broken with a laugh as you both dissolve into hysterical laughter. A good five minutes pass before you cradle your stomach and heave out a sigh, attempting to regain your composure. Once the remainders of your chortles and giggles fade, you notice a strange look crossing Harry’s face as he stares at you.

“What is it?” you ask, breathlessly, wiping away tears.

“(Y/N) I–”

“(Y/N)?” a curious voice asks from somewhere behind you. You swivel around at the sound of your name, lips curling into a smile when you see Cedric Diggory standing behind you.

Your mouth goes a little bit dry.

“Hi Cedric,” you smile as Cedric approaches, and you suddenly feel self-conscious and bashful.

Your eyes travel over him as he draws closer. He’s tall and broad and athletic, bronzed skin and eyes so blue you could drown. His expression is one of pure delight, like stumbling upon you had been the best thing that’s happened since Christmas, and it’s so genuine it almost convinces you that it’s true. And his smile; gracious and gentle and golden–

That smile of his could cure every disease known to man.

“It’s good to see you,” He grins, boyishly, sounding genuinely pleased.

“You too,” you reply, your voice sounding distant like you’ve stepped outside of your own body and your mouth is moving on its own accord.

Cedric gazes at you with a gentle warmth, eyes as blue as a clear, summer sky, drawing you in. And there’s something inviting about his smile like his lips want to reach down and embrace yours in a tender kiss–

Harry clears his throat and it jolts through you like electricity, almost startling you “Oh, Cedric, this is Harry. Harry, this is Cedric–”

“It’s great to finally meet you now that we’re off the Quidditch field, Harry,” Cedric beams, extending his hand.

Harry takes it, “Yeah, you too…”

Cedric turns back to you, the blue in his eyes washing over you like a wave, “How was your summer?”

You put a little too much effort into a smile you hope looks graceful “Oh, um, it was…pleasant.”

“Pleasant?”

“Yeah. Harry and I have been staying with the Weasleys. How’s yours?”

“Pleasant,” He echoes, grinning, and you feel heat tickle apples of your cheeks, “I met this girl at the end of last year and she…she’s really something y’know? I can’t seem to get her off my mind…”

Cedric trails off into a sigh, gazing into your eyes. You’re reminded of a wilted fire lily pressed between the pages of a dozen letters, all of them signed off with a curling ‘C’; long strands of amber butterbeer melting over your tongue; a spring breeze fragranced with wildflowers and the promise of romance; and a smile, soft and reassuring and setting your entire world alight in a fiery blaze of heat and passion.

Harry clears his throat again and it whips both of you back into the present.

“Looking forward to the game?” Cedric asks.

“Definitely,” you grin, excitedly, “This is Harry’s first Quidditch World Cup,”.  

“It is?” Cedric peers around you and smiles at Harry, “You’re going to love it. Especially this game; two teams at the top of their game, competing for the trophy…”

“It’ll be interesting to see who wins,” You remark, pensively, “Penelope will probably want me to write an article about the game for The Howler, no doubt.”

“I’ll look forward to seeing it,” Cedric remarks, “I admire your articles anyway.”

Your heart staggers clumsily around in your chest like someone’s reached down and yanked it up into your throat. Your face is definitely changing colours now; you can feel the heat of a bright red blush burning your cheeks like sunburn.

“Y-You do?”

“Yeah! I genuinely look forward to reading everything you write. They’re interesting and well written. I especially liked the one about the Toad Choir...”  

Your mouth flaps open as you search for words, stumbling over letters and syllables like a bashful child, “Well–uh–I–”

“–Over here, Arthur! Over here, son! I’ve found the Portkey!”

Amos Diggory’s voice split through the still air, the echo rippling through the trees and startling some sparrows.

Relieved by the distraction, you spin on your heel and follow the sound of Mr Diggory’s guffaw’s and Mr Weasley’s voice. Cedric walks on your right side, Harry on your left. It is suddenly unbearably hot like the sun is boring its fiery gaze into your soul. An itch forms on the inside of your wrist as though there was an insect wiggling beneath the thin skin. You claw at it hastily, fingers fumbling with your bracelet in an effort to distract yourself. 

Hermione and Ron join you a few minutes later while Mr Weasley introduces his family to Mr Diggory. As they talk, you can feel Hermione’s eyes moving over you as though she were micro-managing every movement that you make, like you’re pinned beneath a microscope. You turn to her, unsurprised by her expression. She raises her brows expectantly, her eyes darting between you and Cedric.

“Oh,” you bleat, turning to Cedric, “Guys, this is Cedric. Cedric, this is Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley.”

Cedric’s lips quirk into a genuine smile, “Pleasure to meet you.”

“You too,” Hermione smiles gracefully.

“Yeah,” Ron agrees. Well, at least they can agree on something.

Mr Diggory makes his way over, clapping a hand on Cedric’s shoulder and regarding you curiously. Cedric introduces you to Mr Diggory and his lips curve into a knowing smirk.

“So you’re the writer my son can’t stop talking about,” Mr Diggory’s remark is followed by a firm handshake, “It’s good to finally meet you in the flesh, (Y/N).”

Cedric’s face flushes an intriguing shade of pink, “Dad…”

Mr Diggory barks a warm, boisterous laugh that rattles your chest, “Don’t worry, son, I don’t think she’s going anyway soon.”

He turns to face you, his benevolent, round face beaming at you, “Cedric showed me an article you wrote about last year’s Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. Beautifully written. You’re a real talent, y’know. Though I shouldn’t expect any less, given that your old man is the editor-and-chief of the Daily Prophet.”

Warmth glows beneath your cheeks as you smile bashfully at Mr Diggory, “Well, thank you, sir.”

“Sir,” Mr Diggory echoes, followed by a single laugh that punches the air. He turns to Cedric, whose boyish features ripple between embarrassment and pride, and jabs him in the ribs, “She’s a keeper, Ced.”

Cedric winces, an adorable, pink flush blossoming across his cheeks as he fumbles to change the subject, “Er, Dad, we should probably get moving.”  

“Right you are,” Mr Diggory nods, his gaze searching for Mr Weasley amongst the throng of redheads.

As the conversation moves toward Mr Weasley and – predictably– steers toward Harry, you meet Cedric’s eyes and he offers you a bashful, apologetic smile.

You pray to God, Jesus and Merlin that he can’t hear the tha-thump of your racing heart.

***

Portkeys are, perhaps, the second worst way to travel. The first is through the Floo Network because it’s dusty and dirty but Portkeys are…sudden, and the uncomfortable tug in your stomach only makes you feel dizzy and slightly nauseous.  

Fortunately, you’re not the only one who fell face-first on the ground and consequently got a mouthful of dirt. When your vision finally stops spinning, you notice most of the Weasley family collapsed on the ground. Ron groans beside you as Hermione and Harry scramble to their feet. Mr Weasley, Mr Diggory and Cedric are the only ones standing, the latter of whom looks a little windswept. He bends down and offers you a hand.

“You alright?” he asks, concern pinching his perfectly chiselled face. You nod and bite your lip as he helps your sorry self to your feet.

You dust the dirt from your grass-stained knees and iron out your denim skirt with the palms of your hands, using it as an excuse to tame your pounding heart. Pushing your hair back, you flash Cedric a shy smile, “Thanks.”

“Happy to be of help,” Cedric grins.

“Of course you are…” George snickers from behind Cedric and Fred snorts.

Cedric swivels around and flashes a polite smile, “Pardon?”

The sun’s heat feels concentrated, baking you with the kind of heat that could shrivel a Sunday roast. The itch returns to the inside of your wrist and you nervously scratch at it with newfound intensity. 

“Oh, nothing, your Highness,” Fred mimes an exaggerated bow, “Er, I mean, Cedric.”

“Good ol’ Ced,” George winks, glancing between you and Cedric. 

Fred claps a hand on Cedric’s shoulder, “Ric…can I call you Ric?”

“Well–”

“Anyway,” you interject before this conversation can get any more embarrassing, “We should probably get moving.”

Without even thinking, you take Cedric’s hand and lead him away from the twins, hoping to create as much distance between you and them as possible. You finally come to a stop behind Ginny and Hermione.

“That was….”

“Awkward?” you suggest.

“I was going to say ‘Interesting’, but ‘awkward’ works, too.” Cedric offers you a lazy, boyish smile. 

You realize your fingers are still interlaced with his and you jerk away from him hastily, as though he’s infected with a contagious virus, and anyone else would be offended by it but not Cedric. Instead, he eyes you with an expression that resembles amusement or intrigue or both, but he doesn’t say anything. You kind of want to leap into a barren, boundless void and hibernate in there for a few thousand years.

“So, my dad is going to hang out with his Ministry friends tonight,” Cedric begins, glancing away shyly, “He…erm…says it’s his ‘Quidditch tradition.’”

“So you’re essentially being ditched by your own dad,” you snort, “Nice.”

“Well, here's the thing…if I say I have company then he won’t feel so bad.”

You blink at him, “What are you saying?”

Cedric smiles boyishly, “Well…I’m saying…asking, really….if you’d like to come over and we can sit around a fire and eat s’mores and just chat. I like talking to you instead of having to send an owl all the time.”

You bite your lip and nod, “Okay. So it’ll just be…us?”

“What will ‘just be us?’” Ron sidles up to the two of you, Harry following. Harry’s eyes move between you and Cedric. There is something unreadable in his gaze. 

“Oh, I was just….” Cedric flushes, as though he were internally battling something, before conceding with a somewhat forced smile “Would you guys like to meet up later tonight?”

“Sure,” Ron shrugs, “Anything to get away from them two.” He jabs a thumb at Fred and George.

“Oh we’re coming too!” George chimes, “We don’t know what it is but if it’s going to be fun, we’re there.”

“Otherwise we’ll make it fun.” Fred adds.

You turn to Cedric, who is graciously trying to stave a grimace, “Of course. You guys can come too.”

“Come along then, son.” Mr Diggory waves Cedric over, smiling at the two of you, “We’d better settle in before the game begins.”

The game isn’t for a few hours but Cedric doesn’t argue the point. Instead, he gives you a lingering look and grazes his hand against yours, “I’ll see you later on tonight.”

“See you tonight,” you call after him, grinning from ear to ear.

Later on tonight, you think with a smile. Your mind pulls apart the words and stitches them back together, your heart singing like a dove in your ribcage.

***

Out of the hundreds of wizards and witches gathered on the camping grounds, you just have to run into a familiar, blonde-haired prat, like he’s a rather annoying shadow.

Whether you like it or not, Draco Malfoy is always there, just waiting to claw his hands into whatever is left of your optimism for the day and tear it to shreds. You can’t even go on a walk with your friends without him popping out of a bush or crawling out of some den like a predator. Even if you’re soaring on a high from Cedric’s earlier invitation, Malfoy almost insists on wiggling his way under your skin. He’s an irritation you haven’t learned how to scratch yet.

You nudge Harry in the ribs when you spot the boy, nodding in Malfoy’s direction. Thankfully, it’s just the four of you, and you remember with a sense of relief that Mr Weasley isn’t here. You don’t want a repetition of what happened the last time he encountered a Malfoy, even if he is a miniature one.

But before either of you can react, Malfoy has already spotted you and he’s swaggering over to the four of you with a malicious glint dancing in his cold, blue eyes before you can formulate a plan of escape. 

“I knew I could smell something foul,” Malfoy scorns, crinkling his nose, “You can smell a Weasley from a mile away from the stench that reeks off them. I suppose you all can’t afford to take showers every day since there’s so many of you. Got to save water now, don’t we?”

Draco snickers gleefully as Ron’s fists curl at his sides. His face is flushed crimson with anger as Hermione grips his wrist warningly.

“Malfoy,” Harry spits, his tone cold and venomous, “The only putrid smell around here is you.”

“Please, Potter, don’t play pretend,” Draco sneers, “Just because no one knocked any sense into you doesn’t mean we have to put up with the peasant and the mudblood.”

“You watch your mouth, Malfoy!” Ron snarls, “Before I break it in with my fist.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Draco smirks, challengingly.

“We all know you’re a coward,” Harry snaps, “Your dad isn’t here so you don’t have to prove your worth anything.”

Draco’s expression darkens, “What would you know about fathers, your father is dead.”

Harry moves to lunge at Draco but Hermione pulls him back. You can almost feel the loathing rolling off Harry as his mouth twists into a frown and his eyes light up like emerald flames. You turn to Draco, imploring him with a pleading look.  

“Look, you’re wasting all of our time. We’ve got better things to do…”

Draco sniffs, fixing a glare on you, “You’re lucky you’ve got your pretty, little girlfriend here to protect you, Potter. Next time, I’ll make sure you’re not so fortunate.”

Draco whirls around and leaves before any of you can say another word.

“Good riddance,” Ron spits, his temper simmering, “He always has to ruin everything…”

Hermione rolls her eyes, “Don’t let stuck-up snobs like Malfoy put you down. It’s the World Cup. Forget about it.”

Hermione drags Ron away, charging through the crowd. You’re about to follow her, too, but notice that Harry is rooted to the ground where he stands. You put a hand on his shoulder and rub soothing circles, hoping to release some tension.

“Forget about Malfoy, Harry,” you smile, “Let’s enjoy the moment and look forward to the game…” and spending the night with Cedric your mind whispers as your heart leaps excitedly.

Harry offers you a weary half-smile as you take his hand, tracing comforting circles across the top of his thumb. He’s always been good at deflecting Malfoy’s attacks. But there’s something ominous in the way he stares at you that has you thinking that maybe this isn’t over. 

You don’t bother to bring it up, though, hoping Harry will release it with all his other worries.

Chapter Two will be coming soon! 

[plush-anon]

tejoxys

I finally saw the Endgame spoilers clip

*rubbing my grubby little hands together bc I love a good roast*

Welp, if it’s a roast you want, a roast you shall receive!

(Note: I think I spoke vaguely enough about everything big in the Clips below NOT to warrant an outright Spoilers tag, so I’m leaving it with just an Endgame Leaks tag and a ‘Read More’ line. Message me if you’ve a.) seen the Clips/gone scrolling for more info in the Spoilers tag and b.) think it’s more spoilery than I try to vague it to be, and I’ll tag it post haste)

Christ Almighty, the Clips just make everything look like an enormous MESS.

Thor looks just... awful. In every scene. LITERALLY EVERY SCENE HE’S IN IN THESE SPOILERIFIC CLIPS, HE LOOKS TERRIBLE. There isn’t a single one where he doesn’t look like a mess. Everyone else gets a glow-up (new hair, tattoos, freshly shaved) and looks put together in general (which is admittedly baffling - really, EVERYONE looks good in the face of mass genocide and failure to stop it from occurring?) but Thor decided to whip out his Big Lebowski cosplay at their big ‘save the world’ get-together... why??? (seriously Thor, was a shower too much to ask for?)

Now, if we’d had ANY inclination that anyone else looked rough aside from Tony and Nebula a la the stuck-in-space teaser trailers we saw originally, that would be one thing. Everyone there lost a loved one, everyone there has probably had to come to terms with the fact that they FAILED TO STOP THANOS when they were all right freakin’ there! NO ONE SHOULD LOOK 100% OKAY HERE. Show me dishevelment, poor coping mechanisms, show them having to struggle for weeks (maybe even MONTHS) after the events.

But nope! They are ALL in perfect health according to the trailers we’ve seen before. Even Tony, after nearly dying in space multiple times, just takes a bath and appears to be in fine health after getting back (with some bags under the eyes). Everyone’s perfectly fine, except for Thor (and maaaaaybe Hawkeye, who looks to have gone full-on Frank Miller Batman in his quest for vengeance, but still had time to get a mullet and some sweet sleeve tats in between!).

Nice.

This is a MASSIVE problem with the MCU as a whole, and has been for a while: their repeated attempts to gloss over and sweep consequences of mental trauma and illness away under the rug until it suits them for plot convenience or for comedy. You see this in the Thor sequels a LOT (Selvig being institutionalized for comedy after being possessed, Loki being kept in literal solitary confinement for roughly 2 years, Valkyrie’s PTSD and alcoholism played for laughs, mocking Loki’s suicide attempt from Thor 1 and the actual death he survived in Thor 2, ALL of Odin’s outright dickishness as a parent a la narcissistic parenting, Hela being imprisoned in isolation for literal CENTURIES), as well as anything to do with Tony Stark and his thought process (everything he does is pretty much as a result of the trauma he endures, and everyone in the Avengers just??? doesn’t recognize it??? and attacks him for it without going ‘hey, maybe he’s got PTSD’ or something???? what the hell, man). GOTG does a MUCH better job of it with Rocket and Nebula, but Mantis is left woefully unrealized (thought they do touch upon it briefly, and handle it with relative seriousness). 

Either way, Thor concerns me a LOT, because he is the king of a very small group of Asgardian refugees (and given the scene that shows in the Clips, as well as the appearance of another Thor character later on, we KNOW there were multiple survivors), trying to find a new life on Midgard in the face of not one, not two, but THREE fcuking tragedies - the destruction of Asgard, Thanos’ attack on their ship, and the Snap. Why is he the way he is, in the location he’s in (which actually appears to be the apartment from Team Thor’s mockumentary)? He is the only semblance of leadership left for these people who have lost everything and he’s Like That. Where is a Thor stressed and fretting over being fully responsible for once in his life over the lives of his people, over what little remains of his kingdom? Where is a Thor struggling with guilt as he tries to build a new life for his people, struggling with rule and politics and trade? WHERE IS HE??? Bc right now, all I see is Chris Hemsworth auditioning for the remake of The Big Lebowski, having wandered onto the Avengers set instead of his audition location by mistake -_-

The scenes with Steve leave me absolutely baffled (and some of them just ooze cheese, and not in a great way), because how in the fcuk do we get to those?? His scenes feel the most disjointed here, bc they all have a similar vibe to his personality in Whedon’s Avenger movies. Kind of the ‘Boy Scout’ presentation, which is particularly odd in the aftermath of the Russo Fools’ two Cap movies and Infinity Fcuk Up, which made him more serious, less - bright? I can’t think of a good word for it rn. This is particularly highlighted in his big ‘save the world’ speech we hear - it feels kind of like an ‘okay team, time to save the world!’ speech, instead of something more serious. Is it to try to bring everyone’s hopes up? What else is missing here that we’re not seeing? Why does he feel like he’s back to this persona in light of all that’s happened? Is it to highlight how good and awesome he is in order to {SPOILER REDACTED} like we see in that final sequence? (Also, the imagery for SPOILER REDACTED, while meant to be badass and awesome, feels... kind of awkward, IMHO. Which is weird, bc I thought it would be more amazing and awesome. IDK, maybe I’m just super jaded with the MCU by now).

Carol Danvers’ scenes are actually pretty on point. She gets to be a badass in her fighting scenes and gets an awesome new look that pretty much only functions to further cement her Lesbian Status. The only way she would be more obviously a Lesbian is if her suit were in the colors of (one of) the Lesbian Pride flags and a Cyndi Lauper song was playing in the background (or maybe Joan Jett).

Hulk/Bruce Banner... I don’t even know how they’re going to swing this. Like, at all. I’m particularly baffled bc given how some of the scenes appear to be set early in the film, it resolves extremely quickly to get to that point, and after all the drama of Hulk not coming out in Infinity Fcuk Up, I just - who the fcuk knows at this point. Also, that one scene with the {SPOILER REDACTED} could be effective depending on how they set it up, but then... why exactly is he the one in the scene with the {SPOILER REDACTED} and not Carol or Thor, due to Obvious Plot Reasons?

Finally, Peter Parker. He’s adorable in his scenes, ‘nuff said.

Now, after seeing these scenes, I am left EXTREMELY CONCERNED for this movie’s tone. Granted, it was only 5 minutes of footage for a 3 hour movie. Quite clearly, there is a LOT we aren’t seeing. All the same though, it feels extremely disjointed. I know they’re trying to pull away from the dark and grim ending of Infinity War, but these clips make it all feel a little too casual, a little too ‘let’s go beat the bad guy!’ as opposed to ‘we have suffered a great failure and a great tragedy - as heroes, we MUST work to undo this for the sake of those we have lost, and everyone left alive who has lost the people they loved’. Idk, that may just be me on this one.

But you know the worst part of all of THIS? The worst part is that this is probably what we’re going to get on the release date. This isn’t a trailer Marvel released with deleted live-action scenes featuring minimal to no CGI, or sections clumsily edited over with explosion effects - this was a slew of scenes with a TON of special effects fully rendered in painstaking detail, recorded with a phone on its side in what looks like a movie theater, with foreign subtitles on the screen (I honestly don’t recognize the alphabet, but it might be Middle Eastern). That CGI is expensive and time-consuming as all hell to do, and considering how many of these scenes had it? Either they wasted a shit-ton of money on scenes they didn’t use (seriously, a number of them have Rocket in them, or Hulk - those aren’t the easiest characters to render, I would imagine), or these are in the movie, end of story.

Not to mention, TPTB clamped down on these Clips HARD - like, IMMEDIATELY - as opposed to the process behind deleting Reddit comments. The fast and heavy response from Marvel and the Russo Fools, COMPLETE WITH OFFICIAL TWEET LETTER, along with a Chris Evans tweet not to Spoil the Shit, was to chastise the ones who did (which is somewhat warranted here, given how extreme the security on leaks for Endgame have been).

This response, combined with the quality of the clips, and some of the plot threads that actually seem to be mentioned/referenced in the Lego sets, leads me to believe it’s real.

And I’m not really impressed.

On the flipside, I’m actually kind of relieved, knowing what I’m going into when I walk into the theater opening weekend. I’m not going to be completely shocked and horrified by what I see. This works well in breaking the ice, and also eases some of my anxiety on what to expect (bc I have had a LOT of it for this movie).

The downside to this is that at the end of the day, this is what 22 films ultimately amounted to. Something that feels a little too glib, a little too rushed. Something that doesn’t feel like it’s doing right by the characters who were left, and the characters we love (at least, not in full).

I understand that this is an insurmountable task - to bring to film, with limited time, a satisfying conclusion to so many characters. To arrange hundreds of people within thousands of hours on a set budget to bring this massive story, building for over ten years now, to a close that will resonate and sate with as many fans as possible. But I read fanfiction that does just that with less time, fewer moments, no budget - hell, there are 10k oneshots that rewrote Infinity Fcuk to make sense and treat the characters with the respect that they’ve earned over 20+ films.

This? Doesn’t feel like those.

I will happily admit, I am guesstimating a LOT here, based off of what essentially amounts to 3% of the movie (slightly more, depending on how long the credits are sans post-credit scenes, but still roughly 3%). There is a LOT that is missing, which could fill in these gaps successfully and make this whole post look completely pointless. If it does that, I will gleefully concede that it fooled us on this one. Maybe all of these scenes really ARE hoaxes (even if they were painstakingly subtitled in a foreign language and shown on a movie theater-size screen, but I digress).

But the framing of the scenes looks like it was meant to showcase what the movie would be as a whole, in terms of tone and what to expect. And from that, I’m not excited, or overjoyed. I’m just tired.

And I cannot WAIT for this all to be over, bc I’m fcuking exhausted just watching 5 minutes. Lord knows what 182 of them will leave me like in the end.

*peers up at massive unending ranty analysis post* ...ah. Well then. that happened again. Ah well. Hope you had fun reading my nonsense brain goop, kiddos.

[clownpool]

Gunshots pierced through the peaceful, metropolitan sounds of a [ redacted for fake “copyright” claims] afternoon. The crowds broke apart screaming, people diving for cover as two motorcycles weaved through pedestrians. One of the motorcycles and its rider disappeared from sight every few moments, only to reappear several meters further than the vehicle chasing after it. Dot had a mutant with teleportation as her target. And although her expression couldn’t be seen underneath her full-faced helmet, she scowled every time the target disappeared. “I can’t shoot back when he’s doing that!” she thought. “What if he disappears and I hit someone cute by accident?”

As they recklessly zipped through the streets, she could see someone on the ground in the middle of the street. And with her target showing no sign of stopping, still speeding ahead right towards the person with cherry-red hair, she let out a frustrated scream. Dottie abandoned her bike, leaping off into the safety of a fluffy, pink mushroom with all the consistency of a foam pit. She pushed herself up, took aim, and a cloud of spores traveled from her fingertips to the ground. An equally fluffy mushroom sprouted from the street, acting as a barrier between the redhead and motorcycle driver. Only, the driver teleported around [ redacted again for “copyright” claims)]. Her target had fooled her by using her own unwillingness to hurt pedestrians. And within a fraction of a second, the target was long gone.

Dottie clumsily climbed out of the pink mushroom pit and shrieked in frustration. She ripped off the helmet to reveal her face – well, the masked face of her villain identity – and throwing quite a tantrum, threw the helmet into the ground. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING LAYING IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET, HUH?” she yelled, stomping towards the other. “I SHOULD’VE FLATTENED YOU LIKE A PANCAKE, YOU FUCKING CHUCKIE FINSTER LOOKING JERK!” 

–––––– KYLE ; ( @superheroxlanding​ ): MOTORCYCLE CHASE THAT DESERVES LIFE AND PROBABLY WILL END IN A CONVERSATION ABOUT ANDRES’ WELL BEING BECAUSE IS HE OKAY. LIKE I MISS MY BEST FRIEND BUT I’M TOO MUCH OF A BABY TO TEXT HIM FIRST AFTER FRANCIS 2.0?

to answer her question he had no clue what he was doing laying in the middle of the street. it wasn’t safe and it wasn’t a practical means of getting from one place to the other. his balance had been impeded, by that stupid MOTORIST IN THE FIRST PLACE if he were to be completely honest with her. he shot a pair of angry eyes (or one eye depending on the time line) and tried his best not to sound like a smart ass in response. 

though after a moment’s pause he chuckled, “Hey Auntie Dot.” a slight smile was forced despite being called a fucking chuckie finster looking jerk. perhaps she’d mistaken him for someone else with a pair of square rimmed glasses.

“You got an extra helmet?” and as if it were clockwork, he was rounding that cycle of hers, and bringing it over. “If we’re fast we can still catch that punk” he readjusted his eyepatch.